*Child at Prayer* by Eastman Johnson, 1873

The simple faith of my 4-year-old son continues to humble me. I aspire to it.

This morning at Mass, we were fortunate to get a seat in the front, just three pews from the altar. It always seems like the closer we sit, the more Max participates and immerses himself in what’s occurring. It always melts my mama-heart to see his natural interest in the Mass, to watch his wonder and awe in this mystery unfold. Today he was especially riveted, I think because we were so close and because the priest performed the Mass ad orientum, so Max couldn’t see everything. He has the Mass memorized and understands, as much as a 4-year-old can—perhaps more than the rest of us! —what's occurring on the altar. I let him quietly mumble along with the priest. And then, in the quiet of the consecration, as the priest lifted the Eucharist high over his head, Max pointed and yelled out in sheer, excited joy, “that’s Jesus! that’s Jesus!”

And though it was a loud disruption, I couldn’t have been prouder of him, of this uninhibited profession of faith. I pulled him close to me, in a side hug. My eyes teared up. For “that’s Jesus! that’s Jesus!” was exactly what my heart—and every heart in the church—should have been yelling at that moment.

His faith did not go without notice. We happened to be sitting just down the pew from an elderly religious sister, dressed in a navy-blue habit and veil. At the end of Mass, she turned and looked at Max, hobbling closer as she pulled something out of her pocket. She waited for his attention and then she leaned over, tucking a shiny, beautiful blue rosary in his hand. In a thick accent she said, “pray one for me!” I thanked her several times, and I think she could see how Max’s eyes shined with a grateful joy at this special, unexpected gift. As if she wanted to give him more, she handed him her Sunday missal, too, and said, “you were such a good boy!” From what I could see, she gave us everything she had with her. I was moved. I thanked her again, and prompted Max to. She looked at me and motioned to the altar, “he will be a server… when he is a little bigger.” I told her I hoped so.

I wish she could have seen the way Max begged to pray the rosary later that night. He just couldn’t wait. Normally, he has no interest—or attention span—for praying the rosary with us. But tonight, he sat on the couch clutching his new rosary and book, adding his own intentions and praying along. Even Sienna sat for it. It was really beautiful because we’d fallen out of the habit of saying it over the last few months, but this divine nudge got us started again.

I don’t think the sister remembered us, but we had met her one other time, after daily Mass. I think she was a missionary sister, as we did not see her regularly. She had told us she was from Poland and had many times met St. Pope John Paul II. At the time, Max was very small, barely a year old, and just learning to speak. He was in the habit of pointing and yelling, “Jesus! Jesus!” every time the priest and altar servers processed in or out of the church. I think this caught her attention, as she came up to our pew after Mass. Her eyes were a deep, otherworldly blue as she said to me, “he will be a priest one day.”

priestly pajamas his grandma got him | age 3 | 03.26.2020

I've always held the sister's words in my heart. It was not the first or last time the possibility had occurred to me. Nor was it the first or last time someone had made the remark. Family and friends had often made the comment because he seemed so interested in the practice of the faith from an early age. He has always had a very sweet and noticeable love for Jesus, the Eucharist, and the Mass. When he was one, he didn’t just point to Jesus, he insisted on kissing every crucifix he saw. He would not stop pointing or saying “Jesus” until we walked him over, lifted him close enough that he could kiss the Lord—particularly the wounds in His hands and feet. I wish I would have gotten pictures and videos of this. Can anything be more precious or comforting to Jesus than the pure, perfect kisses of a tiny child?

At age two, Max processed crosses and monstrances he had built out of tinkertoys, and began constructing little altars. (He has always had an incredible gift for building.) He would make us follow him in a line singing, “Lift High the Cross.” He’d also use my plastic garlic press to “bless” our throats in imitation of our priest.

Max “blessing” Brent’s throat | age 2 | 02.10.2019

Max processing the cross | age 2 | 04.21.2019

Max praying at the “altar” he built on his own | age 2 | 08.03.2019

At age three, he regularly set up play altars around the house. He would “celebrate” Mass, imitating the actions of the priest: processing, kneeling, sitting, standing, praying, and reenacting the moment of Consecration over and over, reciting the words of the priest out loud—after which he’d distribute “communion” to us. His play was always self-led and unprompted, though we suggested materials he might use. Some of his more elaborate altar setups used a table runner for a cloth, small battery-run candles and bigger tinkertoy candles, a tinkertoy cross, a jeweled gold goblet with a red rosary or string inside for the chalice of Blood, a small plastic plate for a patent, a round white Aeropress filter for the Eucharist, a cardboard bowl filled with small round tinkertoys for Hosts, and a gold book for the Bible. During Lent and Easter he became particularly enthralled with the images of Jesus’ Passion, death and resurrection, and loved watching a children’s version of the Stations of the Cross.

Max building a cross and lighting candles | age 3 | 12.16.2019

Max distributing “communion” | age 3 | 12.16.2019

Max + Sienna playing at the altar he setup | Max 3, Sienna 17m | 04.28.2020

Max encouraging his sister kiss Jesus | Max 3, Sienna 17m | 04.28.2020 — Max encouraging Sienna to kiss Jesus | Max 3, Sienna 17m | 04.28.2020

Max’s more imaginative play, good vs evil | age 3 | 05.31.2002

At three, he was also enrolled in a 90-minute CGS preschool class (Montessori-style catechism) once a week. The teacher told me he always gravitated toward baptism and altar play. He starts CGS again next week, and I'm excited to see how his faith grows. Already, since turning four just over a month ago, he's begun to ask deep, intelligent questions about Jesus, the Church, and our faith.

And so, the sister’s predictions about Max did not surprise me, but they did renew in me a unique kind of hope, the kind that comes from a stranger—one of God’s consecrated servants, no less—noticing what I notice: that Max is on the path to God, and the seeds of faith and love are already blooming from his wide, open heart. Whether or not he becomes a priest is of little concern to me. I just want him to continue to reach for God, to continue to boldly insist, “that’s Jesus! that’s Jesus!”

I’ve always been convinced that children, in their loving, earnest innocence, are closer to Jesus than most adults. It’s something about their faith, their simple trust—the way they lack the barrier of logic that adults so often use to shut Him out. I am so thankful that Max reminded me, again, of this beautiful closeness, the way that a child is completely uninhibited from approaching Jesus. This is what a mother of faith wants for her children: that they live freely in the Lord—and He in them.

And isn’t this what the Lord wants for me, and the rest of His precious children? Doesn’t He want us all to open wide our hearts and minds, reclaim the pure, unfiltered faith we once had as a child?