This morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in the middle of a children’s Mass. Sometimes, if I’m really honest, my first reaction to something like a children’s Mass is, “Great. How many cheesy songs do I have to sit through?” But today, I was encouraged to have a new perspective when Tricia looked over at me and said, “Great! I love children’s Masses! They’re the perfect start to the day!”
Armed with that little bit of good ol’ unintentional “Catholic guilt,” I resolved to drop my “I’m older so I’m holier” attitude and be open to what God had in store for me. And, like I usually am, I was surprised at how He can use the smallest things and seemingly most insignificant situations to teach me big lessons.
There were kids everywhere—altar servers, musicians, lectors...and, WOW, did they do a fantastic job! Aside from the cuteness inherent in everything (“Jesus tells us to wove evewy-won”), these were kids who knew what was going on. The little second-grade lector got through the first reading more flawlessly than I’ve heard from some adult lectors (what second grader knows how to pronounce “perverse?” “Libation?”). There was a real sense that they are being taught the faith in a beautiful way—one that allows for all the awkwardness and messiness of being a child while directing them toward the fullness of an adult faith experience. One especially beautiful moment happened during the homily, when Father invited the kids up to a huge mural on the wall behind the altar to try and pick out the saints. I had a flash of perception in seeing these kids—some of the smallest, youngest members of the Church—literally walking among the saints, getting to know them personally. I found myself excited at the prospect of what these kids are going to be like when they’re teenagers, or when they’re adults. This is what building the Church is all about!
When I started really reflecting on it, though, here’s a thought that really struck me: this is what God sees when he looks at me. Lisping my way through prayers, fumbling through hand motions, praying hilariously innocent prayers. I may think I’ve got it down, I may think I’m old enough to “know better” or to be better; but the truth is, I’m still just taking baby steps toward holiness. And the beautiful, breathtaking reality is that God still allows me—no, He invites me—to walk in the company of His holy ones, those who are considered the “leaders and perfecters of faith.” Even as I’m growing into “adulthood” (sometimes a scary thought), I need to realize that’s it’s OK to be messy, it’s OK to make mistakes, it’s OK to not be perfect. Kids are not perfect (just ask my mom). But parents love the snot out of them anyway, even as they laugh and post their ridiculously quotable moments on their Facebook pages.
And I think that, ultimately, is something of what Jesus means when He says to come to Him like a little child—knowing that I am loved in my imperfections and mistakes and that I am adopted into His family; trusting that I am good as I am and that He is molding me, through all of the awkwardness, into the holy woman He intended me to be.
