We’ve been striking out at churches all over town. For years, we had it easy, as we visited my mother-in-law in upstate New York and accompanied her to Mass, where she was a beloved congregant at a relatively open-minded and welcoming church. Yes, sometimes we had to chase a rambunctious toddler trying to leap onto the altar, but we did all we could to minimize disruptions, and somehow everyone managed to keep the faith — and even send an occasional smile or sympathetic look our way.
Then tragedy struck, and my mother-in-law lost her fight against pancreatic cancer. Suddenly, we were trying to find new traditions to fill our Christmas and Easter holidays — which included finding a new place of worship.
As we’ve visited different churches in town, we keep running into the same brick wall: Apparently, children are only “joyful noise” when they’re not sitting in your pew.
In one church, when my toddler started asking questions, a woman behind me leaned forward and suggested I bring an iPad to entertain him during Mass. In another, we arrived before Mass started and, being the only people there, allowed our toddler to roam — at which point an usher warned that if our son made noise during the service, we would have to take him outside.
I have no problem taking my kids outside should they disrupt the Mass. At the last Mass I attended, I spent pretty much the entire time on the church steps, listening to an overtired 3-year-old scream “I BE QUIET IN CHURCH!” while my husband and first-grader sat comfortably inside. I’m not looking to interrupt anyone’s Communion with the divine. But I do have a problem with people treating us like we don’t belong in a place of worship — that we don’t have a right to receive the word of God — because we had the audacity to procreate.
To be honest, I’m not sure what people are afraid of missing, should a baby squeal or a child shuffle in his seat. I’m relatively new to Mass, having grown up in a Jewish home and married into a Catholic one. But it’s not “Inception.” If you miss a few words, you’re not going to be utterly lost as to what’s happening or how it all ends. Yet too often we’ve spent the entire Mass ignoring hostile looks and feeling out of place. We’ve left knowing we wouldn’t go back, and no one would miss us.
Of course, part of the problem is that we haven’t yet had a chance to integrate ourselves into a congregation. The churches we’ve attended either haven’t offered family services (or provisions for children), or we weren’t able to attend at those times. We’ve been fortunate to find a Jewish temple that embraces families and offers many children’s services and activities. Should we attempt to scoop up our toddler and usher him outside when he’s noisy, the rabbi actually interrupts the service to encourage us to stay. And while we’ll never be comfortable causing a disruption, there’s something to feeling as though our children are welcome, noise and all, as part of the community — that they’re encouraged to join in the service and begin exploring spirituality.
And isn’t that what it’s all about? Yes, we’re all at church trying to foster a relationship with a higher power. But we also go to church to pray together, to form a community of seekers, to help each other along our spiritual paths. Children aren’t just there as their parents’ appendages. They are part of the community, learning about God and entering onto their own spiritual paths. Isn’t it our jobs to guide them along that path, to introduce them into this community — not to exclude them because they are small or are noisy or have to go to the bathroom eight times in one Mass?
In my never-ending attempt to find the right church for our family, I’ve been asking my friends with kids where they go. I’ve been surprised to repeatedly hear the same answer: “Oh, we don’t go to church. The kids are too little, and it’s too hard.” While I completely understand this mindset, I don’t want my kids to learn that attendance at church or temple is a matter of convenience. I want them to understand the importance of tradition and congregation and being part of something larger than themselves. And I’m looking forward to the day they can do that from their seats, among people who aren’t looking to silence them with angry looks or tablets.
Until that day arrives, we’ll keep trying, even if I end up spending most of my time on the front steps.