I always like campus ministry to be a place, in terms of its physical location, that is explicitly different from classrooms. Maybe we have a board, but it's not for note-taking or assignments; it's for prayers. Maybe we chairs and tables, but they're not for test-taking; they're cushioned and comfortable couches and coffee tables. Maybe we have books and binders, but they're not for studies; they're for retreats and activities. It should feel differently comfortable and inviting than a classroom, and I cherish when students' behavior and actions maintain respect toward boundaries but embrace the different context of ministry versus academics.
I was spoiled in my first job, coming in to a place where such an environment was more widespread across campus, especially in our big, open, welcoming school commons, where all kinds of groups of students and teachers constantly gathered at all different times for all different kinds of reasons. In my last job and my current job, we lack such a natural gathering space. Additionally, our locations and community populations both prompted us to try to get students on to their after-school activities and rides home quickly and expeditiously for safety reasons. It makes forming these connections all the more difficult.
Added on to that, the first year in a new community is its own gradual curve. Starting a new job this year, I have to get used to the places around school where students are, the schedules of each day and week, the personality of the community and its individual members, etc. Needless to say, it can be frustrating to try to build these connections from scratch over extended periods of time. It doesn't happen quickly, and patience can be hard to come by!
So eight months in, I am still not sure that I have such a connection with any students. I have most everyone's names down, and I feel comfortable having easy interactions with many of them. However, I still am looking for that core group of kids - the ones who will come hang on the couches after school, who will go out of their way to share news with us, who will bang down the doors when sign-up's go out for retreat leadership or service outings.
Well, the mixed blessing of a Catholic school is that everyone has to pitch in with the random tasks that it takes to make a school go. One of these lovely roles is cafeteria supervision. I have always enjoyed milling around during lunch to check in on students, hand out forms and flyers, and sort of goof around for a few minutes while students are away from classes. Well, for 25-30 minutes a day, I am in lunch with the freshmen and sophomores.
We had a rash of issues with table cleanliness (hard to believe, I know!), many of which centered on taking the condiments away from the table - where they dwell beneath a sign that says "Do not remove the condiments from this table" - and proceeding to make a mess with them and leave them there when they left the cafeteria.
I decided to become the enforcer of this ignored rule, the protector of the condiments. I took my position beside the condiment table and restricted condiment use to that spot right there. No taking the bottles to your table. No borrowing them and bringing them back. You ketchup your tots right here and put the bottle back.
Initially, I got reactions of confusion, disbelief, and frustration. Students couldn't believe I wouldn't let them take the bottle. Well, sorry, folks, you blew the privilege of ignoring the rule. Gradually, they understood it wasn't gonna happen and began to bring their food to the station to pour some ketchup into their tray or little containers. Over time, they began to get it and follow the rule.
Some students had no issue with my request. They were very pleasant in simply sticking to the rule and helping us keep the cafeteria clean. One young lady in particular was very specific in executing her ketchup acquisition. Having asked for a little paper cup to squeeze ketchup into, she approached the table, grabbed a bottle, and quite artfully deposited her ketchup into its new receptacle.
Squeezing the bottle to make a strong, continuous spray, she filled the bottom of the cup. Then, building the blob upward, she began to spray the ketchup in a circular motion. The ketchup made a swirling shape as it piled toward the rim. At that point, she was narrowing the circle to make a cone-shaped top. This was about as much ketchup as could safely fit in a little paper cup, and she had executed it to perfection.
I was quite impressed. After seeing her in action a few times, one day, I celebrated her feat and affirmed her skills. A few weeks later, when I grabbed a carton of fries for a snack, I brought a bottle of ketchup to her and asked her to share her expertise in dispensing some ketchup for me. She happily obliged.
Pretty stupid, right? Did I just right several paragraphs about ketchup? Did I take a stand in bogarting condiments? Did I get excited over a student's dispensing skills?
This is the stuff ministry was made of. I learned her name. I connected a skill, a quirk, a daily task to her. We talked. We had some laughs.
A few weeks later, she volunteered to serve in our Holy Thursday Prayer Service. When we got back from Easter break, she told me about a foot injury she had suffered. She says hello to me in the hallways, pretty much every time now. She's one of a handful who may be the early nucleus of a campus ministry core.
Sometimes, retreats create connections. Sometimes, classroom teaching makes the connection. Sometimes, a service trip, an after-school club, or a chance conversation creates the connection. This time, it was ketchup.
Ministry is a diverse beast. There is opportunity for encounter and interaction so often in daily life, and I'm grateful that my unusual stand for responsible condiment stewardship helped connect me to a student I did not yet know.
Hope someone fills your ketchup cup today.
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