Alessandro is nine years old and uses a wheelchair. One Sunday morning, he suddenly announces that he doesn't want to go to mass and refuses to explain why. His parents wonder if he overheard a careless remark, felt hurt by a pitying glance—or whether his words reveal a rebellion against the God who allowed his condition. What should they do?
Here is how Father Henri Bissonier responds. For forty years he taught "special" catechesis at the University of Louvain.
It's very difficult to know why a child—disabled or not—suddenly decides he doesn't want to go to mass. Often he doesn't fully know himself.
Take Gianni, for example. He's a bit envious of his younger brother, who recently had the flu and was "excused from mass." So Gianni invented an imaginary illness to stay home with his favorite toys. Francesco, meanwhile, knows that today his favorite counselor will be on duty at the group home where he lives—the one he'd much rather spend time with once his friends have left. Or perhaps Francesco simply wants to "be like" Mustafà, the Muslim boy whose strength and skill everyone admires.
Some of these reasons might seem "childish" if we knew them, but they can weigh heavily on a child. A television program, for instance. Such motives matter all the more when the child is fragile and frustrated by daily disappointments. So what do we do when faced with these sudden, sometimes categorical refusals?
I once encountered this with Susanna, a girl with intellectual disabilities. During a catechesis session, she suddenly declared: "I don't want to go to mass tonight!" I was taken aback—the announcement seemed out of place and annoying. I said: "Susanna, this isn't the time to discuss this. You know you're free to choose. We'll talk about it afterward, just the two of us." But Susanna repeated: "I don't want to go to mass tonight." I told her again we would discuss it after the session. When we were finally alone together, I said to her: "Susanna, you know no one here forces anyone to do anything. Think about it: you don't want to go to mass. That's a fact. But ask yourself this: Jesus—the Jesus who loves you—does he want you to be there?" That evening Susanna came to mass, and she was happy to be there. I never mentioned what had happened before.
We must make them free but responsible people
We must make them free but responsible people
Everyone knows that a child, and even more an adolescent, sometimes changes his mind from one hour to the next. Yet it would have seemed wrong to tell Susanna and her companions simply: "Do what you want, it doesn't matter." First, because I didn't believe it didn't matter—not for Susanna, not for the others, and not for God. Second, because I wanted to ask Susanna to look at things from a different point of view than her own, to stand in the place of the Other—her God and his love for her.
Here is what I propose
Another example from spiritual life: I thought I knew Benedetta well, and the other day I asked if she wanted to come see me to "help prepare her heart for Easter." Usually Benedetta is happy to visit. But to my surprise, she shook her head no. I spoke with her counselor and told her how puzzled I was. She answered: "When Benedetta is doing something, it's almost impossible to pull her away from it." Then I remembered—when I invited her, Benedetta had been drawing small circles on a piece of paper. A few minutes later, she knocked on my door, sat down, and with a smile lighting up her face, she gave me her finished drawing. Now we could move on to what I, for my part, considered important business. Had I insisted at that moment, I would have hurt Benedetta. Instead, once her work was done, she came to give it to me and met me with joy.
To respond the right way, it seems essential to know the real reasons behind such behavior.
It's worth taking time to explore the possibilities Alessandro's parents suggested at the start. Some could have serious consequences—for instance, an irritating attitude from parish members unprepared for a genuine encounter with a young person with disabilities. When this happens, the child will struggle to say so. Perhaps we need to discuss more broadly the question of "how others look at you." As for the possibility of "revolt against God," we can't rule it out entirely (though it seems a bit early in a nine-year-old). In any case, confronted with this question, it might help to speak of mass as the place where Jesus helps us understand more deeply the mystery of his own suffering. But again, there's no improvising here: we must take all the time needed and choose our words carefully.
For now, I'll summarize my suggestions this way:
- don't "make a drama" out of it;
- don't "force the child." His freedom (which is not the same as his whim) is a sacred right;
- don't pretend indifference either;
- take the problem seriously, planning to come back to it in a one-to-one conversation with the child... and who knows
- it does happen—he might have changed his mind by then.
Good catechesis about mass itself, and where needed, a fresh look at how it is celebrated and lived, can prove very helpful in many cases.
- Henri Bissonier, 1994 (O. et L. n. 102)
The proceedings of the conference on special catechesis held in Rome at the CEI in January 1994 are in press