Louisiana Imposes Morality on Minors
Wednesday, June 19, 2024, will go down in history as a red-letter day for the state of Louisiana, the United States of America, and perhaps planet Earth. That was the day Louisiana Governor Jeff Landry signed legislation requiring ten mysterious commandments to be displayed in every public classroom in the state,1 with cafeterias conspicuously excluded. It may be said Gov. Landry provided the missing eleventh commandment, one God would have included Himself had there been classrooms at that time.
Although no one is sure when the commandments were written, or by whom, the Bible is crystal clear that these ten — there were others that didn’t make the cut — were inscribed by the finger of God on two tablets of stone2 and given to Moses on Mount Sinai, recommendation enough for any governor to order them to be displayed on walls of classrooms of all instructional institutions statewide. Gov. Landry is amazed he got there first.
Just as true religion should do, the display of the Ten Commandments turned up the heat for instructors all over Louisiana. A teacher in one elementary school in particular faced problems with her second-grade pupils one can only assume were characteristic for other teachers leading classes throughout the state that day.
It started innocently enough.
“Morning, class. Sally? Sally, come sit down,” Miss Emily urged her. “We’re getting ready to start with our book reports. Sally? Sally, come on. Get away from there. Go to your desk.”
“What’s this?” Sally wanted to know, staring up at a piece of paper hanging in a modest frame on the wall between the fire extinguisher and the classroom door.
“Nothing,” Miss Emily answered. “Come sit down.”
“Then why is it here?” the little girl wanted to know. “It wasn’t here yesterday.”
“No, it wasn’t. Just come sit down, Sally. The class is waiting,” Miss Emily said.
“What’s a commandment?” Sally asked, deciphering the letters. She was the best reader in the class and liked showing off a little bit.
“What’s the matter with you?” yelled one little boy, who was obediently sitting at his desk. “Don’t you go to church?”
“Chuck,” Miss Emily chided him. “Don’t ask Sally that. That’s none of your business.”
“If she doesn’t know what a commandment is,” Chuck complained, “that means she doesn’t go to church. I know what a commandment is because I go to church. If she doesn’t know, she doesn’t go to church.”
“Nevertheless, Chuck, it is a person’s private affair what they do in their free time,” Miss Emily informed him.
“So,” Sally piped up, staring at the paper hanging in the frame. “What’s a commandment?”
“It’s a law, stupid!” Chuck shouted at her. “Everybody knows that.”
“Chuck,” Miss Emily cautioned, “You don’t want to be rude to your classmates, do you? Sally, please go to your desk so we can start our —”
“Adultery,” Sally said.
Miss Emily flinched. “What did you say, Sally?”
“Adultery,” the girl repeated, her face pressed up close to the paper. “What’s that?”
Miss Emily huffed. “That’s something I feel it would be better for you to ask your parents.”
“I did once,” Sally said. “They wouldn’t tell me.”
“Well, then I certainly can’t,” Miss Emily flustered.
But Sally wasn’t listening. “What about this one?” she asked, pressing her finger on a particular line.
“Which one?” Miss Emily asked reluctantly.
“This covet one. Number ten.”
“Recess!” Miss Emily bellowed. “Recess!”
“Recess?” Annette whined. She wanted to give her book report. “We just got here.”
“Oh boy!” yelped Leonard, who galloped immediately out the door followed by the entire crew, which had flown up from their desks in an instant to follow. Sally scurried after them.
Once the classroom had been cleared of children, Miss Emily hurried down the hall to the principal’s office; knocked on the door; did not wait for an answer; pushed her way in past the receptionist/secretary/postal clerk/coffee maker/school counselor without paying her the respect due her; knocked on the door of the principal’s sanctum; did not wait for an answer; and burst in just about at once in a disheveled heap. Howard, sitting at his desk preparing for great things, stared up at her in blank surprise.
“Howard, I’ve got a class of nice kids, but with those commandments up there, things got ugly pretty fast.”
“How do you mean?” Howard asked.
“Chuck accused Sally of being an atheist,” Emily said. “I didn’t even know he knew the word. And Sally started asking questions about things I’m not allowed to talk about.”
“Like what?” Howard asked.
“Like what adultery is.”
“We can’t get into that,” Howard spluttered.
“And the covet commandment,” Emily said. “I’m not even sure what’s in that. It mentions coveting thy neighbor’s wife, doesn’t it? They want to know what covet means. And what if they ask what a wife is? Can I say a wife is a woman? Or would that get me into trouble, too? This is kind of scary. Whose idea was this?”
“You know the answer to that, Emily,” Howard tried to calm the distraught woman. His soothing tone had no effect.
“I’m not allowed to talk about any of that stuff,” she wailed. “I’m not even allowed to mention it to you. I could lose my job just being here.”
Howard suddenly sat bolt upright, an insight having just jolted his being most pleasantly.
“Listen, Emily,” he said, “the law says we have to display them, but it doesn’t say anyone has to read them. They have to be legible, in a big, clear font, but it doesn’t say how near — or how far away — they have to be posted. Go back to your classroom and as soon as you can — alone, you know — take those commandments down, hide them, wait a few days, maybe a week, maybe two weeks. Then, when the kids have forgotten all about it, put them up somewhere high, in a corner. Right above the windows. Yeah. With the glare, no one will be able to see them. We’ll be fine. They’ll be up there for the school board to check if they want. Everything legal. But no hassles for us. No more jeopardizing your job by having to explain what lust is. As a matter of fact, I’m going to recommend this to the other teachers. Keep it under your hat, Emily. And thanks for the heads-up. This will save us huge headaches.”
Intent on finishing her work quickly, Miss Emily was severely startled, hurting her hand on the fire extinguisher, when Sally rushed into the classroom.
“Miss Emily!” Sally said in surprise. “What are you doing?”
Miss Emily jumped back, her face hot and very red, annoyed that the little tyke could scoot in so fast without making a sound. Miss Emily nevertheless quickly composed herself and said with her typical brave honesty that had been so sorely tested that day: “Sally, I am moving the Ten Commandments up a little bit so that everyone can see them.”
“If they’re up too high, we won’t be able to read them,” the girl pointed out.
“You don’t need to read them,” Miss Emily reassured her. “All you need to know is that they’re there, and that God told everybody a long time ago what is right and what is wrong, and if you’re not sure, God will let you know. That’s what faith is. You just need to have faith.”
The girl thought for a moment. “Then I don’t need any Ten Commandments, do I?” she asked glumly, still smarting from Chuck’s attack that morning.
Miss Emily smiled broadly and shook her head.
Sally walked out of the room with the baseball mitt she had rushed in to retrieve, apparently satisfied by that answer. After checking that she was really alone, Miss Emily took down the framed notice of God’s proclamation of the Ten Commandments and tossed it into a lower desk drawer, then moved to the windows to find just the right spot to post in broad daylight God’s pesky, PGA commandments where no one could see them.
Posting the commandments likely falls into more trouble than it’s worth, more harm than good category. There’s plenty of propaganda on bulletin boards in college hallways, mostly of the be yourself, do it your own way, diversity is good variety.