"Dad, why do Randy's parents send him to Christian school?" Cathy adjusted the history book that lay open before her on the living room carpet and pulled herself into a sitting position. Her dad was working on quarterly taxes at his desk in the corner of the room. He didn't respond immediately.

"Did you hear me, Dad?"

"Oh, sorry. Let me finish this one form. Okay?'

Cathy pulled her book into her lap and highlighted a passage.

"All right," Dad finally said. "Why do you think Randy's parents send him to Christian school?"

"I can tell you why Randy says they do. He says it's so he'll have a Christian worldview, whatever that means."

Dad pushed his papers back and turned in his chair. "Well, I guess that means they just want him to look at the world like a Christian should, but you don't need to go to a Christian school to do that. That's teaching that comes from your home."

"Randy says that his parents think that what they teach at home should be reinforced by the school instead of contradicted by it."

Dad sighed. "That's some fine sounding rhetoric. Do you think your school contradicts what you're taught at home?"

"I don't know. Give me an example of something."

Dad thought for a moment. "How about this — we teach you at home to be kind to others, to be considerate, polite, just nice."

Cathy tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "Well, they don't teach us anything one way or the other about that in school. In elementary school I think they have classes now, you know, character education, where they give little lessons about kindness and stuff."

"See," Dad said. "That's an example of school not contradicting what you're learning at home."

"Yeah," Cathy drew the word out. "But it might help if they taught that even in high school, because some of the kids are pretty cruel. Give me a better example, like something to do with worldview, so I can figure out what it is."

"Okay. Let's see. What are you reading about in your history book there?"

"World War Two. Hitler and all."

"Tell me some stuff you've learned."

"Hitler was a crazy man. He just wanted to take over the whole world. He killed millions of Jews and gypsies and other people he hated. He thought the Aryan race was superior to others. And, uh, did you know his soldiers had 'God is with us' written on their belt buckles? Isn't that weird? You wouldn't think someone like Hitler would care anything about God."

"He didn't. He didn't even believe in God. He thought Christians were stupid and deluded, and he forced churches to worship him."

"What? No way. There's nothing about that in our book. Why did they have something about God on their belt buckles?"

"Because Hitler knew it was a way to control people, to make his soldiers feel more powerful. He knew that many of them believed in God to one degree or another, so it was important to have God on his side."

"Are you sure?"

"I've done a lot of reading on the topic. I'm sure."

"Well, we didn't learn that in school. So does that mean the school is contradicting our worldview?"

"No. It just means they can't cover everything in the time they have. And also that they need to steer away from topics that could be controversial, especially anything to do with religion. Not all kids believe the same thing."

Cathy rolled her eyes. "I know that, Dad. But if something is a fact, even if it has to do with religion, why shouldn't we talk about it?"

"Teachers have to be careful. They could be sued or even fired. People are very sensitive about these things today."

"Well, it doesn't really matter. Religion isn't a big part of history, anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"If they can take it all out and still teach history, how important could it be?"

Dad drummed his fingers on his desk. "Can we come back to this conversation tomorrow?" he asked. "I want to give you a better answer to that question than I can right now."

"Sure," Cathy said and flopped back to the floor to finish studying for her history test.

Next Evening.

Cathy had just come in from school. She dropped her books on a dining room chair and drifted into the kitchen, following the scent of freshly baked cookies. Her mother handed her two oatmeal cookies, "That's all for now. Dad wants to see you in the living room. Here, take two for him." Cathy hugged her mom, "Thanks," she said.

"Dad, what did you want?" Cathy asked, handing him his treat.

"How would you like to go out to dinner tonight? Just you and me."

"What's the special occasion?"

"What? I can't take my daughter to dinner unless it's her birthday?"

Cathy grinned and waited.

"Okay, I wanted to continue our conversation from last night, and I thought it would be fun to do it over dinner."

"Sounds good," Cathy said. "Pizza or burgers?"

"Italian. Let's do something nice."

Over Dinner.

"How do you suppose the world would be different if Jesus had never lived?" Dad asked Cathy just as she shoveled a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.

Cathy thought as she chewed. "I don't know. There wouldn't be any Christians, of course. I guess more people would follow other religions."

"Do you think the United States would exist as it does today, with a declaration of independence and constitution that pledge to protect the natural liberty of mankind?"

"Gee whiz, Dad, I don't know."

"How do you think a system of morality would develop in a country without any religion?"

"Dad! These are really deep questions. I couldn't begin to answer that."

"Okay, let me give you an example. Do you know anything about the old Soviet Union, under Stalin?"

"A little."

"What was the moral atmosphere like during the years Stalin ruled?"

Cathy shrugged her shoulders. "I know the government spied on people a lot, and people didn't really trust each other."

Dad nodded. "And Stalin murdered millions of his own people while everyone sat back and let it happen — and even contributed to it and used it to their own advantage. The same thing happened in Germany. Hitler wiped out most of the influence of religion fairly easily, because most people didn't take their religion that seriously to begin with. They had no reason to try to live up to the standards of God, so it wasn't hard to get them to hate Jews or turn on their neighbors."

"Well, why didn't they take their religion seriously? Didn't their parents take them to church and all?"

"I imagine they did, but they didn't reinforce the teaching at home. It was just a Sunday religion most people had, not something that was important in every area of their lives."

Cathy shook her head vigorously. "That reminds me of something Randy said. He said one reason his parents send him to Christian school is because, how did he put it... because they felt like his religion should inform every aspect of his life. That's a weird way to say something, but I like the way it sounds — kind of philosophical, like you're trying to figure out the deeper meaning of life." Cathy blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed, as if she might be trying to sound too grown-up and her dad would find it amusing.

Dad didn't respond. He just sat looking thoughtful and chewing, so Cathy plowed on. "I like talking to Randy. He really thinks about stuff. Sometimes I can hardly believe what he says, because we study the same thing in school, but we pretty much only learn facts like dates and how many people were killed and a little about reasons for wars, sometimes the reason a war started. But Randy likes to talk about why people do horrible things and how it could have been different. It kind of makes my brain feel more alive to think about stuff like that."

"Yes, I know what you mean," Dad said. "That's how I felt when I started reading history on my own."

"The problem is," Cathy interrupted, "that there's no one to talk to about stuff like that. You can't do it in class. Too many no-no topics, and not enough time, anyway — there's only time for the most important facts."

Dad glanced at neighboring tables then sopped up some sauce with a big piece of garlic bread, making Cathy laugh. "Do you think the dates and statistics are more important than reasons behind them?"

Cathy shrugged. "I don't know. They're not as interesting. But still, that's what the teachers think we need to know. Can we get some dessert?"

"Sure," Dad said. "How about cheese cake? We might as well go for it."

Later that night.

Dad and Mom lay in bed, each reading. When Dad saw Mom nodding off, he reached over and closed her book, jogging her back to wakefulness. She smiled at him and asked, "How was your dinner out tonight?"

"Good," Dad said. "It made me realize how little time Cathy and I spend in meaningful conversation. She's really ripe for it, you know."

"I know," said Mom. "But fitting it in is tough."

Dad closed his book now. "Tonight, I asked myself a question I've been avoiding for a long time. Why do we send Cathy to public school?"

Mom looked surprised. "I thought we'd agreed years ago that it just made sense. We pay enough in taxes, and Cathy is involved in all the youth activities at church."

"It doesn't seem to be enough for her," Dad said. "She wants to understand things, not just know them. There's just no room for that in public school. I felt like I actually had to convince her that her religion has been relevant to the development of the world. She wasn't sure it was." Dad shifted his pillows and pulled up his blanket. "I can't help but wonder — if she doesn't think her faith has been relevant to the past, why should she feel it's relevant to her life now?"

"Oh, you worry too much," Mom yawned. "Cathy's a good girl and she loves church."

"Yeah, but I want more than that for her," Dad said, switching off his lamp and closing his eyes. "I want her faith to inform every aspect of her life and understanding."

Mom was already drifting off to sleep. "Don't worry," she mumbled. "She goes to a good school. Some of the teachers are even Christians..."