In my previous post, I mentioned St. Therese of Lisieux, and how she embraced the little irritations of life as part of picking up her cross and following Christ, and applied that to all of the little irritations one might encounter at church on Sunday.

One might well ask, “But why go to a mass/service/church where you find the liturgy irritating on a regular basis?” And one would be right to do so. I’m a software engineer by profession; and like any engineer I think problems are for solving. We shouldn’t put up with bad situations; rather, we should fix them. But there’s an important distinction to be drawn here, that of the present moment vs. the future, or, as I put it in the title, of Now and Later.

Christ tells us to live in the present moment, and so we must do. And it is precisely in the present moment that we must embrace and offer up the annoyances and irritations that come our way, while at the same time attending properly to the present duty. During mass, the present duty is the mass; it is manifestly not fixing the mass. After mass, it might be appropriate to take steps—to talk to the priest, to talk to the mother of the noisy child, to resolve to try a different service. (And then again, it might not be.) It’s in the moment that we must offer up our irritations. Future irritations, I think, may reasonably be avoided.

OK, that’s easy to say….

The Feast of the Immaculate Conception was a couple of weeks ago. It’s a “Holy Day of Obligation”, which means that all Catholics are obligated to attend mass on that day, just as they are on Sundays. As usual, there were a variety of mass times to choose from. The most convenient for our family was at 7:30 PM—except for one little detail. We have four kids, and 7:30 PM is more or less bedtime for all of them. We thought that the older two could behave at that hour, but were concerned about the younger two, especially our three-year-old, and felt that bringing them would make the mass less pleasant for us, and certainly for those sitting near us.

This prompted a question: at what age does the obligation to attend mass kick in? Infants clearly aren’t obligated to attend; so when does it start? I consulted a variety of books I had at home, and did a Google search, and found nothing to the point. Finally I sent a query to Mark Shea. He didn’t know, but he graciously posted it on his blog for his readers’ comments. I got my answer—which, according to canon law, is seven years of age—but the ensuing comments thread became a general discussion of the plusses and minuses of bringing little ones to mass, and in particular the effect of said little ones on the others present.

Here’s a sampling of the points of view (I paraphrase): “We always bring our kids.” “We like to leave the little ones at home; it’s easier to worship that way.” “If you don’t bring them to mass, how will they learn to behave at mass?” “Too many parents don’t make their kids behave at mass.” “Crying babies make it hard to have a quiet, reverent mass.” “It used to be that nobody brought the little ones to mass, but only those who were old enough.” “It used to be that everybody brought the little ones to mass.” The most angry and vehement commenters were those complaining of noisy children and parents who didn’t discipline them properly, thus making it impossible for said commenters to enjoy mass properly. (“Enjoy” isn’t the word the commenters used; I use it for reasons that will be made clear below.)

Now, I have some sympathy with all of these points of view. I prefer to bring all of my kids to church every Sunday; I want them to have lived their Christian lives “from the cradle,” as it were. At the same time, I understand those who complain about crying babies and noisy ill-behaved children, as they can be a serious distraction. And that’s the key issue, really, isn’t it?

My job, as a participant at mass, is to participate fully in the prayers with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength—a tough challenge. As with any kind of prayer, I will be beset with distractions, both internal and external. And I will admit, it is much easier to deal with internal distractions when there are no external distractions. That’s really what the complainers are asking for: an experience of the mass in which there are no external distractions.

As I say, I can understand this. I can have a much more powerful experience of God’s presence when I attend mass on my own than when I go with my entire family, because I don’t need to devote any of my attention to anything but God. But upon reflection, I’ve come to think that seeking this experience above all else, as many of the complainers seem to, is short-sighted.

We aren’t at mass to enjoy it. We are there to find Christ, to worship him, if possible to receive him, to grow in his service. As C.S. Lewis notes in The Screwtape Letters, there are times in our Christian life when God seems very close and times when he seems very distant…and we tend to grow more when we continue to diligently seek him even though he seems far off. Simply put, having to work to seek God, in spite of our inner dryness, is good for us. It’s good exercise.

Second, Christ tells us that we must pick up our cross and follow him. Crosses need not be large. In The Story of a Soul, St. Therese of Lisieux tells of how she offered up to Christ all of the little irritations of life in the convent, indeed, how she embraced them as crosses to carry for her Lord. It seems to me that babies crying during mass can be viewed the same way. And as a father, I strongly believe that the essence of Christian parenting is to joyfully embrace the inconvenience of loving and properly raising my children. That includes bringing them to mass and teaching them how to behave there. It means frequently having a noise and a hubbub in my home at times when I’d much prefer that it be quiet. It means missed opportunities, because I must be available to my children. It is all undeniably worth it. But the sacrifice should not be discounted.

Do I embrace in this way the external distractions I encounter during mass? Well, no. No, I don’t. I get as irritated as anyone else, I’m sure. I love to attend mass on my own, on occasion. But I can see that I’m going to have to try to do so. And of course, that encompasses all of the other petty complaints: music I don’t like, lectors who read poorly, priests who don’t preach well, or who have thick accents.

I’ve a few other thoughts on this, but I think I’d better hold them back for future posts.

Jen’s been learning about trusting in God and seeking His will when stressed instead of going it alone. There’s good news, and there’s bad news. The good news is, when she’s done this she’s invariably gotten the direction she needs. The bad news is, well, she didn’t like what she was supposed to do:

My prayer to know God’s will was so quickly answered, the path forward so clear. And I thought: “That sucks!”

Alas, the way is narrow, etc. Easy to say, less easy to do what Jen’s doing.