While we were at Bishop Maginn High School today, Sue showed us Zinnia’s crown for her to wear at the Senior Farewell Banquet in June. Zinnia is a princess, the student body chose the Prom Queen, and she wore the crown well today and with at least some dignity.

Watching the two of them pose for me on stage, I realized I just had to write something about the incredible work Sue Silverstein does in that school; how many lives she shapes, how many lives she launches, how many she saves,  and how many lives she touches so deeply.

She is a love and compassion machine, a true disciple of Christ. She doesn’t just go to church; she is a church all her own.

Sue has become one of my closest and most valued friends; she makes so much of my work at Bishop Maginn possible. From the first, she accepted me and trusted me, and guided me. I never had that before in this work, and it worked.

It’s hard to break into a community like that from the outside; I struggled on my own; Sue brought me inside.

She teaches theology and art at the always struggling Catholic High School. She is a devout Catholic, but not a rigid one. I always tell her she is one of the good Christians, the ones who really do believe in Christ and follow his pleas to be good to the poor, the needy, and the vulnerable.

Sue must work 20 hours a day; she symbolizes the power of the teacher and the stunning impact the good ones can have on children.

I’ve seen her walk one girl away from quitting school and then sitting down with her for hours and hours to write her college application and get accepted.

I see her comfort the Myanmar children whose cousins and neighbors and, in some cases, mothers and fathers are being systematically gunned down by the military there.

I see her fight to get her students grades up; I see her helping them to write their applications and loan forms, I see her gently coaxing me to send gift cards, I see her carrying food from pantries to homes and apartments, I see boy sand girls crying on her shoulder when there is trouble at home, or when they want to quit, or when they act out and skip their schoolwork.

She gently nags them to eat well and think about their lives and want to be. And then she is there to help them get there.

Last summer, she spent July and August – she has not taken a vacation in memory – on her hands and knees scrubbing the rooms and hallways with disinfectant and pasting distancing markers all over the school so the school could open despite the pandemic.

On weekends, she comes in to plant the school’s vegetable gardens and distribute their products to the poor and hungry. Last year, a gang destroyed her garden; she and her students never said a word; they just replanted it in the summer heat.

She has that rarest of  gifts, the ability to freeze a loud student in his tracks or quiet a classroom; she says things like, “please sit down and be quiet, I love you.”

I admit I would have given anything to have had a teacher like Sue, but I am also moved by how her faith is real and genuine. I am delighted when I can do some good two or three times a week; she does good a dozen times a day, all day, every day.

This week, she is comforting the Myanmar kids, getting help for the family injured in a car crash,  helping a refugee junior get a second job to pay her mother’s hospital bills, helping several prepare for college.

Sue cannot ask for help; she just can’t. I learned how to work around it.  She has never asked me for a single thing except for gift cards for the hungry. I have to go to the school, look around and badger her to learn about the school’s needs and her children’s needs.

But somehow, she lets me know. I can sense when something is up.

Once, she let me know a very bright student could no longer pay her tuition after her father died. She never asked me for help; she just set up a meeting with the young woman. We got her tuition.

Before the pandemic, between a dozen and a score of students at the school would come early to open her “morning snack” closet and pick out energy bars, cookies, bananas, and milk and juice in cartons.

There was no breakfast for them at home. During the pandemic, we made sure everyone who needed food had a gift card. She knew exactly who needed one.

She noticed when one girl came to school in a winter storm wearing rubber sandals. She did send me a picture of that; we did her and several others warm shoes for the winter.

A senior, a troubled young man, was caught driving and drinking. If he lost his license, he would lose his job, and if he lost his job, the family would lose its food.

She badgered him into a treatment problem and persuaded him to get tested weekly until everyone was sure he was all right. He got his license back and kept his job, and went on to college, which she helped him to do, where he plans to study law. He calls her all the time for guidance.

She doesn’t quit on people, especially children. And they know it.  She takes the good part of Christianity and lives it faithfully.

Her students’ life could have fallen apart, snarling him in the poverty trap and wheel. She didn’t let that happen. Sometimes, watching her in a classroom, I buy the idea of the angel who sometimes is sent down to use to keep love and mercy alive.

Sometimes she urges her students to do things; sometimes, she battles them to stop doing things. She has headed off many a catastrophe and wrongheaded turn just since I’ve known her.

I am always nagging her. Why didn’t you tell me she/he needed some help? I don’t want to bother you; I don’t like to ask.

“You’re busy,” she says, “I don’t want to be bothering you.”

I’ve given up this struggle; I tell her now when it’s time to make a wish list or help a kid in trouble. She loves Wish Lists and tells me I’m awesome. It means a lot, coming from her.

I am so lucky to have Sue Silverstein as a friend; she has not had an easy life, she makes ridiculously little money, and her dedication to her students is profound.

And these needy children are so lucky to have her as a teacher. She proves that we can work miracles with these children if we wish to.

During the worst of the pandemic, we talked almost every night. I think we steadied one another; I know she steadied me. She is Zinnia’s Godmother, and she takes the work seriously. Zinnia melts when she sees her.

There is always a bowl of water when Zinnia comes, some stuffed animals, some treats, a blanket to lie on.

Last week she told me about a campaign she launched to get one of her moody and complicated students into a good college.

She wrote letters to the college, called the admissions office, showed the student how to write an admissions letter, persuaded the parents to let her go, wrote to the college president.

She spent hours and hours helping to launch this challenging and damaged young girl’s career into health care.

Because of her, this child, who has overcome so much, will get into college, and her life will be turned around; like so many of the other students she has taught, she will call and visit Sue every couple of months for the rest of her life.

Her students are never done with her. What a beautiful thing to see when I go to visit her.

I really needed to acknowledge her wonderful work in this piece.  She is one of those quiet heroes in the world who brings light into darkness and hope when there is despair.

She reaffirms love for me. She reaffirms hope. She reaffirms faith. She saves lives all the time.