Teaching Future Prophets OR Trying to Make “Chalant” Happen

Several months ago, just before my Lenten Instagram hiatus, I found myself cackling at a simple post by a stranger who made me feel seen. She writes:

“you’ll never catch me being nonchalant. I’m a diehard chalanter. always chalanting. giving so many chalants” (@ashleypaigey).

Same, Ashley. Same.

More recently, then, one of my favorite Instagram accounts, the truly hilarious @merriamwebster—yes, the dictionary—posted:

“Is ‘chalant’ the opposite of ‘nonchalant?’

There is no word ‘chalant’ in English. ‘Nonchalant’ is from the Old French ‘nonchaloir,’ (“to disregard”) ...

We hope you have an air of easy unconcern or indifference about this.”

I absolutely do not, Merriam-Webster.

As a college prep high school theology teacher, I have been struck by the push and pull between nonchalance and chalance, so to speak, throughout this past school year. In fact, in my 15+ years working with young people, I have never experienced students so intensely pressured to be nonchalant…nor a world so urgently in need of the opposite.

In my senior Catholic Social Teaching course, there were days this past semester during which the lack of ostensible concern among my beloved students almost defeated my chalant little heart. Activities and discussions that, in previous years, had provoked curiosity, passion, rage, and inspiration fell flat. In the face of suffering caused by systemic racism and misogyny, economic and environmental injustice, violence and war, students remained entirely unmoved at times. A shocking number of 18-year-olds seemingly have assented to the notion that “this is just how the world works.” One student in particular—a brilliant young chalanter— informed me of the popular “IDGAF” culture, which haunted me. (I’ll let you fill in the gaps!)

To be too concerned or too eager in 2026 comes off as awkward, “cringe,” naive, at best. At worst, chalance condemns a person to judgement, disappointment, and emotional overwhelm. Amid the onslaught of dehumanization that has been normalized since before my students reached double-digits, the vulnerability of caring seems ill-advised, even reckless. Young people have witnessed brave goodness punished and cold self-interest glorified. Pandemic, genocide, insurrection, the Epstein files, war, corruption, AI-fueled destruction of people and planet; if we were to let everything touch our hearts, how would we function? To lead, then, with a glaze of jaded disinterest, feels self-protective for young people, I suspect. This realization pains me.

It’s certainly not lost on me that moving from nonchalance to deep care, then following through on that care with courageous truth-telling and action, can be profoundly risky. Feeling awkward and judged—in person or online—is hard. Losing your job (vocation, livelihood, financial security) is harder. Being threatened, harmed, killed for caring in action is terrifying, yet prophets have known such consequences for centuries. While today’s readings do not lower the stakes of living chalantly in this world, they provide me real solace as an educator, as a parent, and as an American Catholic woman in 2026.

As usual, the prophet Jeremiah minces no words. Acknowledging the pain brought on by his courageous care and action, Jeremiah offers solidarity and understanding to the chalant truth-tellers among us: 

“I hear the whisperings of many:

‘Terror on every side!

Denounce! let us denounce him!’

All those who were my friends

are on the watch for any misstep of mine…”

Alongside this suffering, Jeremiah shares his felt experience of God’s presence with him. He proclaims his trust in the God of love and justice:

“But the LORD is with me, like a mighty champion:

my persecutors will stumble, they will not triumph…

Sing to the LORD,

praise the LORD,

For [God] has rescued the life of the poor

from the power of the wicked!”

In Matthew’s Gospel, then, Jesus similarly empowers his friends:

"Fear no one.

Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed,

nor secret that will not be known.

What I say to you in the darkness, speak in the light;

what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops.

And do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.”

Perhaps you, like me, like some of my students, have feared at times the cost of caring so much that you cannot bear to be silent. These readings remind us that we are not alone in this struggle, and we have never been. Courageous chalance has always been central to our tradition, even when it’s incredibly unpopular. Praying with Jesus and Jeremiah also brought to my heart and mind the countless students who do care—about other human beings, about the earth, about ideas, about beauty, about God. Young people give us reason for hope.

As Leslie Knope, Amy Poehler’s incredible character on Parks and Recreation, once said, “I care. I care a lot. It’s kind of my thing.” I’m grateful today for Jeremiah and the prophets, for Jesus, the ultimate chalanter, and for my students, the ones who care out loud and the ones still figuring out how. May they move us all to keep caring too.

Today's Readings

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Katie Davis-Crowder is an Ignatian-trained educator and spiritual director, a singer and writer, and a presenter and retreat guide in Chicago. Passionate about the intersections of spirituality, social justice, and the arts, she holds an MDiv from Loyola University Chicago and a BMus in musical theatre from The Catholic University of America. Katie delights in the world alongside her partner Kevin and their sweet toddler and rambunctious rescue pup. katiedaviscrowder.com