Guest column by Teresa Lewandowski,
Head Teacher, St. John the Baptist School, Plattsmouth
I’m sure you would not be surprised to hear it, but being a school leader is hard. Even at a wonderful little school like mine, where children are sweet (mostly) and parents are supportive (mostly), thoughts of school regularly keep me awake in the middle of the night. Worry, fear, and responsibility can be a heavy burden, but I have found that the psalms bring a sense of strength and hope for our Catholic school, and a peace in the mission to serve it. These verses help me focus my prayer for the school and serve as a guidebook for school leadership.
There is no easy way to say this: schools today live with the shadow of violence. Every administrator, teacher, or school secretary I know carries this fear, whether we speak it aloud or not. The constant vigilance — locked doors, safety drills, visitor protocols — can weigh heavily on the heart. Yet when fear threatens to take root, I can turn to Psalm 121:
“The Lord will guard your going and your coming, both now and forever.”
It has become my morning prayer as I stand at the school’s front doors, greeting families or preparing for the day. I imagine God’s angels posted there too — unseen, but real. I ask that His protection surround our building, our students, our teachers, and even the parents driving away to work. It is a quiet but powerful act of faith: to entrust our safety to the Lord while doing everything in our power to keep our community secure.
There are days when Psalm 46 feels almost written for educators:
“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”
Every word breathes courage into the daily worries of school leadership. Are our plans enough? Have we done everything possible to keep our children safe? In that psalm, I am reminded that while preparedness is essential, it is trust in God that ultimately sustains us. We can be both vigilant and faith-filled — strong stewards who rest in the assurance that our refuge is not in locked doors or cameras, but in God Himself.
Every Catholic school leader knows the ache of financial uncertainty. Tuition doesn’t always cover costs, and fundraising can feel like a never-ending climb. We stretch budgets, we pray over spreadsheets, and we hope that generous hearts — and perhaps soon, expanded school choice programs — will help us continue the mission. In these moments, I find great peace in Psalm 37:3–5:
“Trust in the Lord and do good, that you may dwell in the land and live secure. Find your delight in the Lord who will give you your heart’s desire. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will act.”
Those words remind me that success in a Catholic school cannot be measured in dollars alone. It is faithfulness — and trust — that God asks of us. If we are committed to His mission, He will act in His time and in His way.
And then there is Psalm 127. I return to this verse again and again:
“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.”
Catholic schools are not our personal projects; they are God’s. And no matter how hard I may try, my efforts alone will not produce success. When we place the school’s future in His hands, we can work hard without losing peace. I’ve seen it happen — a donor appears just when a family needs help to make tuition payments, an experienced Catholic teacher becomes available just as another must leave, a memorial gift arrives just as new science equipment is needed. These moments are reminders that the Father knows our needs and generously provides for them.
Our children are growing up in a world that is designed to drown out God’s voice. Social media, secularism, and cultural confusion press in from all sides. Topics like gender ideology, the sanctity of life, and even simple respect for others are no longer safely assumed. For Catholic educators, the mission has never been more urgent: to teach truth with clarity and love. When I feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of this challenge, Psalm 119:105 grounds me:
“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light for my path.”
That single verse reminds me that our task is not to chase every cultural storm, but to keep walking by the light of God’s Word. The psalms themselves model how to hold fast to truth in confusing times — not with anger or fear, but with steadfast trust. Every subject we teach, from math to art, can become an echo of divine truth when offered with intention. Virtue education, too, becomes more than a program — it becomes the heartbeat of the school’s culture.
Catholic identity cannot survive as a slogan or a banner on a website. It must be lived daily: in regular prayer before the crucifix hanging above a classroom doorway, true, but also in how the order found in mathematics reveals God’s truth, or in teaching science students of the wonder and beauty found in God’s creation. The psalms help us anchor that identity not just in religion, but in every aspect of a living faith.
Even families who value Catholic education sometimes drift away from the Church’s sacramental life. We see it in empty pews at Sunday Mass, in the hesitation to attend confession, in the growing comfort with “spiritual but not religious.” It can be discouraging — but it can also become a call to prayer. I often return to Psalm 51, the psalm of repentance:
“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me… Restore to me the joy of your salvation.”
As a leader, I pray it for my school families, and I pray it for myself. It’s a humbling reminder that renewal begins not with judgment, but with mercy. When our own hearts are renewed, our witness becomes more inviting, because we live in a spirit of humility and hope.
If we long for families to rediscover the sacraments, we must model the joy they bring. A school rosary, a monthly time of adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, an open sharing of spontaneous prayer — these small moments are seeds of conversion. And when God waters them, they bloom in ways we might never expect.
The psalms have become, for me, both prayer and leadership manual. They do not erase the fears that come with modern education, but they sanctify them — turning worry into trust, and duty into discipleship. When I pray the psalms for my school, I am reminded that we are not simply administrators, teachers, or parents. We are co-workers in God’s vineyard, tending souls with care and courage.
In these uncertain times, courage for Catholic schools will not come from policy or funding alone. It will come from prayer — the kind of prayer that anchors us in God’s promises. Whether we are unlocking a school door, preparing a lesson, or facing another budget meeting, we can echo the psalmist’s timeless words:
“The Lord will guard your going and your coming, both now and forever.”
And in that promise, we find peace — and the strength to begin again tomorrow.
