Serving the people of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee
Margaret Plevak - Special to Parenting
During Lent 1996, St. Jerome Parish in Oconomowoc began a children's Liturgy of the Word service at Sunday Mass. Participation was voluntary, but attendance was so great, noted Marge Craemer, director of religious education, that the service took hold. Today it's offered on the first three Sundays of every month at the 9 a.m. Mass.
Like St. Jerome, other churches in the Milwaukee Archdiocese are seeing favorable responses to a children's Liturgy of the Word. While frequency of occurrence, settings and participants' ages vary slightly, the format St. Jerome uses is typical: After the opening prayer, children, usually from first to fourth grades, are called forward from the congregation by the celebrant, who blesses them before they process to the parish hall downstairs.
There, sitting on folding chairs, they listen to the day's readings from the "Lectionary for Masses with Children" - usually read by an older child or teen-ager - and an age-appropriate homily that always includes a discussion. Afterwards, they recite the Nicene Creed and respond to their own general intercessions before joining their parents upstairs in time for the offertory of the Mass.
"I think that having the whole Liturgy of the Word by themselves and being treated in a special way by coming up to the front of the community, receiving a blessing, being sent in procession - all that really impacts upon children's religious sensibility very nicely," said Fr. John Yockey, pastor of St. Jerome.
At St. Sebastian Parish, Milwaukee, the children's Liturgy of the Word is held on the first Sunday of every month. Parishioner Barbara Haig has seen the service's impact not only on her two sons, Patrick, 9, and Timmy, 5, but on the first-graders in her Sunday religious education classes.
"It provides an opportunity for the children in the Sunday classes to really learn about the readings themselves and then, even on a first-grade level, to try to interpret it to other children. The children in the class certainly get a lot out of it, but I also think that the children who are participating as listeners get something, too, because it's all at their level," she said.
While many priests, parents and directors of religious education programs applaud children's Liturgy of the Word as a way to involve children in the Mass, some liturgists are less enthusiastic.
Last summer, the archdiocesan Office of Prayer and Worship newsletter featured a front-page article on the subject. David A. Stosur, academic dean and assistant professor of liturgical studies at Saint Francis Seminary, questioned whether instead of being an enriching experience, children's Liturgy of the Word becomes divisive to a congregation, and sends a mixed message to children about the importance of their participation in the larger congregation's liturgy.
Michael Novak, director of the Office of Prayer and Worship, agrees with Stosur's basic message, and makes that view known to parishes who look to his office for advice in creating such a service. "We're not saying you should never have Liturgy of the Word with children, but we are saying you should exercise good judgment about not doing it too frequently."
The problem with splitting the worshiping congregation into adults and children is that it breaks up a virtual unity, Novak believes.
"There's something to be said for keeping the community," he said. "One of the things we always encourage parishes to look at is how they are celebrating their liturgies as a whole, whether they're accessible to everyone in the parish. Having children in one's midst is a challenge to the parish community, to take a look at the way they celebrate their liturgies all together."
At one time, Fr. Joe Haas, pastor of St. Peter of Alcantara Parish in Port Washington, planned to implement a children's Liturgy of the Word. Now, he's ambivalent about the idea. He admitted his church's floor plan of classrooms surrounding the worship space makes holding the children's service ideally close, and he acknowledges that readings targeted to children can be valuable. But he's also aware that children benefit from assembled worship.
"The youngest kids aren't really praying, anyway, but they're there and that's important," he said. "So is seeing their parents pray. Children need to learn to pray with their folks."
"The mom in me sees a big plus in children not only understanding the readings, but taking the message they learned downstairs back home to talk about and share with their parents," said Craemer. "But as a professional, I know that part of the reason I haven't encouraged a children's Liturgy of the Word on every Sunday is that I recognize the value of family worship together."
At St. Veronica Parish in Milwaukee, Jennifer Christ, director of religious education and mother of four, confessed her initial reaction to the weekly children's service was negative.
"As a parent I thought, 'I don't like this idea. We worked so hard just to get this family here together on Sunday morning! I don't want the kids going off somewhere,'" she said.
Now, a children's homilist herself, Christ doesn't see the service as separating children from the congregation, but rather, recognizing their needs.
"It's almost as if the children are lifted up out of the assembly so that we realize they're there," she said. "When we bring the kids forward it's like we're seeing the future of the church. And we're tending to them as children hearing the word of God."
Dolores Ecker, director of religious education at St. Mary-Immaculate Conception Parish, West Bend, agreed that liturgists who see the service as a diversion during Mass aren't seeing the whole picture.
"I think they're mistaking a physical body presence with a spiritual presence," she said. "The children's bodies may be in another place but their spirituality most certainly will be at the same spot their parents are, and perhaps even more so because we are talking to them at their level. They're receiving that same message, so the spiritual presence is one."
At St. Mary, where a children's Liturgy of the Word service is held at Masses from October through April, Ecker said children's homilists often use visual or audio aids, from books and blackboards to tapes and videos, in order to help kids understand the message behind the Scripture readings.
The freedom to be creative in a children's homily often captures children's attention. That, say proponents of the liturgy service, usually means less fidgeting and whispering in the pews by children.
But bells and whistles don't turn the service into a catechetical lesson. "This isn't a time to get out the crayons and do a project," said Brigid O'Donnell, the director of religious education at St. Matthias Parish in Milwaukee, where children's Liturgy of the Word is offered during Advent, Lent and part of the Easter season. "This is not a 'program.' This is really liturgy.
"We've avoided giving out activity worksheets during the service because we want kids to realize that (Scripture reading and homily) is what's going on upstairs with their moms and dads. So the purpose of it, too, is to help them to participate more fully on those other Sundays when they do go with their families," said Mark Kemmeter, a pastoral associate at St. Sebastian.
But do children need their own homily to help them understand the Gospel's message? Shouldn't the celebrant take children into account when preparing his homily for the entire congregation?
Fr. Charles Schramm, pastor of St. Sebastian, occasionally pops a question to the children in his congregation during his homilies.
"That's a good way to draw the kids in, but I must confess I don't do that every week," he said. "And unless you have a homilist who is just very good at bridging the gap between different ages, often younger children will be left out. But in our congregation, we have people from all different walks of life to address. I just don't think you can hit them all on any given Sunday."
A liturgical experience is and should be geared to the adults in the congregation, Kemmeter said. "But there is a reason why the bishops created that lectionary for children with their needs in mind. And once a month we give an opportunity for all the children in the parish to be able to participate in liturgy on their own level."
Craemer remembers explaining the idea of being the light to the world in one children's homily by using the wiggly beam of a flashlight in a dark room. It was a message that struck home almost immediately.
"When they can experience it that way, why shouldn't this service fit in?" she asked. "Anything we can do to keep people interested and to make the Scriptures come alive so they can relate it to their own lives - be it fourth grade or at the senior citizens' center is wonderful," said Kris Radish, a member of St. Jerome Parish and the mother of two children, ages 8 and 10.
At St. Peter Parish, Haas looks for innovative ways to keep children participating in what is essentially an adult worship service. He's invited them into the baptismal font area for parish baptisms, encouraged parents with children to use front-row pews for close-up views of the liturgy, included props in his homilies, and even occasionally used older children as readers at Mass.
"I think somehow we need to get a message to the children periodically on their level that shows them they are incorporated into the worshiping community," he said.
"What we have to be careful of is that we don't turn the liturgy into an intellectual exercise," Novak said. "There's more going on than simply hearing words and understanding them. There's a whole complex of actions and gestures and postures and activities that go beyond the spoken word."
Buzz, buzz, buzzhum, hum, hum. Buzz, buzz, buzzhum, hum, hum. The sound is rhythmic, never ending.
It's a soft sound, pleasant. Reminds me of the ebb and flow of waves crashing into rocks and then quietly returning back to sea. But this sound is even softer than that. This sound could be the background for relaxation tapes of the living earth.
This buzz-hum is the sound of four fluids being pumped into my son's veins. The buzzing isn't as soothing as the hum, but nevertheless, at times it has the power to lure both of us toward slumber in his hospital room.
This young man is supposed to be hyped and careening through his last four weeks of his senior year in high school. He's supposed to be bragging to me about how many hits he got in softball today. Writing a last essay for English class. Or rattling off his list of graduation gift requests. Getting the brakes fixed on his motorcycle.
Instead this 18-year-old, 6-foot, 3-inch skinny drink of water is lying still with three IV poles lined up like soldiers next to his bed pumping antibiotics, steroids, a saline solution and red blood cells into his left arm. Crohn's disease eats at his intestines like an infidel who tears into town to do nothing but wreak havoc.
Doctors, nurses and lab technicians poke and prod and stick needles and various plastic and metal things into his body. Granted, they do it lovingly and with tremendous compassion, but they still do it.
I watch, wait and do typical mom things rub his back, feed him ice chips, chatter about the real world, fluff his pillow, go on clutter patrol in his room and ask enough questions so that I understand what's being done to my youngest child.
For the first three days I'm so calm and serene I amaze myself. During a particularly quiet moment while reading a magazine I come across a quote by Sam J. Ervin Jr. "Religious faith is not a storm cellar to which men and women can flee for refuge from the storms of life. It is, instead, an inner spiritual strength that enables them to face those storms with hope and serenity."
Of course, I say to myself, I am filled with hope and serenity. Otherwise how can I profess to be a woman of faith? Feeling quite smug with myself, I bask in my serenity, proud of my tower of strength attitude.
By the end of day four my son is cranky. Four days without food or water punctuated with pain and constant intrusions into his personal space, have left him unable to put any social skill programs into his body's computer. He's running on two cylinders instead of eight so he snaps at me, complains about everything, declares that he's sick of visitors and phone calls and in the end reduces me to tears. I'm not such a pillar after all.
That night, still in my son's room, I whimper to Fr. Tom, "What's wrong with me? I'm losing it. Where's my serenity? Doesn't my faith guarantee serenity?"
"Nonsense," he says. "You can't be in the same room with someone 18 hours a day for four days without losing it. Happily married couples can't even do it when they're perfectly healthy. You need to get out of here. Go for a walk. Take care of you for awhile. I'll stay."
I leave, afraid that if I don't I'll burst into loud shaking sobs. I head for my friend Betsy's house where we walk, talk (mostly me blathering about the whole week with all its gruesome details), and finish off the visit with a wine cooler and hugs.
Two hours later I'm back in my son's room. Fr. Tom leaves, the last poking, prodding and injections are completed for the day and once again, I've settled into a chair next to the IV pumps.
Buzz, buzz, buzz. Hum, hum, hum. As I listen I begin to understand more about faith. I learn that it's there and that it flows like medicine through an IV, sure and steady. Sometimes it buzzes. Sometimes it hums. For now, the humming lulls me to sleep.
(Lorenz, a mother of four, is an Oak Creek inspirational art-of-living author. Her first "Hugs for Your Heart" audio book is available by calling (800) 276-6175.)
James Pankratz - Special to Parenting
Recently a father told me about a book that his children asked him to read to them over and over. The book had an intriguing premise so I decided to find a copy and see for myself if it was as good as this father claimed. It was.
It's a children's book with illustrations and, best of all, it took only five minutes to read. The title is "The Meanest Thing to Say" written by that wonderful story teller, Bill Cosby. On the back cover it says it's for children ages 6 to 10, but like all the best children's books, it has something thought-provoking to say to all ages.
It begins with a new kid named Michael coming to Little Bill's grade school classroom. That day at recess Michael proposes to a group of his classmates that they play a new game. Michael says, "It's called Playing the Dozens. You get 12 chances to say something mean to a person. The meanest thing wins." Michael begins to insult Little Bill, who is saved by the bell signaling the end of recess. Michael points to Little Bill and promises to come up with even meaner things to say to him tomorrow.
That evening Little Bill was so upset that he couldn't concentrate on his homework. He was dreading hearing the horrible things Michael would have to say to him at school the next day. I put myself in Little Bill's shoes. I wondered what would be the 12 meanest things someone could say to me? Perhaps the list would include things like "You're stupid ... boring ... insensitive." Maybe physical characteristics like "Gee, your bald spot is growing" or "What color was your hair before it turned grey?" Or perhaps comparisons to others: "You're not as funny as Joe ... or as creative as Karen."
I suggest you make your own list. What would you put on it? Maybe it would make a difference who was saying the "mean thing." If it were your third cousin Alfred, who cares? If it were your husband or wife ... that's major injury time. But why? Why should anyone saying any of the things on your list have the power to hurt you? Because many of us are terribly afraid of what is underlying all the insults: What other people think of us.
Many marital arguments are heated attempts by one spouse to disprove, refute or combat something hurtful that was said by the other. The angry counterattacks continue an attempt to get the other to "cry uncle" and admit he/she was wrong about the initial insult. The feeling is "I can't stand it if you speak ill of me!"
Why? I think it's because when we were children it was extremely important what grown-ups, particularly our father and mother, thought of us. We didn't know what to make of ourselves yet. If our parents criticized us, we felt worthless; if they praised us, we believed we could climb mountains.
The "leap" from needing and seeking the approval of others to being able to have our own power pack and affirm ourselves is a big one. One definition of maturity could be the ability to calmly believe in yourself even when no one is hanging your drawings on the refrigerator any more. Don't get me wrong, most of us would love to hear the applause of the crowd or have our Pulitzer prize-winning novel become a bestseller. The trick is to not attach our self-worth to the acclaim or disdain of the world.
How does a child grow to the point of feeling secure in himself? Here's where Little Bill's father stepped in. Little Bill complained to his dad about the horrible things Michael said to him. Dad shrugged his shoulders and said. "So?" Little Bill protested loudly that Michael is a creep. Dad's response was the same "So?" Little Bill felt frustrated: "Is that all you can say? ... So ... so ... so? You've said it about a million times...." His dad replied, "It's easier than studying a million mean things" (to say back).
The next day as promised Michael starts firing away at Little Bill with all the insults he can think of. Little Bill disarms each and every one with the mighty word his father taught him: "So?"
I like the story because Little Bill's father took his son's feelings and his complaint seriously. He listened to what the boy was saying and took the time to teach him a valuable method for disarming a verbal attacker. There's nothing quite so effective and quite so powerful as calmly refusing to attack back when others are trying to provoke us. That is the principle of non-violence. Jesus, Gandhi and Martin Luther King showed us how to do it. Now let's show our kids.
(Pankratz is a marriage and family therapist in the Catholic Charities' Milwaukee regional office.)
Copyright, 1997 by Catholic Herald, Milwaukee, WI
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