(finishing my post. Sorry it’s so long.)
I, for one, have no problem at all with children, including babies, in Church. I like seeing them; little souls just starting out on their journeys. I feel like thanking those parents for having them. There’s one thing about taking kids to Mass; they need to see what’s going on. When I had little kids, I took care to hold them up high so they could see what was going on. When they got a little bigger, I would lift them up so they could (with my help) stand on the back of the pew in front. They paid a lot of attention to the Mass that way. A little bigger, and I would put them in the aisle seat so they could peek out and look up the aisle. I encouraged them to do it, and if they stepped out into the aisle to see better, I didn’t stop them. After Mass, I took them to the front to light candles and say their little prayers. I remember a three year old whispering to me during the Consecration once “Why does Jesus get into that little ball?” (the host. I guess it looked like a ball to her. You really could have knocked me down with a feather. Don’t know how she came up with that.) Gave me a nice opportunity, after Mass, to explain to her about the Host and the Eucharist and Transubstantiation, and how someday she would receive Jesus too, and how special that would be. “But will He bleed?” she asked. That opened up a whole other topic. I realize a lot of young parents are tired and harried, and I bless them for their efforts. It’s not easy, I know. If they would appreciate child care, I wouldn’t resent their desire. But as for me, the more kids at Mass, the better. Now that I’m older, I like taking the grandkids to Mass, to stations. I don’t know. I just like seeing children there. My old Italian grandfather carried candy in his pocket at Mass so if a little kid wandered distractedly out in the aisle, or came down the pew toward him, he could give the child a piece of candy and send or take him/her back to his/her mother. Kept the kid well occupied for a little while, and did no harm. I liked that. When I was a little kid, I learned to recognize people of every age. Through the years, I watched them age, get old, and I usually knew when they died. I can’t exactly say why that has been important to me, and why I have often thought about all those years of their prayers, but it has been. As a child, I would watch, particularly, old people, and, since it was inconceivable to me that old people could sin, I thought of their breathed prayers being like incense, ascending straight to God. I don’t know why they fascinated me so, but they did. I could tell some kids had clothing on that was worn or too big or little for them, and I would look at their parents; the lines on their faces, the veins on their hands, and imagine how hard they worked for that too-long dress or bloused-out shirt, and everything else. And, of course, they were praying to the same God the rich parents were praying to. If you watch somebody standing still for awhile, you notice a lot. And I think maybe you can appreciate their lives more for that. I particularly remember an old lady named Kate Riordan. She was short and bent, and she always sat in the same place. So did we, and the vigil lights were always behind her from my perspective. I remember watching her say her prayers with the vigil lights flickering behind her like a halo. I knew she had to be young once, and maybe beautiful. She had even been a kid once, and I knew it, but I couldn’t picture it. I thought maybe she committed some sins when she was younger, but watching her, I couldn’t help thinking she had finally beaten the world and was truly holy now. There was some comfort in believing that. She got older and more frail, and I watched her do it. She always wore the same hat, year in and year out. I “knew” her before I was in school, but I was in the parish school when she died, and like all the parochial school children in the parish then, I sang at her funeral Mass. I can’t tell you why watching Kate Riordan pray, decline and die made my faith stronger, but it did. And I think it meant more to me than a childcare Bible reading would have. Children, I think, see and think about a lot more than we sometimes think they do, and I would not want to deprive any child of such experiences.
