For Crying Out Loud

By Jack Shea

A woman, in her late forties and stylishly dressed, approached the priest as he stood outside the church after the 9:45 am Mass. “That baby screamed throughout your entire homily. Why didn’t you do something? You should have told the parents to take the child out. Didn’t that crying bother you?”

In fact, it did bother him. He lost his train of thought a couple of times, but he managed to get back on track. Preachers quickly learn to override the baby competition. This does not mean they win the battle to be heard. It just means they don’t stop, break down, and cry themselves.

But there is something profoundly disturbing about asking a crying baby to leave. Besides the embarrassment to the parents, there are deeper issues involved in this very minor moment of liturgy. Could it be that the nature of Eucharist welcomes crying babies?

There may be dozens of practical reasons why babies should be left at home, but there is one overwhelming reason why they should be present. They are one of us. Crying comes with the baby territory. (Actually, it comes with the adult territory, too; but we repair to the bathroom and do it more quietly.) People may try to quiet babies, but nobody begrudges them a good wail. When they are there, the human condition is rounded out. And their occasional or sustained outbursts remind us of a fact that liturgies often leave us in doubt about. We are alive.

Excerpted from Daybreaks, Daily Reflections for Lent and Easter, written by Jack Shea, copyright ©2008. Used with permission of Liguori Publications, Liguori, MO 63057. 1-800-325-9521. www.liguori.org

For information about this booklet of beautiful reflections, please click this link: http://www.liguori.org/productdetails.cfm?PC=10975

Meet Matt

Meet Matt: a recent college graduate starting a new position with a local corporation. Matt is 24, single, and just might be sitting behind you next weekend at Mass.

Matt’s story is not unusual. In fact, the first part is more common than you might expect. The second part however, is relatively rare. What happens involves every member of a welcoming community. Young adults, single and married, represent a third of our parish population. How do we measure up?

Early on in his sophomore year at State, Matt’s roommate Josh invited him to check out Sunday Mass at the campus Newman Center. Matt knew that Josh had been a part of that community since freshman year and was involved in some outreach ministries.

Matt was hesitant to accept. Not because he wasn’t Catholic. He was; his parents made sure he had his sacraments, but that was where his religious experience ended. He couldn’t remember the last time he attended Mass with his folks, he felt lukewarm about the whole church thing, and wasn’t sure he wanted to be accountable to his roommate if he decided to bag it. Matt had to admit though, that Josh seemed pretty normal so he reluctantly decided to join him. Surprisingly, he found the Mass experience to be energizing. He just felt good to be there, and started going week after week and even volunteered a few hours on weekdays with various ministries including tutoring a few local poor kids after school. Matt discovered he thrived on the experience of being a member of a community where he could strengthen his faith and discover spiritual gifts. He found himself growing as a leader. Unfortunately, when Matt graduated, he found himself without this connection. He felt lost and wasn’t able to find anything even remotely close to his experience with the Newman Center.

One Friday night over pizza and beers with his buddies, the typical conversation about work, lousy commutes, and the playoffs somehow drifted to the topic of the Newman Center that most of them attended at State. Although some said they occasionally showed up at their local parish, they missed the experience of campus ministry. Matt agreed, admitting that he really wished he could find a church like it. But then, one of the guys, Steve, started telling them about his girlfriend’s parish.

“It's different.” he said, “They are really friendly, you know? The music is unbelievable. It’s just like Newman except you might be sitting next to someone who reminds you of your grandma, and you know what? She’s just as happy to see you as if she was your grandma!” Steve continued, “Sheila’s folks are long-time members and on the way out they introduced me to the youth minister. You would not believe how cool this guy was. Turns out, they are looking for people just like us. We talked for a long time and he told me about some of the things I could get involved in and said to come back the following week for a planning meeting.”

He paused, grinning “You guys’ game?”

Matt was the first to answer, "Count me in."

28-year old Mary

“Looks like a popular Mass,” Mary thought as she slowed to a stop in front of the church. A small crowd crossed in front of her, avoiding puddles of melting snow as they made their way to the church entrance. “Looks young-ish too,” she noted, watching a young father manage three adorable children who had captured the attention of a group of teenage girls. Several well-dressed middle aged couples greeted each other with hugs. “So far, so good,” Mary thought as she navigated her way around the crowded parking lot, an obvious sign of health. And based on the happy looking people she had passed on the way in Mary felt optimistic. She already liked the look and feel of the exterior and had high hopes. “This might be the place for me.”

Just eight months earlier, Mary accepted a job transfer to manage a regional sales group located in the Midwest. The new job came with a hefty salary increase, a company car and covered all of her moving expenses. Mary had never considered leaving the East Coast, but she was still single, 28 years old, and living in the heartland of America appealed to her, regardless of its lack of landscape. She joked with her old friends that Illinois was “flat as a pancake” but the people seemed nice.

Now, looking back, Mary recalled four words her dad whispered to her just before she boarded the plane “Find a nice parish.” He never failed to ask her every time they spoke, “Have you found a church yet?” Somehow, Mary was able to brush over the fact that she had not. In fact, since she had arrived, her old college habit of not attending church at all became the norm once again. It seemed okay for a while; she was busy at work and finding her way around really kept her busy. But now, the busyness was wearing off, and she was lonely. Her job was stressful; she craved a peaceful place where she could be centered. She joined a yoga class which helped a little, but not enough. Mary needed more. She often thought about the various charitable causes she supported in the old neighborhood, and wondered if there was a soup kitchen or shelter where she could volunteer her time. Sometimes she cried as she prayed late at night. One night, as she lay awake listening to the whistle of a distant train, Mary heard the sound of church bells, and she heard her dad’s words: “Find a nice parish.”

She realized she needed to meet other young adults and reconnect with a faith community. Months earlier Mary received a postcard from a nearby Catholic church welcoming her to the neighborhood; she was amazed to find it was still in a messy pile of papers under her coffee table. Coincidentally a friend from work had mentioned the name of that same Catholic Church, although he also invited her to join him for services at his non-denominational church.

Mary walked through the doors, passing clusters of people engaged in small talk, some greeting old friends, others in more serious conversation. No one noticed her. “It’s okay, why would they notice me; look how big this place is.” She picked up a song sheet on her way into the sanctuary. The church was nearly full, and most people were chatting with friends or family members sitting nearby as they waited for the Mass to begin. Such happy faces, how friendly and warm it felt. It pulled at her heart. “This is a good place,” she thought as she scanned the pews for a place to sit. She spotted what she thought was a seat, but as she drew nearer, she saw several coats on the pew, no room for her to sit. A few people looked up from their conversations but no one acknowledged her, or motioned to her that she could sit with them. No usher appeared to help her find a seat. Walking to the back of the church, her optimism waning, Mary stood there for several minutes and finally decided to stand in the back of the church.

At the beginning of Mass, everyone was invited to turn around and greet those around them. And they did. It was amusing, Mary thought, watching people leave their pews to greet the same people they had just finished talking with. She tentatively put out her hand several times, and attempted to make eye contact. But no one greeted Mary. She felt awkward. She felt invisible. “I’m here to worship,” she reminded herself as she sang along with the congregation and participated as best she could. When it was time for the sign of peace, Mary decided that she would offer peace to the people in the row in front of her. She stepped forward and waited while they hugged each other. She smiled weakly as they turned away from her, reaching across the pews to shake the hands of the people in front of them, the same ones they greeted and chatted with earlier. Feeling a little self conscious, Mary looked around and saw an older woman still sitting and offered her a sign of peace.

“I have to be fair, these people all know each other, and they don’t know me.” But, feeling more alone than ever, Mary slipped out the back after communion. No one noticed.