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Dear Sister Sunday

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Clement's shiner

I’m pretty sure my two year old was the only one who left Mass last Sunday with a black eye from banging his head into the hymnal rack. Sister Sunday knows all about the trials and tribulations of wrangling kids at church. You asked. She answered.

 

Dear Sister Sunday,

My wife says I have to go to Mass.  But I tell her I find God in the mountains every Sunday.  Who is right here?

Signed, Cliffhanger

 

Dear Cliff,

Well, of course you find God in the mountains.  God made the mountains and that mark is inescapable.  (Except for those discarded plastic water bottles.  They resemble some great-aunt on everyone’s father’s side.)

Nevertheless, God specifically requested the pleasure of your company at a gathering of other believers assembled on a certain day of the week for the express purpose of worship.  Even Jesus went to the Temple.

I’ll save a seat in the back for you.

Sincerely, Sister Sunday

 

Dear Sister Sunday,

I want to go to Mass, but my kids are little (5, 3 and 14 months) and loud.  Someone is always crying or running down the aisle or dripping her sippy cup on an unsuspecting stranger.  So, I just stay home.

What should I do?

Signed, A Prisoner of Love

 

Dear APOL,

APOL.  My, that sounds like a name Gwyneth Paltrow might give her child, now doesn’t it?

Well, dear, I think Jesus just about covered this in Matthew’s gospel (that’s 19:14 for those of you reading along) when he said, “Suffer the little children come to me…”  The word “suffer” doesn’t suggest a nice evening out in heels and a dress that has to be dry-cleaned, now does it?  It suggests there might be some pain involved in bringing the children to Jesus.  But we are bidden so to do.  Just make sure the sippy cup lid is screwed on tight.

Sincerely, Sister Sunday