The high school I attended used to employ a man. He was employed to de-traumatise the children at my school, which is a job he performed brilliantly, and also as a careers advisor, which as far as i can tell is a job he didn't perform at all. But these are not the things I remember him for.

The counselor at my school was a monk. We called him Brother, and he walked around all year, in freezing temperatures and howling winds, wearing a thin, white, cotton robe and sandals. He was slow to anger, quick to laugh, compassionate and willing to listen. He never hurried, he never had something more important to do. Everything about him, from his rosary beads to his beard, was soothing in its simplicity. Sure, he may have used a laptop. He may have had an electronic stapler, but there was always a vibe that he could give these up any time he wanted. He wasn't dependent, an addict like the rest of us. He knew the answers.

He was an inspiration, and now that he's gone the school is that much more normal, that much more modern. It employs a professional de-traumatiser, and careers advice is carried out by a man who also happens to be a major in the army reserve. This means that although we actually get careers advice now, it can be a little narrow. Of all the posters that advertised various vocational pathways, around 50% where for the armed forces, that is, until guerilla forces stole and burned them. The school has a different vibe about it, more harsh, perhaps a little more militant, and oh so much less unique. Less personal. Any school can fill itself with propaganda. Any school can abandon its charges to a 'professional'. But it took my school to employ Jesus.

We miss you Brother.