One of my students who had just completed his first year at the Choir College invited me to visit his former school. This student was one of those students in your choir who you do not easily forget. A vital spirit every rehearsal, he would have made a mark on anyone who came in contact with him. He possessed a remarkable ability to connect to the music. Upon talking with him, one sensed an immediate openness and honesty quite unlike many persons of his age. He was an older student who delayed attending a four-year college in lieu of other experiences. While the three years certainly make a difference, the aliveness in this young man certainly sets him apart.

                At the end of the school year, I was taking my daughter to an away soccer tournament. This tournament happened to be in the area of this student’s former boarding school. I received an email almost every day checking as to whether I could come and visit the school.

                His gentle insistence coupled with his enthusiasm prompted my curiosity. “So tell me about St. Gregory’s,” I asked. “Well, it’s a small school; 60 boarding boys, grades 9-12. It was founded by an order of priests who were propagating the Latin Mass.” I asked him how he heard about the school. “Through the magazine Latin Mass,” he replied. I was a bit taken aback.

                I had heard from other students and had learned first-hand of this student’s love for chant and all things Latin. In fact, he had exquisitely coached six of the men in the choir this year to sing the entire Ubi Caritas chant without a conductor. The singing was done with incredible artistry and honesty. At the time, I thought nothing of it other than the work of some very fine young musicians.

                When I arrived at the tournament, I gave this student a call to set up a “tour”. We agreed on a time and place. In the meantime, I conjured up idyllic images of a luxurious private school with rolling green lawns and well-manicured facilities.

                The student picked me up and we drove about twenty minutes outside one of the cities in the Northeast. The area was nothing to speak of; in fact, it was a bit depressed. No elegant estates, just small homes that had seen better days. We rounded a corner where I saw the sign “St. Gregory’s Academy”. I glanced up the hill. Not what I had envisioned.

                We passed the headmaster’s house; it was just that, a house. We continued up the dirt road to the main building. I looked for other buildings; there were none.

                “What was this before it was a school?” I asked. “It was an orphanage and then later it was a retreat house for the diocese. Then I think the Order bought it and began the school.”

                We pulled up to the front door. We passed through doors that reminded me of the doors that were on the ACME store I shopped in with my parents as a child. There were not many people around. The place was rather non-descript. While clean, it was rather dingy. Floors were slightly dirty, furniture in classrooms was just bare essentials; but I was struck immediately by one fact. I saw a place that was dingy and a bit worn. It had no modern bells and whistles; in fact, many of the sections were in disrepair. However, as this young man showed me around, you might have believed that he was showing me around the most beautiful of mansions. The excitement of showing me this place, for some reason, was so special to him. He took me from dingy classroom to dingy classroom. “In this lounge we had Physics class my senior year.” In this room? I muttered to myself.

                “Is there a Chapel?” I asked. “Oh yes,” he said happily, “It is where I sang Mass this morning.” Up another dingy flight of steps, and he opened the door. I couldn’t believe it. It was a stunningly beautiful Chapel, awash with the smell of incense. Light streaming through beautiful leaded stained glass windows. The space was even more beautiful because of the contrast with the rest of the building. Upon entering, he blessed himself with holy water and genuflected. As a Catholic, I knew I should do it too, but felt awkward. (Why?)

                We spent a few quiet moments and then left. We headed down the stairs. “The athletic fields are this direction,” he told me. We walked a few yards to a cleared field. It had two soccer goals at either end, with one of the most unusual water towers I have ever seen. It was an octagonal brick tower encircled with windows at the top, capped with a cupola. At the base, the door to the tower was stone, almost castle-like. I looked for the moat!

                “Isn’t this beautiful?” he asked. To me, it was a below-average athletic field. To him, it was a beautiful place filled with memories. We walked that field quietly for awhile, and then it all began to make sense.

                Lessons for teaching are all around us. I was experiencing one of the dying places where spirituality was more important than things; where young men are grown from the inside out; where the history and roots of one’s own spirituality is not forgotten. My God, I thought, I am in a place where spirituality is the most important aspect of education.

                At that moment, this place looked beautiful to me, too. I began to feel why it was such an important place. The symbolism of the Chapel became very powerful. It was the most beautiful room for the most important thing…spiritual life.

                I am now intensely envious of this young man. For I feel that he knows spirituality deeper than I do, because he enjoyed an education that was spiritual and obviously nurtured by love. His love of Gregorian chants and love of the simple direct things gave this young man an incredible spiritual lucidity and human clarity. The school had little money; but they clearly had an incredible mission. They do not need money to educate these boys. They are giving them the gift of spirituality. What greater gift can one give?

                As we left, he asked me if I liked the place. “I love it…you are very fortunate to have gone to school here,” I told him. He replied, “Thank you for coming to see our school.”

                It is very strange. Walking into that place changed me. It reaffirmed that the place where we do our art is not of consequence. It is the spirit and love that fills the place that makes for one’s human education. This young man will do remarkable work in the world and will touch many lives because he came from a place that valued spirituality as the core of the educational experience.

                We should all be so lucky.