I’m sitting with 16 Catholic lay ministers.

Three generations in the room, like always. Young ones in their mid-20s, others in their late-40s, and some a little older than that.

We are gathered in rural Louisiana around a rectangle made up of white plastic folding tables. We are here to discuss the benefits of the training they have received. Almost half of these laypeople are in the midst of getting their Master’s Degrees in Pastoral Theology, and the rest are in the midst of completing the detailed certification required to serve their community.

Bona fide. Serious. And lacking funds.

I’ve been invited here by the Diocese of Baton Rouge, which has good news to share: a grant from the Our Sunday Visitor Institute will provide these lay ministers with the funds they need to complete their education.

After introductions and sandwiches, everyone takes a few minutes to share what this training has been like for them.

Today I listen extra hard. I lean in.

For more than two hours.

It takes no time for me to be reminded of something we all know to be true.

Education done with inspiration contributes to one’s formation. Education done with a blessed combination of intellectual quality, fierce conversation, soulful reflection, critical thinking, human touch, and a happy heart leaves its mark.

For life.

What I hear today is nothing new. I hear this all the time from laypeople who have gone through integrated and inspired programs.

When we experience this kind of education, we remember it, describe it, testify to it.

For life.

Today I hear one person after another use familiar phrases describing “growth” and “being challenged” past their comfort zone. One after the other describes how new knowledge about this or that “opened my eyes,” “helped me understand things,” and “gave me some clarity.”

When one or two use the word “miracle,” a couple of others smile and nod. One even qualifies a miracle as “a real miracle.”

We laugh.

We know.

A lot of what I hear today is vocational stuff.

A couple of people mention being called to this ministry by someone who saw something in them.

Some mention being called by God “inside me.” 

A few describe the vocational surprise a lot of us can relate to: “I never would have thought that I would be doing this.”

But I am struck by the quiet joy I hear in their voices every time they say things such as, “Now I can serve this community” or  “This ministry is the way I can serve my community here.”

When someone talks of the inner peace they enjoy because of the chance to do this ministry, heads nod again. Lots of them.

Then a couple of them describe the teacher who inspired them the most. It is impossible not to notice the emotion behind their words—and their pauses—as they search for the right way, the very best way, the truest way, to describe that special teacher.

Every program has one or two legendary faculty members. In this program, one teacher seems to be the founder. The guarantor. The hound of Heaven. The relentless one. The advocate to the higher ups. The go-between. The educator.

Those who speak of her fight back tears.

She has retired. Moved to Florida with her husband. She’s battling cancer.

But we all know that inspired educators stay with us.

For life.

It is our turn now. Rhonda, the diocesan leader who doggedly pursued the grant, tells of a story in the Baton Rouge paper. An exemplary, award-winning teen was asked to describe some of the biggest influences in his life. The young person pointed to the Confirmation retreat led by some of the trained ministers in the room. Rhonda reminds them that the teen told this to the largest daily newspaper in the state of Louisiana, not the diocesan paper.

She gives these lay ministers their props.

I say I’m taking away two things. The way they said, “Now I can serve this community,” and how both the academic content and the spiritual impact of this program were evident in the way they articulated their experience.

I tell them this must be a darn good program. I tell them that their level of articulation and integration is not normal. Yet it seems normal to them.

They laugh.

I sit here with 16 Catholic lay ministers.

All inmates in the Louisiana State Penitentiary.

For life.