I’ve written before about my discovery of prayer journaling and how much it has enriched my prayer life. Since then, I’ve participated in online retreats, book discussions, and other practices that are helping me grow in faith–maybe I will share more about some of them in another post. And now I’m ready to try Mass journaling.
Probably about a year ago I started hearing about Mass journals and seeing them online. And I was curious. Then my friend Ginny designed one especially for kids. I thought it was a cool idea but I couldn’t imagine that Lorelei would be interested in such a thing.
Ginny just published her third installment of To Hear His Voice–they’re seasonal–and this time she launched a version for mothers too! When I heard about Until I Rest in You, I knew that this was the journal I wanted to try.
Lorelei saw me looking at it online and asked me what it was. When I explained, she said she thought that sounded interesting and she wanted her own!
So that’s how I ended up having the opportunity to review both the mom and kid Mass journals! (I received free PDF copies and was not otherwise compensated, and my opinions are my own.)
But let’s back up a minute, in case you are wondering what a Mass journal is and what you are supposed to do with one. Ginny’s journals contain the Sunday readings with reflection questions and space for writing and drawing. The journals could be used to read in advance of Mass to prepare, to follow along during Mass while taking notes, or to re-read and reflect afterward–or any combination of the three!
Now let’s talk about some of what makes Ginny’s journals special. First of all, they are visually appealing. The covers are so pretty, and so is all the lettering, and the decorative details throughout the books. Ginny pays attention to detail, and it shows.
The journals are divided by week, and I love that each section starts off with a list of the Feast Days for that week, and is prefaced with an inspirational quote from one of the saints. The kids’ journal also includes Reconciliation and Adoration Journals at the end.
The writing prompts are original and thoughtful, inspiring genuine reflection on the readings and connecting Scripture to every day life. The prompts in the children’s journal are age-appropriate yet challenging. And there is plenty of room to write in both journals, whether you are a mom with a lot to say or a kid with big handwriting!
The journals are available in PDF format or in hardback, and if you need a closer look before you decide, Ginny will even send you a sample chapter. For a more detailed description and explanation of the journals, click here for To Hear His Voice and here for Until I Rest in You. To purchase right now, click below!
If you purchase either book through the links in this post, I will receive a small commission.
Until very recently, worry and anxiety have not been challenges for me. I have the kind of mind that just doesn’t hold on the those kinds of things. Unlike my husband, who is consumed with worry pretty much all the time, making him miserable, I have always been able to put problems aside to deal with whatever is right in front of me.
Lately, I’ve suffered from anxiety of the free-floating variety. Because it isn’t rational, it doesn’t respond to rational techniques. I tend to treat it by whiffing essential oils or going outside to sit in the sun. What’s worse is when it attaches itself to legitimate areas of worry that I would have been able to put out of my mind in the past. When that happens, and chanting my usual mantra (Cast your cares on God; that anchor holds.) isn’t working, there is one Scripture passage I turn to.
You know the jokes about Catholics–we don’t read our Bibles and we can’t quote chapter and verse like our Protestant brethren. Of course that’s not true of all Catholics, and the fact is that most of us are exposed to a lot of Scripture via the Mass readings. According to this source, a Catholic who attends Mass on Sundays and major feasts will hear about 41% of the New Testament and 4% of the Old (that doesn’t count the Psalms), even if they never crack open a Bible at home or in a study group.
So I know lots of Scripture, even if I don’t always know exactly where to find it. But I always remember that the passage about anxiety is in the book of Matthew, Chapter 6: 25 “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his span of life? 28 And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O men of little faith? 31 Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well. 34 “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day’s own trouble be sufficient for the day.
Even if I have trouble believing it right in the moment, I know that if Jesus said it, it must be true. Even if I can’t see how, I know He is working all things out for my good. Even though I can’t always manage it, I want to live as though I really, REALLY believe these words all the time.
And thanks to a new prayer practice I adopted this Lent, I am growing in this area. More than once, after I have shared my anxieties with God in my prayer journal, insight, answers, and comfort have followed within days. I find my thoughts turning toward journaling when I am facing a knotty problem in my life or when I am overcome with worries and anxiety. I find myself really trusting that it is all in God’s hands.
This post is part of the Catholic Women’s Blogger Network Blog Hop. For more articles on faith and worry, click below.
I’m blessed to still be a member of the very parish in which I was baptized as an infant. Most of the past nearly 50 years of Sundays have found me sitting (standing and kneeling) in a pew at Immaculate Conception Church. And like most Catholics, I’m usually in the same pew–or as close to the same pew as I can get.
Our church is an old one and when I was a little girl there were still some names written on the pew cards–names of folks already long gone by then. We most often sat in the former pew of Mr. and Mrs. Frank J. O’Brien. It was about two-thirds of the way back on the left side of the main aisle.
Today I still sit on the left side of the main aisle. When some crowded event like First Communion or Christmas forces me over to the right side, everything looks new and strange and uncomfortable. Even the people sitting around me aren’t the people I’m used to! But I no longer sit two-thirds of the way back. Instead, my family and I for years now have occupied the second or third pew when available.
You know why? Coats.
When I think back to the Sundays of my childhood, I don’t remember anything much about what was going on up on the altar. It was too far away and my view was blocked by a bunch of grownups. All I could see was the back of their coats, which no one took off during Mass during winter because the radiators we had then didn’t do the best job of keeping the church warm. Sometimes (with permission) I would stand on the kneeler to try to get a better view, but mostly I looked at the people in the nearby pews and waited for Mass to end.
The Masses I do remember quite well were at Saint Joseph School, and I don’t think it’s just because we went daily. No, I think it’s because we First Graders got to sit in the very first row, where we could hear and see everything Father Henkel was doing. I can still recall his exact intonations, and I remember clearly the way he tidied up the altar after Communion. I could see, and so I paid attention.
Nervous about public breastfeeding and a baby who might disturb people with her cries, John and I sat closer to the back on the side aisle when we were new parents. Early on, though, having read that kids would behave better if they could see what was going on, we made the move the the front and that’s all my kids have ever known.
This Passion Sunday, we arrived on the hilltop right at 11:30 to see crowds milling about on the sidewalk where no crowd should still have been at that time. Then I recognized the Bishop in the crowd and realized Confirmation was being celebrated. The candidates would be in our favorite pew, and their parents and other relatives would have come early to grab the other choice seats.
Sure enough, we ended up (on the left side, thankfully!) in one of the very last pews.
It was a strange experience. We couldn’t hear the Bishop (who is rather soft-spoken). Lorelei couldn’t see at all. William, at 6’2″, fared better, but still opined, “That was dreadful!” Both he and Lorelei said later that they couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to sit back there on purpose.
As for me, I spent most of the time watching the cute little kids around me, because apparently their parents keep them near the back in order to be able to escape with them quickly should they make noise. And likely because they cannot see anything and are bored and tired, they do make noise.
Sitting so far back, I didn’t feel like a full participant in the Mass. I felt like a spectator. “It was like being at a concert,” I said later. You know the kind–where the performer on stage could almost be anyone if there were no Jumbotron to display closeups.
Funnily enough, because it doesn’t happen often, I had tickets to an actual concert the following week. Kenny Rogers is on his farewell tour, and my sister Betsy had given tickets to my mother, Anne, and I for Christmas so we could all experience The Gambler’s Last Deal together.
It was an incredible evening. Not only were we treated to a behind-the-scenes chat with Kenny’s tour manager (Gene Roy, who’s been with him for 38 years), we got to go up on stage and get our pictures taken in Kenny’s chair, and then later we each exchanged a few words with Kenny before posing for commemorative photos with him.
And perhaps best of all, we were seated right in front of the stage for the performance. It was intimate. It was personal. When Kenny wanted to make eye contact with his audience, he was looking right at us. It wasn’t like being at a concert; it was almost like having a conversation.
We were sitting in the third row.
My sister paid extra for those up-close-and-personal seats. But you know what? The front pews are free on Sunday. They are free of charge, and most likely they are free of occupants.
Maybe sitting way in the back of church is your thing. Maybe you feel connected and can participate and pray just fine back there. I’m not here to tell you what to do.
But if you have little kids, I will GUARANTEE you that they don’t feel like a part of things when all they can see is the backs of grownups and while they are distracted by all the other kids in the last few pews doing what kids do when they are bored.
If you want your kids to be spectators at church, longing for Mass to be over so they can get their doughnuts, then stay in the back row. If you want them to be engaged in a relationship, come on down to the front.
Dear Mom in the Pew in Front of Me, the One with the Rowdy Kids:
No, I am not going to write about how much your kids disturb me during Mass. I’m not going to suggest that you take them to the nursery (we don’t have one anyway!) or sit with them in the cry room or tag-team with your husband so that you don’t have to bring them at all. I’m not going to criticize your parenting or tell you to feed that baby with a bottle when you are at church. And I’m not thinking those things either. Nor are most of the parents in this congregation.
It doesn’t bother me when your kids make noise. They are just kids and an hour is a long time to be quiet and sit still. When your three-year-old escapes you and runs up onto the altar, I’m just glad it’s not MY kid–because it just as well could have been.
What I want to tell you is Thank You. Thank you for bringing your kids to church–both for them and for the rest of us. Thank you for being open to having a large family. Thank you for nursing that baby when she needs to be nursed; and you really don’t need to worry so much about that blanket–if I am staring, it’s only because of fond memories, not judgment.
If kids are not welcome in a Catholic church, there is something wrong with that church. Jesus loves the little children. That’s not just a song; it’s in the Bible too–and if you look up, right over your head, you’ll see that scene in a picture on the ceiling. “Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not.” That’s what He said, and what all of us should be saying. So thank you you for your little visual reminders, these “least of these” that Jesus wants us to love as He did.
If during Easter Mass some cranky submarine Catholic turns around and tells you that your babbling toddler is “ruining it for everyone else,” (and yes, this once happened to me) I want you to know that if he thinks that he doesn’t know what “it” is and he is the one who is ruining things. I’d rather be like the woman who after a Mass during which my children were even rowdier than usual turned around and patted my arm and said, “It gets better.”
Because 18 years ago–yesterday–I was sitting in that pew with three rowdy children aged four and under (actually not in THAT pew–you are already smarter than I am by choosing to sit up front where the kids can see instead of in the back so that you can make a quicker getaway!). I have been here almost every Sunday for over 22 years, and for years on end I couldn’t listen to the homily, couldn’t even pray. This six foot muscly fellow next to me, the one who read the first reading today–he was the babbling toddler who was ruining things for everyone else. These two younger ones weren’t even a twinkle in anyone’s eye, and now the youngest will make her First Communion next week. They sit quietly. They make the responses. Some of them even sing. And I listen and pray. It goes so fast. You think people are just making conversation when they say that until IT GOES SO FAST.
So ten years from now–tomorrow–there will be big quiet kids in your pew and you will be able to pray again. No one will be staring at you except to admire your lovely family. You will be the one smiling indulgently at the cute toddler playing peek-a-boo with you over the back of the pew.
Until then, remember, you are doing a wonderful job.
This post was originally part of the Dear Mom Meme hosted by The Mom Pledge. Its goal was to help spread positive mom-to-mom messages across the web!
I’m resharing this post today as part of #WorthRevisit Wednesday. Check out the hosts’ blogs here and here for more great posts that are worth a second look!
Today is Holy Thursday, the day of Holy Week on which we remember that Last Supper Jesus shared with his Apostles, the birthday, as it were, of the Mass itself. We’ll hear the story tonight at church, and some of us will have our feet washed in commemoration of Jesus’ actions that night. At the end of Mass, the altar will be stripped and we will follow the Blessed Sacrament to the Chapel of Reservation. Tomorrow, Good Friday, is the one day of the whole year on which no Mass will be celebrated.
So it seems like a good time to address the question with which I entitled this post: What is the Mass for?
Except I’m not going to, because if you really want to know you can go read the Catechism (it’s online and searchable right here, folks) or you can look at this entry in the Catholic Encyclopedia (if you are feeling really scholarly). Because this post is not meant to be educational; it’s just a mini-rant.
I know exactly zero about how this week’s celebration will be affected by use of the Roman Missal, Third Edition. And I’m not worrying either, because the whole thing has turned out to be a tempest in a teapot, if you ask me. Sure I’m still smacking myself about half the time for saying, “And also with you,” instead of “And with your Spirit,” but big deal, you know? Yes, I still have to look at the pew card to say the Nicene Creed, but that does have the effect of making me PAY ATTENTION to what I am actually saying instead of just chanting along like a parrot.
What inspired this particular rant? Oh, you know me, it doesn’t take much. Seriously, though, I am so tired of people whining about this. Get over it already. The comment that got me going this time was a Facebook commenter complaining about the changes because, “The Mass is for us.”
Without denying at all that I suspect we are supposed to derive some benefit to our immortal souls at the very least from participating in the Mass, I object to that simplistic and self-centered comment. Disclaimer: I’m not a theologian, and I’m not doing any research today because I’m already overdue to start work. But given that Catholics are OBLIGED to attend Mass, obviously it’s not just “for us,” is it? The reforms of Vatican II made it more accessible and participatory for the faithful, but the Mass was still the Mass when it was all in Latin and partly whispered at the altar while the faithful sat quietly in the pews and prayed.
For crying out loud, God made the whole world. He sustains it–and us–in existence every second by the force of His will. He sent His Son to DIE for us! Like I tell my kids when they complain about going to church, is it too much to ask that we devote ONE HOUR each week to praising Him?
If the new translation is a source of such suffering to you, I’ve got a good Catholic suggestion for you: Offer it up.