Amongst the many discourses going on in the Catholic social media world, one is really beginning to tick me off. So far as I’m aware, the whole thing began when a man tweeted about his experience going to Divine Liturgy at a Melkite church. The man was chastised by the priest afterward, being told that he should have left sooner because his little one was being a distraction.
This has led to a whole discourse with people like
, Hayley Stewart, and (amongst many others) weighing in. On the one side, you have those (mostly men) who believe that children who cannot “reasonably behave” should not be at Mass. One such individual even granted that in such cases at least one parent (I’d guess he’d say the mother) no longer has an obligation to go to Mass and therefore should make way for those who have no such excuse and therefore must attend Mass. And there is some historical evidence for this. When my own children were young, I struggled with their noisiness and tried to research what families with young children did back in, say, the Middle Ages. The most I could find is that at least one member of the household (often a widowed or spinster female relative or a servant) would stay home while the rest of the family would attend. But, say many of those on the other side of the debate, where are children to learn reverence at Mass if not, well, at Mass?Arguments can and have been made on both sides of this debate. And truthfully, I think there may be many sleep-deprived parents who welcome the dispensation of their Sunday obligation in order to take care of the hairless goblins which have been switched out for the perfect angel babies they had at the beginning. But for me, there are only two arguments that matter in all of this. 1. Children, even new born babies, are part of the Church. 2. Christ called for the children to come to him.
Back before I became Catholic, but while I was flirting with Catholicism under the guise of the Anglican Church, I remember having a conversation with a fellow Anglican. We were discussing the theological merits of infant baptism. And I’ll never forget the argument he made. He said, “Whenever we say we’re going on a church picnic, we don’t say, ‘I’m going on a picnic with the church and some babies.’ We say we’re going on a picnic with the church.” Infants and children may not have the legal, ecclesiastical requirements adults do. And caring for children can suspend certain requirements for the adults who care for them. But this does not mean that a parent should exclude themselves from the Mass because they have babies who may cry loudly, because they have toddlers who will try to sing along or who will become afraid the thurifer comes out holding, what looks to the child, like a metal ball of fire. Of course, if your child is sick, if they are already yelling and screaming before you’ve left the house, consider keeping them (and yourself or your partner or all of you) at home. But you often won’t know how your children will behave until you get into Mass. And yes, if they get unconsolably loud, maybe get up and walk them to the back of the church, or give them a snack, or start pointing out all the pretty things in your church (an excellent argument for redecorating our churches so that they are filled with beautiful windows with discernible images, painting, icons, and statues). But the question of when you should leave should be based on how much you can handle, not those around you.
Secondly, and more importantly, there are the words of Christ, which I find more beautifully rendered in the King James, “Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” The context of this is rather straightforward. Parents are bringing their children to Jesus so he can bless them. The disciples try to stop him, and he rebukes the disciples and says the above. Then the parents come with their children and he blesses them. It really is that simple, Christ wants our families with him. It’s part of why so many conversions that take place in the New Testament are household conversions, including the servants and children.
I could go on to recount how Christ called us to be child-like and what that means, but instead I want to tell a story. Just this past Sunday, on the Solemnity of the Holy Family, there was a young mother sitting in the pew behind us. She was there with who I assumed was her mother and her two young children. One was a baby, no more than a few months old. The other was a rambunctious toddler boy. Both were on the loud side throughout Mass. The boy seemed to like the singing and added his own “joyful noise” to that made by the rest of us. He gabbed and asked when this would all be over almost incessantly.
Meanwhile, his baby sister fussed off and on, only being soothed when mom or grandma stood up in the aisle with her, rocking her back and forth. Then, after my family had received our Lord in the Eucharist, a child goes running down the aisle. At first, I thought it was the toddler behind us. But no. It was another little boy, the son of a friend. I smiled, as I had throughout at all the little noises going on behind me. Mom came up the aisle, her son dangling at her side when suddenly another little boy went running down the other aisle. One of the first runner’s brothers had gotten an idea and, quite literally, ran with it.
So mom, with a child still flopping in her arm on one side, ran after the other. I was reminded of when the twins were little and would frequently run off in different directions. And if you’re wondering, the father of the runners was taking care of baby brother in the foyer and hadn’t seen the running.
At the end of Mass, I turned to the singer behind me and said, “You did it, buddy! You made it!” I wanted to say more, but I didn’t want to come off as patronising. But the truth of the matter is, I was happy. Those rowdy sounds meant something important. A child, many children in fact, were in attendance at Mass that day. They were present when time and eternity met. They were present when bread and wine ceased being bread and wine in substance and became the body, blood, soul, and divinity of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, whose own parents once lost him after a liturgical event (granted he was much older and had divine purpose behind his absence, but still, one sees the precociousness of a child in our Lord’s actions, his humanity needing still to learn the proper time and place while his divinity taught us something about his purpose).
As a layman, and one with only academic degrees in theology (that is without some kind of licentiate from the Church), my thoughts on this matter must be considered as just that, my thoughts. But I believe quite firmly that sounds of crying and laughter and “singing” from children (as well as those with disabilities) are signs of a living parish who worships a living God, a God who once himself became a baby. And despite the song, I feel certain that night was anything but silent. To deny the baby a place in the pew is to deny the baby a place in the inn. I don’t know about you, but that’s one biblical character I have no desire to be associated with.
So let us all be like Christ, and suffer the children to come unto to Christ, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.