Mass-In-Sanity

Recently Jeremiah and I have decided to make attending daily mass a higher priority in our lives, knowing we could both benefit from the sacramental graces, especially as the children's reasoning skills become more fine tuned.

But, simply walking into daily mass with four young children is a commotion in itself, before ever braving the dreaded monotonous homily or the solemn silences of the consecration with a two year old whose attention span is fitting of his age and a five year old who is certain his command carries the force of a king, or at least enough to dictate every action of his distracted little brother. And then there is Luci, with whom the slightest glance from the grandmothers behind us excites squeals, jumps and echoing growls. Which in turn, enraptures big sister to the point of awkwardly dragging both baby and mom to the ground in an embrace that is as desperate as it is clumsy.

Therefore, fully aware of our potential notoriety, and perhaps because of our fixation on its possibility, we entered mass the other day with our mission firmly in our minds, to get in, restrain arms, legs and mouths and get out. As we made our way past the Holy Water fount, we realized our eldest two were headed for the pivotal front row, a row given to the saints, those who are declared such by all observers because their children behaved so well during mass or those who are pushed into sanctity by the extreme humility required to gather one's pride along with the children after they have drawn the attention of an entire church. Either way, this day we felt our sanctification could come through less public means, and so a tip-toed chase down the isle began.

Only moments later, having safely secured a pew in the back, we realized, due to the serene atmosphere around us, the absence of our two year old. Retracing our steps, he was found in the place we so hastily left him, by the Holy Water fount, and in typical two year old form, was eager to continue the activity which had captivated him for the past two minutes, having discovered the hand in the form of a cup, is much more effective for blessing oneself with Holy Water than only a few daintily dipped fingers.

With renewed vigor and an awareness of the battle yet to come, I suppressed my laughter and escorted our son, holy water still rolling off his saturated bangs, to our pew discreetly tucked in the corner.

Confident that the theory of leading by example is true, and hopeful in the effects produced by large quantities of holy water, Jeremiah and I stationed ourselves between children and stared actively at the priest as he processed down the isle, when a sudden echoing thud caused us to turn in bewilderment towards our oldest daughter. We watched in amazement as she held on to the pew in front of us, leaned back until her arms were fully extended then slammed herself, with great determination, back into the pew. Fearing the entire church would soon notice our four year old's convulsions, we flattened her into her seat in a hope to discern what had possessed her to act in such a way, and if the explanation were not that simple, then to at least discern what she might have been thinking. Upon investigation, we realized she had gently propped her book up on the back of the pew in front of us, and was proceeding to conduct an experiment to determine the exact velocity her body needed to reach in order to dislodge the book and send it flying.

Refusing to be bested by childhood curiosities, we are continuing in our pursuit of sanctifying grace, and the humility necessary to make the best use of it, and so, you, Our Larger Lot, can expect more installments of Mass-In-Sanity.