On Saturday night I was singing Julianna through hair washing (“I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart!”) when Alex turned to me and launched into an unfinished conversation from the day before. “Mommy, we don’t sing that Devil verse at school because it would be wrong.”
I paused in the middle of “If the Devil doesn’t like it he can sit on a tack—ouch!” (Julianna’s reward verse for getting through the rest of the torture. It makes her giggle.) “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we can’t sing that at church!” He looked appalled by the very thought. Somewhere deep in my gut, I felt a disturbing flutter. “Well,” I said, “I don’t know that I ever sang it at church when I was little, either. But Alex, church isn’t supposed to be all gloom and doom.”
He looked at me like I was completely nuts. “It’s supposed to be…” He couldn’t find the word, but I knew what he was searching for.
BORING.
IRRELEVANT.
I wasn’t about to fill those words in for him.
There are so many ways to skew how we approach God. An acquaintance of mine once told me, “A person’s faith ought to be a comfort to them, not a source of misery.” The point being that faith should never require suffering or challenge you to do anything you don’t want to do. There’s a strong movement in the world in which church is entertainment—I heard recently of a church where the cross isn’t even used, because it might “make people uncomfortable, and we want all to be welcome.”
On the other hand, there is a strong reaction to all this which focuses myopically on formality, on sacredness—to the point where it’s viewed as disrespectful at least, and perhaps sacrilegious, to crack a smile, to play an upbeat song, or to speak above a whisper.
Believing that God lies squarely in the middle on this topic as almost every other, I find myself continually frustrated. But to see the dawning of POV #2 in my own child brings me to a whole new level of soul disturbance. God created us as people who love laughter and companionship. And since we’re created in God’s image, doesn’t that say something pretty important about God?
At first, casting about for explanation, my mind settled on the strict regimen of behavior expected at parochial school. But as Alex stood beside me during Mass yesterday, his nose pressed to the shiny lacquer of the piano his daddy was playing, looking at reflections of his face and the ceiling in its depths—and more importantly, as we tried to scold him into paying attention—I realized that we bear a large portion of the blame, too.
Not so long ago, I read somewhere that when we’re trying to make the liturgy “relevant” for our young people, the opposite of boring is not entertaining, but meaningful. That’s what I want for my children. Alex shows some really wonderful early signs of reaching that goal—he’s trying to listen to Paul’s brutally convoluted rhetoric and make sense of it, and when he doesn’t (which is every week, of course), he tugs on my arm and says plaintively, “I don’t understand.” I love that about him.
But I think as his parents, we have a huge role in this too. Guidance and formation might happen without us…but it’s not very likely.
“Alex,” I said, “you know, Jesus didn’t walk around being all solemn all the time. He loved to laugh and tell jokes. Jesus was a human being, too.”
Two little ones screamed for attention then, and we never finished the conversation. But maybe that’s okay. Because this isn’t really a conversation that ever gets “finished,” is it?
Kathleen M. Basi 
My most effective parenting has come from “unfinished” conversations. You are doing an excellent job.
Love this: “the opposite of boring is not entertaining, but meaningful.”
I hate to admit it, but we’ve all but stopped going to church lately because of the “boring” complaints and because I sort of agree. My 5yo went to a church camp this summer that he absolutely loved, which had lots of singing and clapping and contemporary elements that our church doesn’t have. So maybe it was the entertainment factor, but he also seemed to pay attention more and get more out of it.
Not all clapping and contemporary elements constitute entertainment, either!
The opposite of boring is meaningful. Yes, I love this. My church has fallen into the boring camp as of late and it disturbs me… I want it to be meaningful. That’s what God is–meaningful.
i love that you sing julianna through washing her hair. i’m guessing that it involves being bent over the sink? never fun!
In the tub, but she still thinks it’s torture. 🙂
Love this…Meaningful and relevant is where I am. My young adults are in college and the conversation is not finished.
I love this post. Love it. I want to shout it from the rooftops!
Continued tomorrow – often the way it goes when busy-ness keeps you occupied with so much happening. I cannot not imagine Jesus sober faced all the time. Surely he must have laughed especially when he saw the puzzled faces of his disciples at times.
I love this post! Think this is something we all struggle with as parents. Especially Catholic parents! As adults, we’ve all grown to love and appreciate the sanctity of Mass. It brings comfort– but to those who didn’t grow up with it, and our own children, that can mean BORING. Love the idea of presenting Jesus as someone who loved to laugh! Stealing that one for church next time. 🙂
This is an excellent point, Kathleen. The church of my youth as pretty much all doom and gloom…it’s taken me a long time in my adulthood to think of Jesus as having a lighthearted, laughing side as well! And you remind me here that it’s at least partially my responsibility to help my children understand that as well!
Does your parish do Liturgy of the Word for children? Ours does and I love it. Just before the first reading, the little kids (they and their parents decide when they are old enough, and too old) come up for a blessing and process out with the children’s lectionary. The go over to the school (out one door, in another) where they sit on the floor and listen as the first reading and gospel are read from the children’s lectionary. The catechist talks about the readings and asks the kids questions to help them “get” it. They do a version of the creed call “I believe”–basically the catechist says “I believe in God….” and after each phrase the kids say “I believe, I believe”. Then they do their own prayers of the faithful and come back during the collection. It’s not entertainment, but its not a bunch of adult-speak for five-nine year olds either.
We have it, but not every week. And he complains through the Eucharistic Prayer more than the readings…but we always send him to Children’s Liturgy if they have it.
I was awakened to Jesus’ sense of humor through reading the former chief Rabbi of Rome’s book, The Nazarene. Zolli took the name “Eugenio” after Pope Pius XII because of the great rescue work the Pope did for the Jews in Rome. Zolli was an outstanding scholar and brought Jesus’ preaching to life. Jesus was an engaging and delightful preacher who knew how to make His words capture the hearts of His listeners – and make the Scribes and Pharisees mad. Unfortunately, this aspect of the Word of God isn’t something we hear very often from the pulpit.
Well, in fairness, I don’t think it really comes through in the dry language of the Scriptures. And the aforementioned fear of sacrilege has stymied anyone who wants to bring it out. But really, he couldn’t have been as dry as the Scriptures read, or the crowds would never have followed him. He had to have been incredibly charismatic; he had to have spoken in the vernacular and style of the time.
Wouldn’t it be that Jesus spoke with Beauty. Gregorian Chant speaks with a depth of beauty that draws us deeper into Christ. Its not about gloom and doom, though many people may look at it this way. I’ve always looked at Liturgical prayer in terms of developing a humble but attentive heart.
I do like very much your words “the opposite of boring is not entertaining, but meaningful.”
I didn’t say anything about chant…I agree with you 100% that chant has a depth of beauty that settles the soul, which can draw us closer to Christ. (True of every style of music, in my opinion, actually–at least the latter part, but there are different ways to be drawn closer to Christ, not all of them meditative.) I’m thinking of plodding, poorly-executed music of all styles and all eras, from chant to hymnody to praise & worship. Any of it can be done well and lift us up, any of it can be done poorly and set the teeth on edge, distracting us from the prayer. I agree totally about developing a humble but attentive heart. Where I get frustrated is when one side or the other of the Great Liturgy War tries to imply that *only* their side has validity, that there is no place for chant, or there is no place for organ, or there is no place for guitar, or no place for percussion.
Anyway, music is only a sliver of the total package–poorly-read prayers, mediocre lectoring, flat homilies–all these things are just as damaging. Ritual needs energy and inspiration or it becomes, yes, irrelevant.
I agree that lackluster efforts at celebrating the liturgy take away from it. An approach that nurtures a humble and attentive heart can aid one’s participation in the Grace at Mass while poor lectoring and homilies, and other luke warm efforts take away from that participation. They give the appearance that the meaning is not there or important. I think I agree with your main point that a somber attitude is no way to live a Christian life.
I suppose such poor efforts can leave you less well disposed to receiving the Grace of the Mass. However, I’m treading into waters that are rather complex theologically. How much does my effort play a role? Do I really have to inject energy into the Mass? After all it is the work of Christ that brings about salvation. I’m inclined to believe that its all about Christ’s offering on the altar that is at the heart of the Mass, its about the mystery of salvation. My work is to be attentive to what is being done for me and to participate actively in my heart.
Thanks for you thought provoking post.
My pastor commented on a quasi-supernatural event at our church as an example of how we are so spectacularly entertained by new media and extravaganzas of the 21 century, that we seem to conclude God had better produce better productions, if He wants to keep us.
Seems a lady noticed the face of Jesus in the veil before the tabernacle (shadows and light / a wink from the Almighty?) Well by the next day, 800 people had trooped into the church midweek to see the marvel.
As the liturgical rubrics of the season would have it, though, the veil had to be changed to a purple one, and so it was. How many people visited the next day?
The score: Signs and Wonders – 800 Real Presence – 0