Sitting at mass today, right after communion…

Wait, let me back up.  Our five year old son LOVES going to mass.  Why?  THE doughnut.

I won’t lie.  Yes, both my husband and I have master degrees in theology/pastoral ministry, I work for a Georgetown University, and Brian works for a Catholic Church.  And our oldest loves going to church for the once-a-week-quite-HOLY doughnut!  (Now our two year old daughter, she gets all excited to go because she still thinks that we are going to get up and sing and dance to the songs at mass from Vacation Bible School earlier this summer.  Poor honey.  We only did it once.  Now, every week, I have to tell her that we got up and danced and sang only one time before mass started to show folks what we learned at VBS.  I tried to console her by saying we could dance to the music in the car or at home – which we do – but she wanted nothing of it.  She wanted to be ON STAGE with a group of her “friends” dancing and singing.  Oh my.  Neither one of my children are wall flowers!  So I tell her I’ll get her out of the nursery early to hear the final closing song even though it’s not a VBS song and even though we won’t be getting up on stage.  She agrees. “Otay, mommy.”)

I am fine with this holy doughnut thing.  Our son says going to one of the small groups or the nursery to “help his sister” makes “mass time go by faster and the doughnut time come quicker.”  Obsessed, I tell you, for the chocolate with sprinkles kind.

Mind you, what is also going on is that our son thinks he is Batman.  Seriously.

Our Batman

But when he is “out on the town,” he wears a long-sleeve shirt with a cape on it, a white button down shirt, and a navy blue sports blazer.  This is his Bruce Wayne look.  He does this to hide the fact that he is Batman.  He doesn’t want anyone to know that he is Batman – unless there is an emergency that would require super-human strength, speed, and sense of justice.  So he is sitting here, in three layers of long-sleeves, looking around for any sign of someone needing a superhero.

His “Bruce Wayne” look

Ok today, we were late AS USUAL.  (I’m telling you, I used to be 10 minutes early to EVERYthing B.K.  – before kiddos.  I’ve – mostly – accepted the fact that we just are late now much more often than we are early.  To anything.  But plus, it’s hard to get to mass on time because it’s the start of our work week.  Brian works at the church we attend.  Getting everyone up and ready and out the door on Sunday morn is quite a feat).

So we were late.  Brian took Aidan (late) to the  chapel for the special children’s liturgy and then they all returned mid-mass.  So our son comes back in.  He sits for awhile (which, I think, takes superhero stillness for a kiddo to do.  I don’t mind him moving around.  I love how he hugs us and we hold him.  Even though he weighs 48 pounds).  Five minutes later, he asks to get a bagel — “yes, go ahead”, asks to get a drink of water “yes, go ahead”, and then finally it’s time for communion.  He loves going up with dad for a special blessing.

We go back to our seats and I feel a tug on my left side, “Mom…”

Me: “Yes?”

Our five year old: “Can we go get a doughnut now?”

Me: “Let me just pray for a moment.”

Silence.

Tug.

Me looking at my superhero son.

Five year old: “Mom, can you pray faster?  God likes those kinds of prayers, too!”

I cracked up.

I said, “Sure, go ahead.”

He took off with lightening speed.

I got a minute of silence as I watched our son bolt to donuts.  He even got one for his sister.

So today, I didn’t make it in time to hear the gospel.  And I heard about three minutes of te homily.  (Our daughter wasn’t havin’ it being in the nursery.  Brian was with her for awhile, I waited outside.  She grew comfortable and Brian left.  We went into mass.  Late.) I have absolutely no guilt about this.  I lost that Catholic guilt a long time ago.

God was right there, in that seat next to me, looking at me with sweet, loving, doughnut-obsessed eyes.

I think God likes chocolate with sprinkles, too.  (And dancing and singing up on the altar).