The Scaffolding of Sensory Memory

And a case for bringing little kids to church

Hi, I’m Alex! Editor, writer, and author. Hello to new subscribers and welcome all to another edition of Chrism and Coffee, a letter about finding meaning in both the sacred and ordinary: plus a roundup of good things to read and eat!

My protestant friends are always astonished that our Catholic parish doesn’t have a nursery or cry room, and admittedly, sometimes I am, too. Kids of all ages are always present in Mass, which makes for a loud and often chaotic experience. 

I’ll admit that some Sundays, I can’t help but wonder, as I herd my children out the door for Mass, Why bother? Between trying to keep our toddler from playing peek-a-boo with the people behind us and taking our preschooler to the bathroom every twenty minutes, hauling the whole family to Mass can feel a bit . . . fruitless. And frankly, I often worry that we’re being inconsiderate of the childless congregants who just want to listen to the homily without someone’s kid interjecting to comment on the lights or the smell or someone’s hairstyle. 

I wouldn’t take my two- and four-year-old to a ballet, after all, or a symphony concert, or even a very nice restaurant, where people expect to show up and enjoy the environment without interruption.

But the difference is that Mass is not entertainment to be consumed: it’s a sacrament in which to participate. It places us in a liminal space between eternal and temporal. And that necessary temporal element means there will be chaos, mess, noise, and disruption, all of which are an inevitable part of our embodied life in the Church Militant. 

Viewed in that light, it would seem odd not to bring children to Mass. Because the Mass is for them, too. They, too, are invited to participate. Granted, there is little, if anything, they’ll understand at this age. But it’s the habit, the practice, and the experience that I pray will sink into their bones.

Growing up, I was often bored stiff during Mass. I never understood why my friends’ churches offered special services for the kids, often involving games, snacks, and kid-friendly activities, while I was forced to sit through the entire Mass without books or toys to help pass the time. But my sensory memory of St. Alphonsus Catholic Church in Wexford, Pennsylvania endures nearly three decades later: the lingering smell of incense, the early morning light sending blocks of color across the floor as it streamed through the stained glass windows, the distinctive shudder of the organ up in the creaky old choir loft. The Mass is uniquely sensual, and the corporality of it is necessary, not merely accidental. Smells, sounds, and sights draw our attention heavenward. Swelling organ notes and the creak of old wood under shifting bodies remind us that something significant is happening. 

In college, I strayed from the Church. But it was that sensory memory that first beckoned me back, that reminded me, when I stepped back into a Catholic church, that I was uniquely at home. That sensory memory served as a scaffolding, always there for me to climb upon after I’d fallen. 

I want to build that scaffolding for my kids, too. And so I’ll continue to schlep them to Mass. Of course, they need to learn (and the sooner the better) that life doesn’t exist for their entertainment, and I hope bringing them to Mass serves that purpose. But also, and more importantly, I want the thrumming heartbeat of the Mass to weave its way into their DNA, so it becomes so embedded in their identity that try as they might, they will never be able to extricate it.

Journaling Prompt

What experiences or practices have become a part of your identity? How has your sensory memory contributed to that? How has it proven meaningful throughout your life?

Food to Try

With its combination of fresh herbs and sinus-opening spices (how’s that for an appetizing image?) Helen Roy’s Thai Curry helped my family finally turn a corner after five weeks of illness. I highly recommend making a batch this weekend for an easy, nutrient-dense, crowd-pleasing meal.

Food for Thought

I’m still a number of years from being considered “middle-aged,” but Elizabeth Corey’s powerful essay on the consolations of middle age stuck with me:

The very ordinariness of these daily tasks can become a source of pleasure, precisely because we know that many days are not at all ordinary. A child faces a crisis or a parent takes a fall; someone close to us receives a frightening diagnosis; or we ourselves are in an accident. At times like these we long for the ordinary, and we appreciate it when it returns. There is nothing like a Saturday on which we are left to do as we please and be thankful for the goods we possess: a house to clean, a child to take to soccer practice, friends who come for dinner.

I found Mary Harrington’s explanation for Taylor Swift’s meteoric rise to fame utterly fascinating:

Beyond the first flush of love, then, lies mostly darkness, longing, and perhaps bittersweet recollection. My takeaway from Swift’s oeuvre is that a happy ending matters less than the sheer romanticness of love elevated by whatever dooms it to destruction, whether that’s the lover, some external circumstance, or the protagonist’s inner demons.

Finally, Rachel Lu’s words on the anti-feminist movement provoked some lively debate, including this response from popular author Carrie Gress. While I’m still not entirely sure which ideological “camp” I fall into, here, I’ll be thinking about Lu’s words for a long time, especially this passage:

The Gress-Keenan-Bryson-style critique of feminism rests on the assumption that anything good in modern life could have been enjoyed without the associated negatives if only humanity had managed to avoid certain egregious errors. Thus, anti-feminists can chortle at the wild paranoia of anyone who worries that modern women might ever be prevented from owning property, getting a serious education, or running for office, while rhapsodizing over the blissful marriages, laughing children, and plates of fresh-baked cookies that we would supposedly be enjoying but for the grim influence of feminism. It’s a good example of what I call the “counterfactual fantasy.”

Great Stacks

I’m trying something new: with each edition, I’ll share a list of Substacks I’ve been enjoying. This month, I recommend:

• Everyday Roses by Taryn DeLong

• The Commonplace by Tsh Oxenreider

• The Hollow by Dixie Dillon Lane

Until next time, with love,

Alex