In Memory of a Great Teacher: Legacy, Conscience, and Lent

This reflection includes themes of grief, faith, and institutional harm. It is offered gently, in the spirit of Lent.

On 4 February 2026, a highly respected and inspiring teacher from my high school, Mr Steve Donlan, passed away.

Like many former students of Bethany College, I received the news with deep sadness — and with gratitude. I’m grateful for the teachers who shaped not only my education, but my sense of dignity, responsibility, and hope for a life of service beyond the “safety” of school.

In a letter sent to Bethany families the following day, the College described Mr Donlan as “a passionate educator” whose impact on students over decades was “immeasurable.” He was remembered as a mentor, an advocate, and a pastoral presence for generations of young women — someone who gave generously of his time to ensure students’ needs were met, both academically and emotionally.

Those words are beautiful.

And they are true.

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Part I — A Legacy Beyond the Classroom

At Bethany, teachers like Mr Donlan did more than teach subjects. They formed people.

They cultivated courage. They recognised potential and called it forward. They encouraged leadership, intellectual confidence, and moral seriousness. Students were guided to imagine lives shaped not by fear, but by service — lives grounded in conscience and the belief that education exists to uphold human dignity.

As a student, I was known affectionately by teachers as “St Vicki of Bourbous.” That nickname was not about piety. It reflected leadership, conviction, and a willingness to stand up for others. Those qualities were not accidental. They were patiently and deliberately nurtured by educators who believed in the inherent worth of the person before them.

Mr Donlan was part of that fabric.

His influence did not end at graduation. Some of the students he once taught went on to become teachers themselves. Some returned to schools like Bethany as early-career educators — guided, mentored, and supported by people like him. His legacy lived on not only in students, but in the teachers he helped form.

This is the quiet, enduring power of a great educator: a life that continues to shape others long after the classroom door has closed.

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Part II — Lent, Conscience, and the Demands of Justice

This loss has compelled a deeper examination of conscience.

For more than two decades, my adult life has been devoted to Catholic education and higher education. As an academic librarian, I served clients in the Schools of Educational Leadership and Education, supporting the formation of future teachers, principals, and religious educators — many of whom would go on to serve in Catholic and other Christian schools. My family’s relationship with Catholic education spans decades and has long been characterised by service, trust, and mutual respect.

It is precisely because of this history that the moral dissonance I now experience cannot be ignored.

The Catholic tradition teaches that institutions, no less than individuals, are bound by moral law. 

Catholic social teaching affirms the inherent dignity of every person, the preferential protection of the vulnerable, the primacy of conscience, and the obligation of justice — not only in intention, but in action.

Where harm has occurred, the Church’s own teaching is clear:

justice requires truth, accountability, and restitution.

Words alone are insufficient.

Lent is not a symbolic season.

It is a call to conversion.

It asks whether power has been exercised in fidelity to the Gospel, or whether institutional self-protection has displaced moral responsibility. It asks whether systems intended to serve the common good have instead caused harm — and whether those with authority are willing to name that harm honestly.

In my lived experience, actions taken by Catholic institutions fell gravely short of the values they professed to teach. The impact on my life and on my family was profound. I state this not to inflame, but to bear truthful witness — because silence in the face of injustice is itself a moral failure.

The Catechism reminds us that theft is not limited to material property alone, and that restitution is an obligation of justice, not charity. Where dignity has been stripped away, repair is not optional. Without repair, there can be no genuine reconciliation.

As the Church enters the Lenten journey, this moment demands more than reflection. It demands moral courage. It demands listening. And it demands action consistent with the Gospel proclaimed.

The example of educators like Mr Steve Donlan — who lived their vocation quietly, faithfully, and with integrity — stands as a moral measure against which institutional conduct must be examined. His legacy exposes the distance between what is taught within the safety of a school community and what is sometimes practised beyond it.

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Truth, Repentance, and Hope

This reflection is offered in memory of a great teacher.

It is also offered as an appeal to conscience — that truth be named, that harm be repaired, and that institutions formed to serve the common good once again align their conduct with the dignity they proclaim.

The promise of the Resurrection is not cheap hope.

It follows repentance.

“The truth will set you free.”

Only when truth is fully faced can healing begin.

If this reflection feels heavy, please pause, take a breath, and know that you are not alone — as we enter Lent, may what is painful be held with gentleness, and space be made for truth, repair, and hope.

Lent invites remembrance, examination of conscience, and the courage to choose truth - even when it is costly