Let The Little Children Come To Me
Wrote this on a Sunday night last November (in the middle of a good old-fashioned pity party... feeling particularly grouchy, cranky and a myriad shades of blue). Popped up as a memory on my journal....Oh how much has changed in a year!
We are solitary beings wandering the vast grounds. Sleep deprived eyes focussed on our littles walking uncertain but surprisingly determined steps.
As the priest celebrates the Eucharist inside the church, I am outside watching my two year old discover rocks. A little further, another mother watches her smiling boy race a yellow toy car. A young dad walks his little girl (cute as a button in tiny, colour coordinated purple and pink overalls) by the Adoration Chapel. The couple with a newborn who just walked into church, walk back to their car, presumably to feed the baby.
All of their lives so similar to mine. And yet we barely make eye contact. Because I'm sure those parents are as afraid of being judged by me as I am of them. As parents with young children, we have at some point discovered that kindness is rarely found amidst church pews.
The husband and I are certified "outstanding" Catholics, considering it's been over 2 years since we sat through a full Sunday Mass without a single distraction. It's been over 2 years since we properly saw the inside of the church. We spend most of our time teetering on the last row, the last bench, the corner seat, the side stairs, the side wing and sometimes even the dreaded church compound wall (which to the untrained eye may immediately look like irresponsible parents imparting very little faith to their offspring because really if the parents are sitting on the wall outside, imagine the future of that poor child - cue self-righteous indignation).
Most days we make it till the penitential rite and out the door he runs. Some days we just sit outside. Some days we stand by the gate because honestly, he will eventually end up there. I have overwhelming gratitude for outdoor speakers. Atleast we 'hear' mass.
John loves to run around. He cannot sit still. He loves running to Mama Mary's photo at the entrance and give her a flying kiss saying, "Mama muah!" He also likes counting pebbles, stones, gravel and tiny grains of sand on the tarred ground.
He loves looking at dogs, "Cookie woof woof". He likes pointing at the cross, saying, "Jessuss!"
And God forbid there's an empty autorickshaw in the parking lot! The boy loves autos. No fancy cars or bikes for him... It's always the humble green and yellow auto. (In hindsight, he was going 'vocal for local' even before the Supreme leader's PR crew thought about it)! We will then proceed to spend the remainder of our time exploring that auto. Only when the owner returns, would I be able to pry him away... Yay for stranger anxiety!
When John does sit still for a short while, he likes having his snack box open eating crispy, noisy chips (never occurred to me to bring noiseless snacks - rookie mistake - underestimating the solemn silence inside church). Or he likes to speak louder than the priest especially during the homily - he thinks it's a grand competition. Or he sits on the floor counting numbers loudly, oblivious to the annoyed, disapproving and sometimes bemused looks of adults all around him. If he was feeling exceptionally adventurous, and I was momentarily distracted, then one would find him waltzing down the aisle, his gaze fixed on the altar. One mortified second later, the husband or I would find ourselves walking as fast as church decorum would allow, trying to get to him without causing much mayhem. If you're an introvert like me, then what follows is my own personal nightmare.... The walk of shame back to your seat, clutching your wriggling child like your life depended on it whilst trying to ignore the stony looks of the congregation. Nightmare!
I pacify myself with scripture, "Well, even Jesus did say, 'Let the little children come to me.' "
Sometimes I remind myself of Papa Francis celebrating magnificent Masses even as little children wandered around him.
Random, albeit, well-intentioned strangers come up to me with the most delightful suggestions. I call them 'sancti-mommies and daddies’. Nuggets of parenting wisdom ranging from,
"You must (emphasis on the 'must') train him to sit quietly beside you."
To
"Give him a sibling, soon!”
This last one baffles me on many levels but anyhoo…
I’ve learnt to filter through the chatter. I smile politely. Offer thanks. Excuse myself from the situation... thankfully a toddler can get you into trouble but he can also get you out of it.
Ah... John needs me. Bye.
There are also a few kind souls who stop and tell us what an energetic little toddler we have or something benign like "he's so cute" or compassionately remind us that this phase too shall pass.
I remember once a sweet old priest stopped by us. I thought I was about to be told off. But he said, "It's so hard keeping them inside isn't it? Especially when the outside looks so much more interesting. Don't worry dear, it's just a small season. Before you know it, he'll be all grown up. You will put him in Sunday school and miss him so much. But for now we must let him be a baby."
I remember the kindness of Fr. Raymond.
A season, he called it. This time in my life when he’s so small and needs me all the time. When I can’t eat, sleep, work, rest or even attend Mass without his little hands pulling me away. Let him be a baby. Something I hear from more experienced parents with multiple children and those that have been where I am today…. The days are long but the years are short.
So I cherish my Sundays with him. While the solemnity of the Mass enriches me even from a distance, the endearing innocence of my child brings me closer to the Lord.
"In each child, God whispers a new secret to the world; adds a new dimension of immortality to creation.” — Ven. Fulton Sheen.
Reading this in November, 2020, gives me some perspective. By no means has my toddler mellowed down. In fact he’s more boisterous if that’s even possible! The past 8 months, we’ve not been to church. The pandemic has given us a unique faith experience. Churches were closed and we participated in Mass online. My child was free to be a child and as his parents we were free from judging eyes and intrusive conversations.
Even as churches have opened everywhere (with masks, sanitizer and social distancing in place), children below 10 years and the elderly over 65 years of age have been asked to stay home.
Even as we settled into this new normal, I know many of us are feeling rather fatigued with the coronavirus having hijacked our previous lives. I know I am. And what suffers first is my spiritual life and my relationship with God. From there, it seeps into every other aspect of life. So I went back to the Eucharist. The unique grace present in adoring the Eucharistic Lord is unparalleled. There I’m made anew, again and again.
In college, I happened upon a booklet titled, 'The Testimony of St. Catalina'. I've never looked at the Mass the same way again.
If you'd like to read it, here's the link:
https://www.michaeljournal.org/articles/roman-catholic-church/item/the-holy-mass
And if you're more visually inclined, then there's this beautiful video:
It became quite obvious that I had taken the privilege of attending Mass in person for granted. What I would give now to have John run around the grounds while I tried to listen to Mass, however unsuccessfully. Because even in my weakest, most distracted moments, there is the reassuring presence of God. And the overwhelming truth that at every Mass, He still wants me and my playful child (even if we’re at the gate).
“Babies cry, make noise, go here and there. But it annoys me when a baby cries in church and there are those who say he needs to go out. The cry of a baby is God’s voice: Never drive them away from the church!” — Pope Francis
