Catholic Extension Society is currently providing support for the Catholic Church’s healing ministries in Uvalde, Texas, including at least 30 scholarships for survivors of the Robb Elementary School Shooting who have transferred to Sacred Heart Catholic School in Uvalde. Our team wrote this reflection after attending the first day of school at Sacred Heart School on August 15th, 2022.
Catholics take sorrow seriously.
We know sorrow cannot be rushed. There are 14 stations of the cross—they take a long time to pray. Jesus’ passion starts on a Thursday night and stretches into early Friday evening. Easter is a long way off. Sorrow will not be rushed.
We cannot avert our eyes from sorrow. We cannot wish it away, or hope to quickly forget it. We need to look at sorrow squarely. Abide in it. Take it in without blinking. This is why there is a cross in each of our 221,000 churches around the globe. We must never look away.
We cannot dilute sorrow with a hasty, happy ending or facile resolution. Sorrow and consolation will always wrestle and we must make room for both. Truth be told, in the grip of real grief, we are sometimes not sure who the winner will be. This is what makes real consolation so holy.
Uvalde, Texas is a sorrowful mystery. It cannot be rushed, ignored, nor diluted.
It is an agony. It scourges the most innocent. It is a crown of thorns worn by parents, siblings, best friends, teachers and counselors. It is a cross that so many will carry for a lifetime. It is crucifixion and death on the South Texas plains. It is a mystery that breaks us down as it consecrates. We must take it seriously.
On Monday August 15th, the Feast of the Assumption of Mary, Sacred Heart Catholic School in Uvalde gathered for an opening school Eucharist like no other. Catholic Extension Society built both the original Sacred Heart school and church in the early 1900s, and the ongoing impact of that century-old investment in Uvalde was powerfully evident that day.
The archbishop of San Antonio, Gustavo Garcia-Siller, was at the entrance to the church. He was no stranger to Sacred Heart, having been a constant pastoral presence since the shooting in late May.
He greeted each student tenderly, bending down and whispering, “Hello m’ija!” “Hola m’ijo – you look so ‘guapo’ today!” The girls all wore red bows. The boys wore white shirts just out of the boxes and black ties knotted with varying degrees of success.
The parents and grandparents? They were scared. Many close to tears, so grateful that their church was there for them. So grateful that they were part of Sacred Heart.
This was the first day since the shooting on May 24, 2022, that any school community in Uvalde had gathered. That last day of school at Sacred Heart, the students and faculty huddled in a cinder block room on lockdown for 1 ½ hours.
The bread and wine were on the offertory table on August 15th, but the real gifts were the presence of the students, faculty and families of the parish.
And everywhere one looked there was a story about May 24th, especially among the recent transfers from Robb Elementary.
There was the girl who when ordered to run, did just that and didn’t stop. When frantic adults finally located her alone, miles from school, the frightened girl replied that she was just following orders, literally.
There was the boy who was absent on May 24th. Happenstance saved him from the bullets, but not the trauma. His best friend was killed that day. His mother sat in his pew praying along with her son as he prepared to step back into a classroom setting.
There was the boy whose teacher shielded him from the attack. The fatal bullet that went through her head passed into the student she was trying to protect, wounding him in the shoulder. One can only guess what other wounds he carries.
There were students who endured over 70 minutes of slow-motion terror, hiding under desks, calling for help on their cell phones, hearing their classmates struggle to breath, crying out in pain, choking, a cacophony of horror and then the terrible silence.
The Sorrowful Mysteries. Children should not have to endure such a thing. But we cannot look away, so we began the first day of school with the sign of the cross and sought comfort in the Eucharist.
The archbishop told them that this would be a special year, a year in which things would happen in a different way. He told them that everything would be okay and they believed him because he was their shepherd.
St. Augustine said that singing is praying twice. At the Presentation of Gifts we sang, “Sing of Mary.” Toil and labor cannot weary, Love enduring unto death. At Communion we sang, “I will raise you up. And I will raise you up. I will raise you up on the last day.” Tough men hardened by the Texas winds and baked by the Texas sun wept openly.
At The Sign of Peace many rib crushing hugs and long kisses were administered by parents, much to the consternation of the recipients. One student comforted his mother, “Mom, I’m not afraid.” He wasn’t, but she was.
After communion, Principal Joseph Olan prayed with his back bent, his shoulders slumped, elbows on the pew, and hands white knuckle-clenched. His school of 50 was going to possibly triple in size with more and more students transferring from Robb Elementary. Catholic Extension Society offered full scholarships to 30 Robb students who were closest to the tragedy, and continues to raise funds for those likely to transfer in the coming weeks—a welcomed relief for families with so much already on their burdened minds.
Below, Principal Olan shares his thanks to Catholic Extension Society donors who have contributed to the scholarship fund.
Principal Olan had five teachers to hire. He was going to teach while serving as principal. He needed to find resources to keep skilled counselors in place throughout the year. He had more security measures to install. Most of all he had to re-establish the faith of the parents and staff that Sacred Heart could be a safe school and that healing could begin.
And it all began on August 15th, the first day of school. Only a mere 179 more days to go until next summer’s vacation.
Principal Olan led the students, their families, and staff into the newly renovated cafeteria and there waited the teachers, parishioners, and volunteers—serving as the “extended family” that sorrow always summons.
The only way through our sorrowful mysteries is in solidarity. This is why we drop off casseroles, give bouquets both floral and spiritual, and extend ourselves when grief leaves our loved ones short.
Catholic Extension Society is inviting 100 religious sisters from various congregations to volunteer in Uvalde this year. For the first week of school, 6 nuns from San Antonio joined Sister Mary Lou Aldape and her fellow Uvalde-based Teresian sisters to provide a reassuring presence to students.
There were counselors onsite at the school from the San Antonio Catholic Schools office. They had already developed relationships with many families through their “Wellness Wednesdays” they offered throughout the summer, featuring activities for children from 8 a.m. to 12 noon and counseling for families in the afternoons.
There was “Miracle,” the therapy dog, driven from Janesville, Wisconsin, by his owners. The golden retriever was clearly the main attraction edging out the ice cream cones by a nuzzle.
There was the regional director of the corporate security firm who offered pro bono fences, cameras, and bullet proof windows, reminding himself and his employees what all their company’s work was for.
Principal Olan lead the students in their school cheer, “Sacred Heart – All for Jesus!”
Everyone prayed the Guardian Angel prayer, “…ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.”
When the students went to their classrooms, every desk had a name tag and every seat had a new book bag crammed with every school supply known to Office Depot. The book bags and supplies were donated and packed by high school students in San Antonio.
In the fifth-grade classroom (the very students who were closest to last May’s violent attack), five desks were empty. Some students just were not able to come to school yet. Sacred Heart would wait. The name tags and book bags would be there to welcome them back whenever they returned.
The fifth-grade students filled out and discussed a MY FAVORITES work sheet, the perfect first day of school exercise. They discussed what their favorite color, snack, song, and movie was.
When asked what they wanted to be when they grew up the answers were; a nurse, a fireman, a doctor, a police man. It was not lost on any adult present that all of these professions were first responders. Not all sutures leave scars. Some are an opening, a new possibility, a chance for consecration.
The day ended at noon. Many parents had waited in the cafeteria for the entire time. One student, his hair freshly cut, his blue blazer blazing, his tie knot MBA perfect, his smile as bright as a Texas sun came running into his mother’s outstretched arms.
He was smiling, almost joyful. His mother exhaled in relief. This was his first day here, she explained. “Last year he wasn’t here. He was at…,” She choked up. She could not say the words. She could not say “Robb Elementary.”
The parents cannot look away. They cannot avert their gaze or dilute their sorrow. They must make their way through the Sorrowful Mysteries. Every parent knows that, when it comes to their kids, there is no cheap grace.
And what of the parents whose daughter will never wear a red bow, whose son will never wear a blue blazer? What of the parents of the 19 victims? We cannot look away. We have to understand what drives an 18-year-old living 5 blocks from the school to go on such a mortal rampage? What drives so much homicidal violence against and by our young?
The memorials in front and around Robb Elementary are overwhelming. By now they are sagging, dusty, and drained of color. Flowers, angel wings, stuffed animals, vigil lights, bottles of water, dolls, teddy bears, smurfs, hearts, crosses, unicorns, images of Our Lady of Guadalupe, hand-written notes, photos of the slain teachers and children.
It is as if in piling up so many things, we can fill the void left in our hearts. At some point all of it will be taken away. The school and its darkened windows housing a memory of a menace we cannot imagine, that too will come down.
The way forward lies in abiding in Uvalde’s Sorrowful Mysteries. We cannot rush this sorrow. We cannot avert our eyes or dilute this sorrow with facile resolution. We must stay with this and abide in this awful rupture.
When this sorrow breaks us down and consecrates us, it is only then we will have the courage, strength, and wisdom to go forward and be the guardian angels our young most desperately need.
Angel of God, my guardian dear,
To whom God’s love commits me here.
Ever this day be at my side,
To light and guard, to rule and guide.
More than 80 children in Uvalde are seeking to transfer to the Sacred Heart to help begin their healing and overcome trauma. Eleven of these children were shot and survived. Most families cannot afford tuition—80 percent of families with school-age children in Uvalde are classified as low-income.
We put together a scholarship fund to help these children attend Sacred Heart. You can contribute to the fund here.
