The $0 Small Group Curriculum Option
and a "mini-lesson" on Children's Holy Hour (+other faith-adjacent commitments)
I’m using the blog this week to share someone else’s brainwave (hats off to you, my friend, you know who you are). Her $0 Small Group Curriculum Option is such a good idea, and I’ve seen a lot of good things coming from it. I think it could benefit anyone who ever participates in a small group. The $0 option is having the members of the group take turns giving “mini-lessons:” short (~10 minute?) talks on anything that matters to them.
A gathering I’ve attended for years that’s only ever identified casually as “mom group” has always had the following format:
Gather at the host’s house around 10 am and feed children snacks off paper plates
Chat
Direct chat towards some content we all listened to or read beforehand
Continue to chat
Help clean up and leave
Of note: when you’re hosting a bunch of Catholic families, a helpful formula is to expect four children per family, with a margin of error +/- 5 children for total number of children.
(Total households [minimum 2] attending x 4) +/- 5 = # of children you can expect to be at your house.
The women who host these events are practicing hospitality in a very beautiful way.
We’ve read Reed of God and He Leadeth Me and listened to many Fr. Mike homilies (which are also $0). Step #3 can easily be replaced by a mini-lesson of any type. Here’s what we’ve discovered: the content is less put together (not too surprising), but the conversation afterward flows more naturally.
The invitation to give a mini-lesson is completely open—the group members can come up with whatever they want to do. But everyone likes receiving requests: “Could you talk about homeschooling?” “How do you get ready for hosting?” “How do you organize and execute your visits to far-away family?”
These conversations rotate back around to faith, even if the topic isn’t explicitly “faith-focused.” It’s been great. 10/10 would recommend to any group, as a stop-gap between other topics or as a whole season. That’s what a “mini-lesson” is. And, if you’d like to stick around, here’s an example of a mini-lesson I gave a month ago on Children’s Adoration and other faith adjacent commitments.
Ahem.
In November 2021, about six weeks after my fourth baby was born, I signed up to lead the Tuesday “Children’s Holy Hour” in the perpetual adoration chapel.
Our time is designated on the big whiteboard in the hall outside the chapel thus: “Children’s Holy Hour. Hinds. NOT SILENT.”
My kids spent the first several weeks of our hour running out the back of the chapel, sometimes trying to sneak away, sometimes claiming that they had to go to the bathroom (again). On one very memorable occasion, when two other (grown-up) adorers were still in the chapel with us, oldest (five at the time) ran out the door, a flurry of red sweater and denim, yelling, “I DON’T WANNA BE WITH JESUS!”
Still, I felt like it was something we needed to do, at least for a time. I told myself that we would stick with the commitment through Lent. That February, I was at a ladies’ night while my reluctant adorers were safely tucked in bed. Someone asked me, “How is Children’s Holy Hour going?”
I decided to be honest: “Every night that’s not Monday night I am so grateful that we’re not going the next day.”
Then, my friends started showing up with their own crazy children.
The volume level has remained high. But I’ve kept at it, still telling myself that we’re only committed for one liturgical season at a time.
Since we had others along for the ride, I decided I needed a better plan. I settled into a system of “Song, Story, Silence.” We sing a song, we read a story, and then we spend a little time—longer recently—trying to be “all the way quiet.” If everyone is squirrely, we get up and move, either taking a tour of the chapel or acting out the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary or playing “Adoration Chapel I-spy.”
If we make it to this November, my family will have been the regular guardians for that holy hour for four whole years. This has only been possible because friends have come along for the ride, whether joining for twenty minutes at the end of the hour or covering for us when we were sick or home with a very new baby.
Ultimately, this commitment has helped me understand myself better. On one of the many occasions when a child of mine was pummeling out the back door of the chapel, and my rage level was rising, the impression came to me: “Look, it’s you.” And it is me. When I am brought into the presence of God, willingly or unwillingly, I often want to duck out the back. When God wants to talk to me, I have replied, “I DON’T WANNA BE WITH JESUS.”
The story of holy hour hasn’t changed much. It’s hard to get there—every single week. A few weeks ago, we showed up twelve minutes late. My daughter’s eyes were red. When we were supposed to be driving away from our house, she had been screaming in the driveway, “I HATE ADORATION.” Other Tuesdays, she hop-skip-jumps into the minivan, and the person griping about going to adoration (albeit internally) is me.
So—three “in sum” things I’ve learned from our time hosting Children’s Holy Hour. You could also apply these three thoughts to anything you’re doing with kids, whether it’s going to mass or going camping or eating dinner.
Invite friends.
Have a plan.
Have confidence that God is going to draw something good out of this, even when the plan goes awry.
Now, I want to broaden out what I’m saying to faith-adjacent commitments generally, things like teaching a catechism or confirmation class, organizing a mom’s group, volunteering in music ministry, helping with a conference or pitching in any other kind of Church-ish event. I think there’s three things we need to keep in mind with these kinds of commitments.
The primary way that you build up the kingdom of God is by receiving His love and by loving your husband and children. This is good and holy work. This is enough. Everything else is extra, and if home life suddenly becomes more demanding, for whatever reason, those other commitments should stay in their “secondary” place.
Taking on a faith related commitment can be an opportunity to learn to discern things as a family, including discerning when to be done with something. Like I said before, I only have to be the guardian of the hour through the end of the next liturgical season. I can decide then if we’re done. And so far, we haven’t been done.
Doing something good is not always going to feel good. I prayed about which piece of scripture to tie into this topic, and a kind of weird one came to mind. I hope this isn’t way off base, in as much as the interpretation I’m going to draw from it.
A reading from the Gospel of Matthew:
There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.
The hope is that, one day, by grace, our feelings and our actions will be conformed to God’s will. We will both answer “I will go” and then do what we say. But that process of conforming does not happen outside of the vineyard. If God puts something your heart and mind, in addition to the love and care you’re already giving your family, move ahead with the confidence that He will bring good out of your goodwill, even when the plans fall apart.
On the Calendar – Third Week of Easter
💛AND THE PARTY CONTINUES🎊
🦅Sunday’s Gospel is John 21:1-19. Last week, things got real for Thomas, this week, it’s Peter’s turn. Come for the “Simon son of John, do you love me? x 3,” stay for the delightful details. The crew returning to their previous occupation, even though they’d already seen Jesus resurrected. Peter realizing Jesus is there, getting his “shore clothes” on, then immediately jumping overboard. The exact number of fish they caught (153, but who was sitting there counting fish?).
Even after we’ve seen Easter, it’s tempting to return to who we used to be.
I know nothing about the two Saints who make the calendar next week—both priests, both celebrated on the 10th—but I have no doubt that they, like Peter, had stories about Jesus welcoming them back after missteps, faults, or betrayals.
I discovered last week that 77% of respondents prefer the phrasing “He is risen, indeed!” to the Easter acclamation, but it all works, of course. Thank you for sharing in Easter joy with me, albeit over the internet.
Or tell me what I forgot in the comments 😅😐🥇
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This is a good word. Thank you.