UR PARISH IS BURSTING at the seams with people of all ages. On any given Sunday—or even weekday Masses—you will see a sanctuary filled with people from every stage of life. There is a strong and steady body of retired parishioners, quietly faithful and prayerful. But what is even more striking is the sheer number of young families. Babies chirp, toddlers squirm, and children whisper (or occasionally yell) throughout the Mass. Far from being a distraction, it is music to my ears: a sign that the Church is alive.
This unique vitality is nowhere more visible than in the choir loft. I currently direct a 30-person adult choir that serves our highest-attended Sunday morning Mass. What’s fascinating about this ensemble is its age composition: the vast majority of our singers are either teenagers, college students, or retirees. At first, I found the absence of people in their 30s and 40s rather strange. Where was the middle generation?
Where is the missing generation? • One Sunday, while glancing down from the loft during the homily, the answer became clear. The “missing” generation was not missing at all—they were sitting right there in the pews, wrangling toddlers, calming babies, and guiding young children through the Mass. They weren’t absent from the Mass; they were fully immersed in it, fulfilling a different, deeply sacred role.
This moment helped me recognize something profound: our parish is extraordinarily healthy. It is not a deficiency that moms and dads in their 30s and 40s are not singing in the choir right now—it is a sign of vocation being lived well. These parents are doing the hard, holy work of raising children in the faith.
As Pope St. John Paul II wrote in Familiaris Consortio: “The future of humanity passes by way of the family.” When mothers and fathers bring their children to Mass week after week—even when it’s difficult, noisy, and distracting—they are laying the foundation for a holy Church and a holy world. “The family,” John Paul II continued, “is the first and vital cell of society.”
The children belong • Some parishes “shew” away the children with the intention of engaging this middle generation of parents. When I was younger, it was common for the children of choir members to be taken to a nursery during Mass. At the time, it seemed like a practical solution; a way to keep the church quiet and allow the choir to focus. But in hindsight, I see how this practice—however well-intentioned—robbed young children of their rightful place within the Mass. By virtue of their baptism, children are full members of the Church and have a claim to the sacred mysteries being celebrated.
As a parish music director, I will always welcome anyone who wishes to join our choirs—no matter their age or season of life. But I also know that for many parents, the choir loft will have to wait. They are in the trenches, in the pews, holding sippy cups and pacifiers, teaching their children how to make the sign of the cross, whispering prayers into little ears, and modeling reverence.
Their time will come • Their role is no less liturgical than ours in the loft. There may come a time when these parents will have the freedom to return to choral ministry. When they do, the door will always be open. But until then, their sacrificial presence in the pews is a hymn of its own.
To every parent currently juggling sippy cups and hymnals, know this: your presence is more than welcome. It is essential. As you whisper prayers to your little ones, you are forming saints. As you calm a fussy toddler while the Sanctus rings out, you are building the Church. Someday, your hands will be free to hold music again—but for now, you hold something even holier: souls entrusted to you by God.
