Bring Your Kids To Mass

To every Catholic parent wrestling a toddler through Mass right now, this one’s for you.

I know some churches have cry rooms, and for many families those can be a tremendous blessing. But not every church does.

The church my family attends is over 150 years old. There is no cry room. There is only the pew, and sometimes a quick trip outside when things completely fall apart.

I sat in those same pews as a child. Now I sit in them with my own children. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bringing children to Mass, even when it’s messy, is part of raising them in the faith. I have heard more than one priest say that they love hearing children during Mass because it means families are present. It means the Church is alive. It means parents are doing the hard work of handing on the faith. That is exactly how it is supposed to be.

The dirty looks. The snacks on the pew. The whispered threats that aren’t working. The walk of shame up the aisle because someone just had a meltdown during the Consecration. Every Catholic parent knows this moment. And almost every one of us has asked the same question:

“Are we even getting anything out of this?” It’s hard to listen to the readings or the homily. We aren’t paying attention because we are making sure they are behaving. The answer though is yes. Maybe not how you would expect, or in a way you can measure. But you are.

When your child sits in church, squirming, singing children’s songs, reaching for a handful of the person’s hair in front of you, crying, even seemingly unaware of what is happening, they are being formed. They are hearing the Word of God. They are watching their parents kneel. They are learning that Sunday belongs to God. Most importantly, they are present at the most important event in the history of the universe: the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ made present on the altar. Though they don’t understand that yet, they will.

Jesus was very clear about children.

The disciples once tried to keep children away from Jesus. They thought the children were a distraction. They thought they were not ready. They thought they did not belong, but Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” - Matthew 19:14

The disciples were wrong then. The dirty looks we get are wrong now.

Children belong at Mass. Not when they are older. Not when they can sit still. Not when they finally understand. They belong there now.

At your child’s baptism, the Church entrusted you with something serious. You stood before God and His Church and promised to raise your child in the faith. You promised to teach them to know Christ, to bring them to the sacraments, and to hand on what was handed to you.

Every Mass you attend with a diaper bag, a bag of snacks, and a two-year-old who has just discovered that a stone church has incredible acoustics for screaming, you are fulfilling that mission. Not perfectly. Not peacefully. But faithfully. And faithful is what matters.

Think about what is being written into the memory of a four-year-old who watches their parents kneel before something they cannot see. Children remember more than we realize. They remember the scent of incense lingering in the air. They remember the bells ringing at the Consecration. They remember watching their mother bow her head in prayer. They remember the songs we sing. Long before they understand the mystery, they learn that something holy is happening. You are not merely bringing your children to Mass. You are helping shape the architecture of their souls.

If you’re one of the people giving the dirty looks, just remember- that family, the one with the noise, the chaos, and the snacks scattered in the pew, got up on a Sunday morning and chose God over comfort. They are doing one of the hardest and most important things a Catholic parent can do.

They deserve a smile, not a glare.

Jesus said, let them come. The Church said, form them. You said, yes. That is more than enough. So keep on going.

My wife and I have two young children. We get those looks. We feel that same self-consciousness. Some Sundays are more exhausting than others. But we are exactly where we are supposed to be.

And here is what nobody tells you in those difficult early years. One day, without you even realizing when it happened, they will begin kneeling when you kneel. They will fold their hands when you fold yours. They will start watching the priest and trying to do exactly what he does. They may sing the Gloria or the Agnus Dei. Then, out of nowhere, they will ask you a question about God that stops you dead in your tracks. A question so pure and so profound that you will wonder how someone so young could have arrived there. In that moment, you’ll understand that every snack on the pew. Every walk of shame up the aisle. Every dirty look. Every difficult Sunday was worth every second.

Don’t second guess bringing your kids to Mass. Bring them. They belong there, and so do you.