Far Too Few

January 12th, 2025

There are very few children coming to our church services. It’s not like when I was a kid. Back then, there was a special place called a “crying room” just for restless babies and toddlers, and their moms. Older children sat with their parents in church, and woe to the youngster who caused any commotion. Adults were in the minority at any Mass, and they spent an inordinate amount of time keeping their offspring quiet.

The demographics are reversed now. Grey heads or bald heads dominate. There are more walkers than strollers in the church. A few families show up with little ones, but they are rare. People long to hear the voice of child, even if the kid is crying his or her lungs out. I suspect that one reason for the shortage of children at the services is the fact that their parents’ generation has no use for the institutional Church. Another factor is that families are much smaller than when I was a boy. A family with even three children is unusual.

We care fulltime for Asher, our grandson. He is four years old now. Karin and I take him to church most every Sunday. It is sometimes a struggle to get him to Mass, but generally he is a good sport about it. He can be squirrelly. He is not one to sit still in the pew, but then where can you find a little boy who does that willingly? In the old days, the more mature people in the church would give dirty looks to the parents of unruly children. At least, that’s what my father thought. He was ruthless about his kids being well-behaved and not embarrassing him. It made for stressful times during the service, and often afterward.

I read from the Scriptures this morning during the Mass. I am assigned to proclaim the Word to the congregation on occasion, and I am used to doing that. I started serving as a lector (reader) back in 1992, so I am comfortable with speaking in front of a crowd. It takes a lot to get me flustered. Asher sat with Karin in the pew as I got up to read from the book.

Today I read part of Paul’s letter to Titus. I dislike reading from Paul’s letters because he loved long complicated sentences with many subordinate clauses. It is nearly impossible to read some his epistles out loud and be clear and compelling. His words often sound like something from a dry academic lecture. Listeners get bored almost instantly. I get bored, and I’m doing the reading.

As I stood at the pulpit reading Paul’s epistle, I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the steps toward me. I looked down to my right and saw Asher standing next to me. He grinned and said,

“Grampa.”

I hefted him up on to my right hip and continued to read to the congregants. I got back into the flow. It is expected that a lector pauses briefly at the end of the Scripture reading before speaking the final verse. I did that.

Asher immediately interjected, “Hey, that little girl is running!”

I concluded my part and said,

“The Word of the Lord!”

I carried Asher down to the pew. We muddled through the rest of the service. He played with his monster trucks and ate blueberries. I glanced around to check for any disdainful looks from my fellow worshippers.

At the end of Mass, the priest came down to greet us. He’s an elderly man with a good heart. He smiled at Asher and said,

“I loved how he came up to join you for the reading. That was beautiful. He’s a good guy!”

Indeed, he is.