In a time when young people are measured by grades, rankings and credentials, it is easy to forget that education is fundamentally about formation — about shaping adults who know how to live well and serve others. Faith-based schools take that charge seriously. They do not ask students to choose between excellence and empathy, or between achievement and integrity. They suggest that a life well lived requires both.

What does this look like in practice? Often, it is remarkably ordinary. In classrooms where faith and learning meet, students are guided to read attentively and to listen with compassion. They are encouraged to build arguments and to build community. With time, these simple daily practices — paying attention, observing, and caring — shape who a person becomes. The lessons are sometimes quiet, but they are durable.

At many schools, service is a requirement; in faith-based schools, it is a rhythm. Students begin with small acts — writing cards to the elderly, collecting items for families in need, showing up for a community day where every child, even the youngest, contributes something meaningful. Those practices do more than “check the box”. They train the imagination towards the common good, reminding students that leadership is not only about visibility or titles, but about showing up for others.

A true sense of community cannot be created by curriculum design alone. In a faith-rooted environment, students are known — and not only for what they can do, but for who they are becoming. That sense of belonging is tangible when graduates return to the places that formed them.

At Mount Saint Agnes Academy, for example, nearly 30 members of staff are alumni. Their presence does not prove a marketing point; it tells a story. It reflects that their education was rooted in relationship, and that the values instilled — respect, service, compassion — were powerful enough to draw them back as adults. That kind of continuity is difficult to measure, yet anyone who has walked a familiar hallway beside a former student-turned-teacher knows its significance.

Adolescence is not simple; the world students inherit is complex, sometimes confusing, and often loud. Faith-based education does not offer easy answers, but it does offer a compass. In religion classes, in assemblies, in quiet conversations after home room, students are invited to consider questions of meaning and responsibility: what does love of neighbour require of me? How should I use the gifts I have been given? Where do I find hope when things are hard? Those questions are not extras; they are central to becoming a person who can navigate complexity without losing sight of their own dignity or that of others.

Academic rigour matters too, of course. A strong curriculum challenges students to master skills and cultivate curiosity. Without an overarching vision, rigour risks becoming a frantic race rather than purposeful progress.

Faith-based schools aim to situate excellence within purpose. When a student learns to read well, they are better equipped to understand the world. When they learn to serve well, they are better equipped to improve it. The pairing is quiet and, at its best, seamless.

The results don’t come in dramatic ways — they surface quietly, almost unnoticed. They look like a graduate who volunteers on weekends because it is simply what one does. They look like a class that organises a drive for a local organisation without needing a spotlight. They look like faculty who remember the names of siblings, and classmates who make space for someone sitting alone. They look like the steady courage to do the right thing when no one is watching.

“Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” — Micah 6:8

If there is a single claim to make on behalf of faith-based education, it is this: it forms people who carry their schooling into their living. In an age hungry for competence and conscience, that is no small gift. Schools cannot promise to fix the world; they can, however, help to raise the kind of neighbours, colleagues and citizens who make the world more bearable, and sometimes more beautiful.

That is the enduring value — not of a brand or a building, but of an education anchored in purpose.

• Anna Faria-Machado is the principal of Mount Saint Agnes Academy