Every Sunday, many families experience the same scenario: we want to go to Mass and worship the Lord, but we have young children. If the parish does not have a children's room, going to the main nave can become a real odyssey. Not because children are a problem, but because, often, our churches are not designed for them.
Before becoming a mother, I confess that I too dreamed of “perfect Masses”: a profound and approachable priest, a carefully planned liturgy, a well-tuned choir, an atmosphere of silence conducive to prayer. For me, silence was almost synonymous with the presence of God.
But when my children arrived, everything changed. I discovered that Mass can be experienced in a different way. That there is a hidden grace for parents who continue to go to Mass even when everything is against them, including the community itself.
It was during those “interrupted” Masses that I understood, for the first time, what it means to live the Eucharistic mystery with simplicity. Thus, feeling out of place due to the constant impatient glances directed at my children, I understood that God's presence did not depend on my concentration, that Mass was not a yoga session. He is there, even when I cannot follow every word, even when I do not hear the entire homily.
This is not about encouraging disorder, of course. All parents try to ensure that our children behave respectfully and do not interrupt, but too often we find that the Church has no place for them. If there is no room or space where children can move around freely, families end up at the door or on the street, trying to listen to Mass from outside. And for this effort, I want to say as loudly as possible to parents: the Church does not mind children! No matter how much some priests say otherwise or how many attendees turn to you and your child with disapproving looks.
I would also like to experience Mass in a different way, without my children's questions and constant demands, especially when they are not even five years old. However, although it may seem that such young children are unaware of anything, I have had experiences that cannot be replicated in a religion class or in a community where there are no children.
After the liturgy of the word and after consecrating the wine, my son becomes emotional and, looking at the chalice that the priest raises above the altar, he says to me in a loud voice: “Mom, it's Lightning McQueen's cup.”. When I hear him, I can't help but smile, trying to control my laughter. I look at my son and see his eyes shining. So I give him a kiss, thinking, “My son is mixing everything up,” I think at first. But then, when I look back at the chalice where God is present, I feel a certain envy towards my son. I too would like to look at him with that same admiration, with that same desire.
Since then, at every Mass, I ask the Lord to grant me the grace to be a child again, to mix everything up, to desire him as my son desired him that time: as the star of his favorite movie.
