Pew meditation
Just back from the Palm Sunday liturgy. Every year I forget that half the church is full of people who don’t otherwise go to Mass, and every year I forget that they will be there.
Our pastor welcomed them all, as he should have, at the end of Mass encouraging them to come more often…and of course they will on Holy Thursday and Easter… maybe Good Friday and next Christmas.
So what’s the problem? Or what’s my problem? They don’t know what to do or how to behave. Why are they there?
So in a spirit of self-discipline and educating myself, two inquiries.
1. Observations from or about people who only go to church on “high” holydays. Why?
2. Observations from those who go all the time and have figured out what to do about the seldom-comers. Pray for them? Scowl at them when talking, carrying on, sitting so you can’t kneel? ETC.? Admonish them? Welcome them? Go to an unpopulated church? Stay home?
I rarely go to Mass.
But I hope I am not a distraction. I kneel and stand at the right time, don’t trip over responses, and I sing on key. I know how to move unobtrusively out of the way so communicants can move past me gracefully without my actually getting into the communion line myself.
However, I apologize to anyone if my mere presence distracts/detracts from his worship.
I would prefer to go back to the Episcopalians–and I sometimes stop in for morning prayer on weekdays there on the sly–but Raber believes that having converted myself and having promised to raise my kid Catholic when I had him baptized, that I have an obligation to go through the motions once in awhile, and not confuse the kid or entice him to think about switching denominations.
And I don’t think Raber, who goes every Sunday and holy day of obligation, is entirely wrong. Let the Church have it’s shot at my kid. Maybe having brought him to the Church, even though I have not been a successful convert, will shave some years off my time in Purgatory.
Besides, one occasionally feels the need to praise and thank God with others, and to participate in the work of the church (brownies for the fish frys!) even if one does not feel completely in communion any longer.
That’s my story, anyway (and I would request people NOT e-mail me offline to remonstrate).
Maybe Margaret would like to talk more about why people like me bother her so much.
I actually aspire to be one of those people who only goes yo church at Christmas and Holy Week. I was an adult convert and had some trouble learning all the things to do and say, but I muddled through for about three years despite the problems I had with a degenerating eye disease (Stargardt’s). It’s been a few years since I stopped going and I miss going, especially on days like today when I feel so left out of the Catholic experience. But I remember very well hearing the other people at my church going on about not just what people were wearing, where they sat, how they sang, etc , but also making fun of those who only came on Easter of Christmas …. given that I can’t drive to church, don’t have nice clothes, know nobody else there, and add in those memories, and I don’t have the courage to go back.
Jean, it sounds pretty obvious to me that you’re not who Peggy’s talking about. If you’re not planning on talking loudly throughout the entire Mass, then welcome, and please sit near me!
I was at the same Mass as Peggy, as it happens, and came away thinking basically the same thing: I always forget what a zoo it is on Palm Sunday, and I wish I knew how not to be so distracted by it. The biggest problem, for me anyway, are the parents who let their kids misbehave. I feel sorry for the kids, because they have no idea why they’re even there. And the parents who let their school-age kids talk and sulk and hit each other with their palms and so on make me feel like I’m watching Supernanny. Of course, that’s not limited to Palm Sunday and other major feasts, but the concentration is denser on those days. I try to be careful about where I sit (the biggest distractions at my parish, for me personally, are actually regulars — so I’ve learned to plan accordingly)… And when all else fails, then yes, I just pray for whoever is distracting me!
Jean Raber: You can sit next to me anytime; in fact, I want you to sit next to me anytime!
Some observations from an ‘every’ Sunday choir director. :-)
I have done music at the same Sunday Mass for almost 23 years from a ‘front of the church’ vantage point. I have noticed that at our parish it is not so much that the ‘extra’ folks at Mass on Palm Sunday, Easter and Christmas are ‘strangers’ who only go to Mass on those days. It seems to me that, at least at my parish, more people make an effort to attend those particular Holy Days so that ‘everyone’ is there. These folks may usually get to Mass once a month or so, but make the extra effort to show up on ‘special’ days. I like to think of it as holiday dinner at the family house. Everyone shows up. Not everyone has the best table manners, but we’re family and should be happy to see one another. :-) Personally, I love to hear the chatter of little kids. (Maybe that’s just the getting-old mother in me.) This tells me that our parish is alive and well!
P.S. Jean Raber, I read this blog mostly to see what you have to say!
I think we’d all like to be with Jean.
Part of the problem is the emphasis on sacramentals, which for some and some cultures took on a kind of superstititious value.As in all else, patient teaching, if possible, is required.
My experience is much like Anna Kovalcik’s: our swelled numbers at Christmas and Easter are not for the most part due to those who only go at Christmas and Easter, but due to those who come every two or three weeks, but all show up on those days. Of course we occasionally get those folks who don’t behave very well in Church, but they aren’t really all that much of a problem. I’m sure the girl who brought he knitting simply didn’t know that some people around her might find it distracting.
I’m surprised that there aren’t a few more curmudgeons, like me, out there. Well, I know they’ll turn up eventually.
Mollie, I’m sorry for laughing out loud, but I have never been to a church where a 7-year-old kid with a palm frond will not try to whip his buddies with it, no matter how much catechesis he’s had or how many times Supernanny has been at his house.
At the local parish, Mrs. Garcia folds the fronds into palm crosses for the kiddies, which quells some of the whipping activities. This also spares us the sight of the whippers being shaken and shamed in strangled whispers by their parents for abusing the sacramentals in front of the Mrs. Grundys, after which said children will whine and snivel throughout the rest of the service.
If I wanted to see that, I’d go to the grocery store.
Crystal, you do not have to have nice clothes to go to Mass! At least in my area, the Saturday night Mass is the unofficial slacks-and-”I heart my grandchildren” sweatshirt Mass. But your inability to GET to Mass makes me ashamed for your parish. If you send me the phone number for your diocese, I will make sure your parish gets wind of the needs of those who need transportation without dragging your name into it. I’m a bad Catholic, but an extremely good agitator!
How nice that everybody wants to sit by me. But I warn you, I don’t hold hands during the “Our Father.”
Personally, I love to hear the chatter of little kids. …This tells me that our parish is alive and well!
I second that sentiment, at least in the abstract — I don’t want to come off sounding like I’m a no-kids-in-church curmudgeon. I like kids, I swear! Even when I was single I intentionally went to the Sunday Mass that has the most young families at it, just because, as you say, I like to witness how vibrant the parish (and by extension, the Church) is. It adds to my prayer. But I have the opposite experience when I see school-age kids whose parents aren’t teaching (or showing) them how to participate, how to be still — how to pray, basically, and why. It strikes me as neglectful, and then I find myself thinking uncharitable thoughts about those parents when I ought to be focusing on the altar (or on my own shortcomings!).
Jean, I think being a good agitator is part of being a good Catholic. Or at least, there’s some relationship! It’s certainly true that palms are almost irresistible as toys/weapons. I put my own palm down after the procession so I won’t be tempted to play with it; if and when I’ve got kids to deal with, I hope I’ll have the presence of mind to do likewise for them. Or at least make one of those nifty crosses… but I’d worry that, in a pinch, they’d end up being makeshift ninja stars!
Jean, does that man you affectionately refer to as “Raber” not want to hold your hand during the “Our Father”? I confess I love holding hands with whomever….well, the lepers give me a bit of a frisson…
While I would like to be curmudgeonly, the truth is, at least they are at Mass. As to children in church, it is a sign that the church is not dead. Thanks be to God. In the restaurant business they say Friday and Saturday nights are amateur night because everyone is out, whether they appreciate the particular food served or not. I am hesitant to apply it to Mass goers, so I won’t. All that can be done is say thank God they’ve come at all.
I think it depends on how you define ‘practicing Catholic’. Normally, the spirituality in the Catholic tradition has been liturgical. As we move through the liturgical seasons of the Church, our journey becomes a collective experience in following through the life of Jesus culminating in the paschal mystery which we all participate in.
Different people have different degrees of involvement in the liturgical life of the Church. Christmas and Easter are fixed in the secular calendar and this allows a seamless movement into the liturgical life of the Church.
Improved catechesis on the function and purpose of the liturgical seasons along with aesthetic symbols supporting it (e.g. decor, vestments, hymns, prayers etc.)
…would enhance the experience for many people and may increase participation.
Why is it anyone else’s business why some show up only on the great feast days?
Children make noise? It’s what children do.
I recall the description of the death of one of the English Jesuit martyrs: “Thoughts were running in and out of his head like children in an Italian church”.
Dispatch from no-longer-institutionally-Catholic-but-still-intellectually-Catholic-land. Today I was one of two elders at our Palm Sunday service (I get a kick out of being an elder at 41). During the service, one elder says a prayer before the offering, and another says a prayer before communion (the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has communion every Sunday). Today, my job was to pray before the offering. Here is what I wrote on the back of an adverstisement for psychic tarot cards and palm readings by Nina:
God of a most fickle people,
Today we sing hosannas to your son, Jesus Christ.
Tomorrow we will forget him and forget You.
We may even reject him, and reject You.
Seize our souls today
While our eyes, ears, and hearts are turned toward You.
Use this moment to remind us how easy it is to be kind, to be generous, to forgive.
We place before You at this hour
The offerings of our lives to your church — our time, our money, our service.
We pray that You will not find fault in these offerings
Because they come from a people who forget You as easily as they praise You.
At the end of this service, of this day, and our our lives,
We can hope only in Your mercy.
Yet, at this moment, draw us closer to you,
Closer to the Cross of your Son, Jesus Christ,
And closer to his empty tomb,
So that we may better make our lives
Gifts to You and to each other,
In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ.
So, the offering plates seemed extra full to me, but it was probably just those holy day Christians paying for missed time.
Today was the first Palm Sunday for the youth Schola that I began at my parish last summer, so it was the first time these children sang and processed about the children who sang and processed. Twenty-odd kids in red and white robes, dressed and ready to warmup at 8:15 in the blooming morning.
From morning prayer: “God grant that with the angels and the children we may be always faithful, and sing with them to the conqueror of death: Hosanna in the highest.”
***
My old pastor had a standard Christmas and Easter homily that went something like this. “I know that some of you have not been to a Catholic Mass for a while, maybe some of you haven’t been here for years. Perhaps there was a priest or nun who was rude to you, or a priest who yelled at you in confession. [He went through a litany of similar offenses.] If you are one of these people who has had problems with the Church in the past, I have two things to say to you. I’m sorry. And, welcome. You are very much welcome, and very much needed here. Whatever has happened in the past, I hope that you will join us as we move into the future.”
GA: “Why is it anyone else’s business why some show up only on the great feast days?”
Thank you. I knew a curmudgeon would show up!
Strictly speaking, unless you’re of an evangelizing sort, it’s no one’s business why some people only show up on high holydays. But then, those of us wildly distracted by the noise, the inappropriate behavior, the palm whippings!!!, and cheery chattering of children should make one of the other choices listed above: go to an underpopulated (or unpopular church), stay home, take a good dose of Ritalin and become impervious to the distractions, or as on Christmas eve go to Mass totally inebriated, and hope that you don’t do anything inappropriate.
Our small parish was jammed at the 10 AM “Really Big Show” today. Because it started out in the forecourt with the blessing of the palms and then a procession into the church proper, many of us who usually sit in the same seats Sunday after Sunday (this IS a Catholic church, you know …. I’ve bought and paid for it and I’ll damned well sit in it!) found our places taken by spurious interlopers. We rarely see any scenes over such violations of All Things Bright and Beautiful, and today was no exception.
People didn’t have to know when to stand, sit, kneel, cough, pray, etc. Our liturgies are so participative that any backslider can simply go with the flow and feel right at home.
We enjoy having them with us and our greeters (oops, ministers of hospitality) have a special little brochure that we distribute advertising our Reconnecting program. We usually get a few enquiries out of that, so the HHD are looked at as an opportunity to market, evangelize and, well, Reconnect.
Kids? Because of the nature of our parish, they have been a rarity. However over the last couple of years we have started to see couples of all kinds bringing their children to liturgy. So many, in fact, that the resident curmudgeons started to kvetch about their exuberance. So, we built a children’s room in the back of the church. That is a FIRST for our parish church.
God love ‘em all, especially those who put good guilt gelt in the collection.
I think Anna’s right, that a lot of people bring family along on special holy days. Today the local church was full, but everyone seemed to be heading on out to Bob Evans. The men’s club was disappointed b/c few people stayed for their breakfast, even though they went out and got extra syrup and everything.
Raber also also pointed out that on Easter a lot of candidates and catechumens invite out-of-town family, which brings in those who might be regular church-goers elsewhere. The Vigil is always jam packed.
No, I do not hold hands with Raber at the “Our Father,” mostly because he sits up front to do lector duty or I’m going to Last Chance Mass the next town over with The Boy who got up or ate too late to hit the local Mass. I’m not hand-holdy or huggy with anybody but old people, the sick, and animals.
Peggy:
Next year you can come out to the jail with me on Palm Sunday. I’m sorry to say we only had four men show up this morning for our communion service, so it was pretty quiet! But between the four and our team, we had just enough for an abbreviated reading of the Passion narrative. We also chanted (in English) the entrance and communion antiphons (with a little guitar to help folks hold the notes). One of the men came up to me and said he was moved by the experience, which he had never encountered before.
It’s not much, but at least you don’t have to fight about parking and there is plenty of elbow room…:-)
No palms, though. I forgot to get them cleared by the chaplain and the deputies would probably have thought I was smuggling large marijuana leaves into the jail…:-)
Jean, you are amazing. Why everybody loves you here, including me, is striking. I always objected to the lengthy gospel of this day. I remember pastors chastising people at Palm Sunday and Easter, wishing them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year since that will be the next time he sees them. Looking at them one can see why.
Nowadays, it is popular to sound the Come Home theme. What may be lacking is the rest of the sentence. “Come home because we will service you and the gospel better.”
Palm Sunday is not the day to pray and meditate in peace, is it? But we have so many other Sundays for that. I think of Palm Sunday and other such days as a chance to make spotty church-goers feel like coming back more often. I would like simple hymns (so that the people who go too rarely to know the tunes can still sing), an “Our Father” that is recited rather than sung (because saying the “Our Father” may be, to some people, the only familiar part of the liturgy), and maybe a liturgy occasionally accompanied by a few brief comments to remind people of what the rituals mean.
Last Christmas I overheard a teenager behind me giggle several times, whisper loudly: “Is it over yet?” “Can we go?”, and another one explain to her “you go up to the priest, he gives you the wafer and you respond “Amen”"!!
Our parish has a simple solution: Children’s Liturgy of the Word. It’s something I initiated a couple of years ago, along with a fellow parishioner, who happens to be principal of a local elementary school. Of course, we asked all the kids to leave their palm fronds on the pews this morning . . . and most of them complied. (The recalcitrant had theirs confiscated before we began the reading.)
Festal days like this always carry a certain degree of poignancy for me. Of our six children, three have been diagnosed as having special needs (Autism, ADHD, Asperger Syndrome), so it has been a few years since my wife and I have gone to Mass together. We typically do a split-shift, so that the ones most severely affected can stay home. There is no way we can corral all of them at once for an entire liturgy. The one with autism especially cannot be expected to sit still for an hour or more. We tried it a couple of times, but there were far too many stimuli that set him off. So to see all the other families gathered–rowdy or not–on a day that is typically a family day pricks a little bit more than on the other Sundays. I’d give anything to have my whole clan with me at a special Mass, even if they were a bit on the unruly side. Perhaps God will give that to us as a special gift one Christmas!
I can understand some of the sentiments expressed here. I don’t want my children to be a cause of distraction for those who come to pray and connect with the Lord–especially since, for the most part, my kids can’t help themselves. It’s the way they’re wired. We are blessed that most of the people in our small parish know our family situation, so there are no sidelong glances when I come to Mass with only a couple of the kids and no wife. We are not so fortunate in our previous parish, but that’s a different story.
I have nothing interesting or different to report about Mass this morning. I go to Mass at a Benedictine monastery. It was filled this morning but this monastery is usually filled on Sundays. If you are not a regular, chances are you are a student or teacher at the Graduate Theological Union (Jesuit, Dominican, Franciscan, Episcopalian, etc.). For instance today we had some charming nuns from Africa and a delightful young man from Canada studying for the Episcopal priesthood. We really don’t get many kids. There is a core group of us that are oblates and we are there all the time.
I miss having kids at Mass. Growing up I was one of the designated baby sitters in my family. I was one of the older cousins of huge family of aunts, uncles and cousins. I assumed from an early age that Catholicism was a messy experience that included many aunts, uncles and cousins. Often the aunts and uncles were louder than the kids.
The poet Mary Karr, who is a Catholic convert, was interviewed about her Catholicism. Here is a little what she had to say about what kind of Catholic she is.
“The really fun kind. The really cute kind. [Laughter] The really excellently dressed kind — I don’t know. My spiritual state shifts from day to day. I feel I’m either moving closer to God or further away from minute to minute. But I do find the more I permit myself to be engaged with other people — not as a writer or poet or whatever, but just having people around — the better I feel. I have a lot of ex-students here, and my son’s here.
Everybody comes over on Sunday. I make turkey meatballs, and we watch “The Sopranos.” So that’s the kind of Catholic I am. You know? I like everybody. I’m vain and pretentious and arrogant and terrified and full of longing for the numinous and for that joy. And yet I sometimes think I do everything I can to shove it away.”
http://www.gracecathedral.org/enrichment/interviews/int_20060412.shtml
Mark:
If people can’t connect with your children, PARTICULARLY the special ones, then how can they even begin to think that they can connect with The Lord? Disorder is a small price to pay for exuberance.
“We are not on earth to guard a museum, but to cultivate a flowering garden of life.”
Pope John XXIII
All of you have made me a lot more cheerful than when I left Mass this morning. Thank you.
But I worry, some of you may be losing your hearing if you put up with what you describe. Get an ear test.
Peter Nixon: If you’re suggesting I get put in the slammer, could you give a hint what I might be convicted of–irreverance, of course; lack of charity probably; frowning at bad behavior certainly; etc.
I’ve done Sunday Mass with children and grandchildren. It can be a challenge, but they usually meet it. Meaning: I don’t think children are the problem, it’s usually the adult, knowing when to bring them and when not; when to pull the plug and leave; when to frown…. an important skill.
There are legitimate needs on all sides here. Two thoughts occur to me that I think have not been mentioned yet in this discussion.
First, the culture in which we live is not all that respectful. Speaking of New York, as I know the church mentioned originally is in the city, you have a culture where people talk loud into their cell phones in the bus and at movies, push each other in the subway, and yell at airline personnel when weather delays affect their flights. You can create a different culture in church, but it mainly works if people are there repeatedly or there’s enough ballast in the regular crowd to set the tone for the occasional worshippers. Also, you have deal with the set whose idea of entitlement is that their children should be free to cause havoc in the restaurant and public space too, so that’s the norm they bring with them into church.
Second, I worry about the pandemonium being a self-fulfilling prophecy. You know, “We don’t go to church except once or twice a year, because of the kids. They can’t sit still that long.” Mostly, of course, they can. But a single day in the year “proves” it won’t work the other 51 Sundays. I’ve got a counter example on that one too — the people who say “it was so beautiful; I’m so glad we came; it was hard to get it together to come, but it was worth it…” I’ve heard this sort of response, seriously. So it does matter if there is something about the service that hits home.
The confirmation class in my parish handled all the roles except the chorus in the reading of the Passion from Mark’s Gospel. They seemed as if they had a bit of stage fright, but I think they did a great job. I’m in a couple of parish ministries, and I worry a lot about that group. The statistics for connection with the Church post-confirmation are not very good, at least for the 15 to 22 or 23 age spread. After Mass there was a ceremony where each of the soon-to-be confirmed and a parent signed an enrollment book that had been placed on the altar. It was a simple but moving ceremony, and our pastor had kind words for the confirmation class, reminding them that they will soon be adults in the eyes of the Church. I was struck, however, by how few of the parents I recognized. Ours is a relatively small parish, but I’m guessing I recognized perhaps a third of the parents. I’m not judging anybody, but if two-thirds of the parents are absentees or sporadic attendees (and that’s their business), then my worrying about their teenage children’s connection to the Church won’t abate anytime soon.
Margaret,
An interesting comment, but my wife and I had a totally different experience today and we both noted it.
Normally, we like you fully expected to see more folk at mass today. Today much to our surprise there simply wasn’t anyone one extra. In fact if I had counted, my guess was there may even have been less.
We were, I think both somewhat surprised and wondered what it all meant. I wonder did anyone else experience the same?
The church I belong to has been diminishing in parishoners, so I would welcome any new faces who would like to attend. I’m sure our fine priests would welcome them as well! For the sake of the children please at least attend on holidays! Maybe one of those holidays will spark more frequent attendance.
From a priest’s point of view–seeing people from the altar or pulpit or ambo clearly not knowing what is going on, talking on their cell phones, texting, reading the newspaper (yes)furiously paging through their missalettes, as well as standing or sitting at the wrong times or standing forlornly in the very rear of the church–I would say, Welcome them. When Cape Catholics (Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and Easter) are in the house, this is our time to make them feel at home, as a first step towards welcoming them back to regular participation. So the burden is on those already in attendance to extend the hospitality, as Ms. Phillips says. Not welcoming them is a sure way of shooing them away, I always think.
” Because it started out in the forecourt with the blessing of the palms and then a procession into the church proper, many of us who usually sit in the same seats Sunday after Sunday (this IS a Catholic church, you know …. I’ve bought and paid for it and I’ll damned well sit in it!) found our places taken by spurious interlopers. ”
I believe we don’t do anything cool like start in the forecourt or parking lot and process for this very reason – people would lose their places. :-(
“I would say, Welcome them.”
Amen!
I’m a big fan of asking people to greet and welcome one another before the entrance song begins – and giving a generous amount of time for the handshakes and chatting.
“But I have the opposite experience when I see school-age kids whose parents aren’t teaching (or showing) them how to participate, how to be still — how to pray, basically, and why. It strikes me as neglectful, and then I find myself thinking uncharitable thoughts about those parents when I ought to be focusing on the altar (or on my own shortcomings!).”
Hi, Mollie – just a word for the parents. We try. We really do. Sometimes we feel like we need to pick our battles. And sometimes we’re so busy shushing one on the left side that we fail to see the shenanigans going on to our right.
FWIW – we’ve been running kind of an unintentional experiment in our family. I have four children. The two oldest went to a Catholic school for elemantary school, and the two youngest are attending a public school. The difference in liturgical formation between the two sets is huge. I’m finding I have to work a lot harder with the younger two – grab missalettes from the back on the way in, show them how to find the words, insist they say them, whisper to them that such-and-such a reading is a “good story – so pay attention”, etc. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have a clue.
I think there has been a sort of generational atrophy in liturgical formation – in my parents’ day, most Catholic kids went to Catholic school (pretty sure about that); when I was a kid, it was less so; now the ratio of Catholic kids in Catholic schools is a fraction with “1″ in the numerator. (At least, that’s the case where I live). I’m finding I have to exert myself a lot more than my parents did, because there is no Catholic school reinforcement and teaching going on.
Jim – I know it isn’t easy! I’m not a parent myself (yet), but I have chaperoned nieces and nephews now and then. I feel like I can tell when parents/chaperones are genuinely trying, and I do have a pretty high level of tolerance generally. But it’s when they’re *not* trying — or when they’re giving in to the kids’ every ploy for attention — or when they’re just as badly behaved as their children (!) that I really have a hard time tuning it out. It’s distracting on a deeper level than a crying infant or other ambient noise. I don’t think I’m any less welcoming to the people whose behavior I find irksome than I am to any other stranger who sits nearby… For me the problem seems to be, if I go to Mass to pray with my neighbors, it’s hard for me to rise above the feeling that they haven’t really come to pray with me.
In that light, I was going to ask HOW people suggest we welcome newcomers and seldom-comers — besides the obvious step of the priest (or lector, or cantor) saying “We welcome you, we’re glad you’re here.” Jim P. has already given one great answer, I think — I very much like the practice of greeting neighbors before Mass starts. Other ideas?
I’m always happy if somebody at the local parish just strikes up a conversation, like we were at the grocery store or parent-teacher night: “Nice to see you. How’s Dave doing since his dad died?” or “I heard you got roped into taking in another cat” or “Are you interested in driving the kids on the food drive next week?” or “I hear your kid got invited to the All-Star Band program.”
Most of use lapsed and Protestant spouses are still happy to help out with things that don’t require we be regular communicants. It leaves the door open, makes us feel welcome, at least as “in-laws” of the Church.
Leave the spiritual stuff to the priest or deacon.
Enough from me on this thread. Blessed Holy Week, all.
That sounds like “The End.” Thanks to all.