Not to distract from the seriousness of the previous week's posts, but. . .
We were in Mass yesterday, and as my toddler has rejected the prospect of staying in the nursery during Mass, even when a nursery is available, we have adopted the habit of bringing several items for her amusement including, I am ashamed to say, a few small but fragrant snack items--Gerber fruit snacks, fruit strips, and breakfast bars (which are crummy, and so only for emergencies). This started because she would sometimes be ready to eat before the end of Mass, and a little something was necessary to keep her quiet. Once she has reached an age of understanding "we don't really eat in . . . X," we will remove the snacks from our routine.
These fruit snacks are softer versions of the ones available to be packed in school lunches--they come in a little pouch and she just loves fishing them out with her little hands until they are all gone, at which point she crumples the bag and we have to do a little minimal noise control. So yesterday, she had eaten her fruit strp and rooted through her little activity bag to find the fruit snacks, which I opened for her and she promptly gobbled up. Several minutes passed, and she made a little noise and, with surprise & triumph, showed me two more fruit snacks rescued from the pew! Now I thought for sure that I had monitored fruit snack consumption so that none escaped. But she ate the two fruit snacks and I returned to trying to listen to--oh, probably the homily at this point. The baby fidgeted a little, walked back and forth on the kneeler in her bare feet, having taken off her shoes during the readings, presumably to sample the texture of the floor and kneeler with her toes. She settled down again, this time between Daddy and Momma instead of between Momma and Brother. And what do you think she found? A yellow, pineapple shaped fruit snack! She again regarded it with pleasure and surprise, promptly dropped it in the pew, recovered it with my help, and ate it happily. So I'm starting to become amused and a little embarassed. I know I monitored the initial consumption of fruit snacks better than that! But these things were multiplying like. . . you guessed it--"loaves and fruit snacks." After all, "fruit snacks" started with the same letter and has the same umber of syllables and the same stress pattern as "fishes." So I had just finished this thought--of questionable taste (unless you ask the daughter, who would have found it delicious, no doubt), when it was time to stand for the Profession of Faith. Guess what? I caught site of yet another fruit snack--on the floor in front of my husband's feet! So amid my amusement, I try to keep my daughter occupied so that she doesn't try to rescue the dead fruit snack from off the floor. Finally, as we sat again, I motioned to my husband, who retrieved the offending object.
I imagined the older woman behind me, who at various points seemed amused by the toddler's antics and perhaps pleased that she wasn't making more of a disturbance, wondering how on earth we focused on the Mass. Well, I think I've realized that the experience of a Mass with family sometimes involves being thankful for the sweet little person who causes such distraction! (And catching what glorious moments we can in between!) At least, that's my answer for yesterday!
* * * * *
On a different subject, Entropy reminded me in her post of the wonders of 4 o'clocks--small flowers that bloom promptly at 4 o'clock (daylight savings time notwithstanding)--that are impossible to kill and have the most wonderful fragrance! She posts a picture. I remember that we had them in the greatest varieties! Yellow & light pink, fuschia, striped. . . My grandmother would always try to cross-pollinate to get new varieties. She would tie little strings around the branches of the ones she pollinated with other colors so that she would remember where the seed would be. Meanwhile, my cousins & sisters would collect the seeds in little piles--they called the not-quite-ripe ones "stripeys" because they were black striped with green.
I haven't had any luck getting them to grow in Texas. I'm not sure if the ground is too hard, or if it's too dry, or what. In New Orleans, you just drop them on the ground and they sprout almost instantly. Here, when I tried to grow some, nothing ever happened. Anyway, it was nice to be reminded of these pretty little flowers.
Showing posts with label Catholic Mass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Catholic Mass. Show all posts
Monday, July 9, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Sunday Mass and the Catholic Toddler
BabyCatholic (my daughter, who is 15 1/2 months) writes. . .
Every week there a couple of days when Daddy and Brother are both home all day. At the end of this time, towards evening, they take me to a place where they splash in water, but they won't let me play in it. And there are no duckies. They sing, but only let me sing at certain times. They especially won't let me yell and talk when they're on their knees. A man is talking up front, but he won't notice me when I try to get his attention. There are books in front of us that I can't play with. And if I try to take one of the thin pages out of the books, boy do they get upset! Tonight, all I was trying to do was get off the padded step-thing on the floor and get out onto the aisle to explore a little and say 'hi' to all the people who were looking at me, but would they let me? No. So of course I had to scream! What's a baby to do? Clearly Brother didn't train these parents well enough!
My mother used to say that when faced with the decision of whether or not to have me baptized as an infant, she decided against it because she would have had to promise to bring me to church every Sunday, and she just didn't feel like she could do that with a baby. In a similar gesture, my grandmother stopped attending Mass when she had three young children at home. And, to add another generation to this saga, I (we, actually) have had our share of challenges, though we do not give up so easily!
BabyCatholic is at the age when she is still very, very cute when smiling (most of the time) and quiet, or chattering happily. But she is at the stage when people feel compelled to shoot those "can't you shut that kid up?" looks when she lets out a pterodactyl scream (one of her nicknames is Banshee) or otherwise asserts her independence. (Incidently, we are not really born with Free Will. We acquire it between the ages of 10 and 20 months.)
The "shut that kid up" look comes most often from parishoners who do not particularly mind when the 20-somethings discuss their after-Mass plans during Communion, or when the well-to-do family of 8 comes in after the Gloria and takes the front pew, no matter who happens to be occupying it. Many of these generous, non-judgmental souls have grown or semi-grown children of their own. However, for some reason, the priests also seem to take mild- to moderate offense if the Eucharistic prayer is interrupted by a shriek or if there is an audible rip from the direction of the baby with the hymnal. I'm sorry, Father, but didn't you notice that she was quiet during the Consecration? There has to be a special place in heaven for parents who wrestle with babies in Mass.
I do wonder whether there is more that could be done to make parents of young children--particularly young children of the squirmy ages--feel more welcome at Mass. My options all involve either vexing clergy and laity alike, or separating my family. One parish we have been attending lately will likely be our new parish home because they offer a 5:30 P.M. Mass (the only time locally that does not conflict with a baby meal time) and a nursery. The first time I used the nursery was three weeks ago today. I pretty much stormed out with SquirmyCatholic (you know who I mean!) during the first reading, deposited her with two friendly women, and returned for the Gospel. The entire time I was looking back to make sure they were not bringing her to me crying. Much as I enjoyed the opportunity to focus on the Mass, I felt that there was something missing. Perhaps because there was. It feels somehow wrong to split up the family during Mass. I remember when she first noticed the statues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Conception. She pointed to Jesus and said, "hi! . . . hi! . . . hi!" This evening, she tried to investigate the contents of our mouths after Communion. There's something special in these moments, if only because her innocence redirects our attention to certain elements of the Sacred.
The Orthodox Roman Catholic has beautiful, evocative words to say about Sacred Silence. I have experienced the silent, reverent beauty of the Tridentine Mass--before I had my second child! For me to do my part to provide for the Sacred Silence in the Masses I attend, someone must be exiled--my baby, or perhaps myself. I could, perhaps sit in the windowed second-story room constructed as an afterthought in the renovations of the student parish we had, until recently, attended regularly. The view is. . . Wait, what view? The room can not accommodate more than 2 adults with a child each. In the parish that generously provides a nursery, the "crying baby room" is actually the Narthex. From The Catholic Encyclopedia:
"In early Christian architecture a portion of the church at the west end, separated from the nave by a low wall or screen and reserved for the catechumens, energumens, and penitents who were not admitted amongst the congregation."
From Wikipedia:
"The narthex of a church is the entrance or lobby area, located at end of the nave, at the far end from the church's main altar. Traditionally the narthex was a part of the church building, but was not considered part of the church proper. It was either an indoor area separated from the nave by a screen or rail, or an external structure such as a porch."
This provides a good indication of the location, I think. Basically, it's the foyer--the first level, where one partakes of Holy Water in preparation for entry into the church proper (or the Church proper, as the Baptismal font is also located in this area in this particular church!) Noisy children and their unfortunate parents are treated as "catechumens, energumens, and penitents who were not admitted amongst the congregation"--not quite worthy of admittance. We either sit together in the isolation booth, or we split our family, which, unified and fruitful, born of a Sacramental Marriage, is supposed to provide an example to others within the Church.
This evening, the pastor was rehashing a Pro-Life homily that he has given almost verbatim at least two other times in our memory. Unhappily, I was left with the message, "We're Pro-Life, but we don't want them crying in church." In all fairness, I don't believe this is what he would have wished.
Every week there a couple of days when Daddy and Brother are both home all day. At the end of this time, towards evening, they take me to a place where they splash in water, but they won't let me play in it. And there are no duckies. They sing, but only let me sing at certain times. They especially won't let me yell and talk when they're on their knees. A man is talking up front, but he won't notice me when I try to get his attention. There are books in front of us that I can't play with. And if I try to take one of the thin pages out of the books, boy do they get upset! Tonight, all I was trying to do was get off the padded step-thing on the floor and get out onto the aisle to explore a little and say 'hi' to all the people who were looking at me, but would they let me? No. So of course I had to scream! What's a baby to do? Clearly Brother didn't train these parents well enough!
My mother used to say that when faced with the decision of whether or not to have me baptized as an infant, she decided against it because she would have had to promise to bring me to church every Sunday, and she just didn't feel like she could do that with a baby. In a similar gesture, my grandmother stopped attending Mass when she had three young children at home. And, to add another generation to this saga, I (we, actually) have had our share of challenges, though we do not give up so easily!
BabyCatholic is at the age when she is still very, very cute when smiling (most of the time) and quiet, or chattering happily. But she is at the stage when people feel compelled to shoot those "can't you shut that kid up?" looks when she lets out a pterodactyl scream (one of her nicknames is Banshee) or otherwise asserts her independence. (Incidently, we are not really born with Free Will. We acquire it between the ages of 10 and 20 months.)
The "shut that kid up" look comes most often from parishoners who do not particularly mind when the 20-somethings discuss their after-Mass plans during Communion, or when the well-to-do family of 8 comes in after the Gloria and takes the front pew, no matter who happens to be occupying it. Many of these generous, non-judgmental souls have grown or semi-grown children of their own. However, for some reason, the priests also seem to take mild- to moderate offense if the Eucharistic prayer is interrupted by a shriek or if there is an audible rip from the direction of the baby with the hymnal. I'm sorry, Father, but didn't you notice that she was quiet during the Consecration? There has to be a special place in heaven for parents who wrestle with babies in Mass.
I do wonder whether there is more that could be done to make parents of young children--particularly young children of the squirmy ages--feel more welcome at Mass. My options all involve either vexing clergy and laity alike, or separating my family. One parish we have been attending lately will likely be our new parish home because they offer a 5:30 P.M. Mass (the only time locally that does not conflict with a baby meal time) and a nursery. The first time I used the nursery was three weeks ago today. I pretty much stormed out with SquirmyCatholic (you know who I mean!) during the first reading, deposited her with two friendly women, and returned for the Gospel. The entire time I was looking back to make sure they were not bringing her to me crying. Much as I enjoyed the opportunity to focus on the Mass, I felt that there was something missing. Perhaps because there was. It feels somehow wrong to split up the family during Mass. I remember when she first noticed the statues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Conception. She pointed to Jesus and said, "hi! . . . hi! . . . hi!" This evening, she tried to investigate the contents of our mouths after Communion. There's something special in these moments, if only because her innocence redirects our attention to certain elements of the Sacred.
The Orthodox Roman Catholic has beautiful, evocative words to say about Sacred Silence. I have experienced the silent, reverent beauty of the Tridentine Mass--before I had my second child! For me to do my part to provide for the Sacred Silence in the Masses I attend, someone must be exiled--my baby, or perhaps myself. I could, perhaps sit in the windowed second-story room constructed as an afterthought in the renovations of the student parish we had, until recently, attended regularly. The view is. . . Wait, what view? The room can not accommodate more than 2 adults with a child each. In the parish that generously provides a nursery, the "crying baby room" is actually the Narthex. From The Catholic Encyclopedia:
"In early Christian architecture a portion of the church at the west end, separated from the nave by a low wall or screen and reserved for the catechumens, energumens, and penitents who were not admitted amongst the congregation."
From Wikipedia:
"The narthex of a church is the entrance or lobby area, located at end of the nave, at the far end from the church's main altar. Traditionally the narthex was a part of the church building, but was not considered part of the church proper. It was either an indoor area separated from the nave by a screen or rail, or an external structure such as a porch."
This provides a good indication of the location, I think. Basically, it's the foyer--the first level, where one partakes of Holy Water in preparation for entry into the church proper (or the Church proper, as the Baptismal font is also located in this area in this particular church!) Noisy children and their unfortunate parents are treated as "catechumens, energumens, and penitents who were not admitted amongst the congregation"--not quite worthy of admittance. We either sit together in the isolation booth, or we split our family, which, unified and fruitful, born of a Sacramental Marriage, is supposed to provide an example to others within the Church.
This evening, the pastor was rehashing a Pro-Life homily that he has given almost verbatim at least two other times in our memory. Unhappily, I was left with the message, "We're Pro-Life, but we don't want them crying in church." In all fairness, I don't believe this is what he would have wished.
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