Gifts We Offer

This past weekend at Mass, one of the ushers stopped me as we were walking into the church and asked if our family would bring up the gifts. We’d be delighted, I said.

Here is where I’d like to offer a lesson I learned that Sunday: never ignore the little voice that tells you to fix the hair of the son who looks like he just rolled out of bed. You will always regret ignoring that voice, especially when it’s talking about more than one member of your party.

But I forgot about the hair and how I hadn’t fixed it, and I gladly accepted the offer to bring up the gifts. We headed to our pew and Mass began.

For the past few weeks, the two younger boys have been obsessed with the new baby, especially during church. They sit next to me, one on each side, and lean down and whisper to the baby and pat the baby and ask me questions about the baby.

It’s touching of course, but also a little frustrating. When the baby gets to be larger than a pecan I will find this the sweetest thing on earth. Right now I feel like they’re talking to that roll of flab that forms when I sit – a little love note to all the fast food I’ve been inhaling these past weeks of morning sickness.

By the second reading, I was flustered. At one point, I crossed my legs and one of the boys rubbed my calf muscle. “Look at the baby,” he marveled, and while his confusion was amusing, it was also the last straw. I had been manhandled enough.

Soon after, we headed to the back of the church and it was then that I noticed the hair situation (plural). Little boys with major bed-head.

But I thought, “Bringing up the gifts isn’t all about us! It’s about Jesus!”

We sauntered down the aisle, carrying the bread and wine and offering basket. Everyone mostly walked at a similar pace. We bowed before the altar, were blessed by Father, and turned to head back to our seat.

Then one of the boys got just out of arms reach (the reach that involves my very compelling “firm grasp on bicep muscle”). And I watched in horror as he and his hairdo did a kind of liturgical dance: palms to the face, thumbs clasped together, eight fingers pulsating like the wings of a bird. He did this with arms raised as he headed back down the aisle.

I was mortified.

I (discreetly) altered my pace and caught up to the boy with my compelling grasp. He got the point. We made it back to our seat where I prayed the Lord would allow the pew to swallow me whole – until right after Mass.

Jesus says, in Matthew, “Come to me, all you who are weary and find life burdensome, and I will refresh you.” And I remembered that scripture just then, because that’s how I felt. I also reminded myself He doesn’t say anything about really good hair and flawless behavior.

I didn’t laugh about this event for a few days, until I realized – what can you do? We messed up. We’ll correct, adjust, learn, grow and (try to) do better next time.

Fortunately for my son, perfection is not a requisite for participating in Mass. Jesus invites us all, not just the well-deserving, to come to the altar. And I think I’m among the very large majority (all of us!) who are equally grateful for that as well.