A tiny fist grips the back of the pew. A tuft of blonde hair pokes over the top. There’s the second hand, holding a suspiciously sticky pacifier.
The interruption raises his eyes to me and opens his mouth widely. Loudly. “BLAH AB.”
You could say he’s a really short, really inconsiderate intruder disrupting my prayer time. But it’s better to say that he’s a child of God spending his time in church, in the presence of God, in one of the only ways he knows how: making some noise.
During Mass, children tend to remain children. That means tears, laughter, and unintelligible babble will probably be floating from their pews during times of meditation and reflection for their parents and fellow parishioners.
But how else should I see myself, kneeling before my Father, if not as a child longing for her parent’s attention?
In Matthew 19:14, Jesus says, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
Welcoming children into Mass with open arms is a beautiful way to practice this call from Jesus. They are a gift to have in church to remind us of our own smallness and of the need for holy, childlike joy.
I’ve never heard anything so beautiful during the consecration of the Eucharist as the sound of a child’s laughter, crying, or babbling. It wakes me up, pulls me out of my pride, and reminds me how much that sounds like my own garbled, hopeful prayers.
The child can’t yet understand what’s happening on the altar. Grace pours out on him all the same, as a freely-given offering of love.
But I do know the gravity of the sacrifice of the Mass, and if a noise during prayer is anything, it’s a beautiful opportunity to die to self and choose to focus on Jesus amid distraction.
After all, if there’s one hour of my week that shouldn’t be about me, it’s this one. The beauty of children being children in Mass calls me outside of what’s comfortable and easy.
The Mass is the source and summit of our faith as Catholics. Staring at a parent trying to wrangle a frustrated toddler, whispering to a friend “Wow, that kid is so loud,” or making assumptions about the irresponsibility of the parent, should indicate to me that pride is winning more space in my heart than charity.
In Matthew 18:3-5, Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
Okay, wow. That sounds pretty important. Now I want to observe the faith of children.
Shoot, I can’t! They all were taken out of Mass because they were being disruptive.
Maybe it’s not such a bad thing for kids to be heard and not just seen through the glass wall of a cry room.
So thank you, Jesus, for gap-toothed smiles and disgruntled frowns and Cheerios in pews, since a church full of inconveniently noisy, joyful, weepy children is a church living in the beauty of the kingdom of heaven.
Meghan Schultz is a sophomore studying English.