Fatherhood is Serious Business
Fr. David Barnes • August 26, 2026
Dear Friends in Christ,
It’s funny the things we remember quite clearly. When I was growing up, the Sunday Mass schedule at our local parish was Saturday 4pm and 7pm and on Sunday it was (and this is exactly how we said them) the Quarter of Eight, the Nine-Fifteen, the Quarter of Eleven, the Twelve, and the Five. It struck me recently that there was never a question of whether we would go to Mass on Sunday. The only question was which Mass.
That was not because we were an especially holy family. In fact, we were pretty run-of-the-mill. In many ways, getting up to go to Sunday Mass was the same as getting up to go to school or to work. We never woke up and thought to ourselves, “Hmmm, let me decide whether I feel like going to school today.” (Maybe with the exception of a few questionable stomach aches over the years….) Mass wasn’t something we decided about each Sunday. It was a given. We were Catholic. Catholics go to Mass on Sundays. We go to Mass on Sundays.
Gradually over the past decades, people came to think of Sunday Mass as something they might decide to do if it fits into their schedule on a particular Sunday. If certain conditions all align, then I will go to Mass. So, if the weather is not too nice, I’m not tired, I don’t have to do the food shopping, my kids don’t have a lacrosse game, I don’t have anything else to do, and I feel like it, then I will go to Mass. Imagine if we treated one another like that. Would one say to their spouse or their child, “If I don’t have anything I’d rather do instead, I will spend time with you?”
In my neighborhood growing up, pretty much everybody went to Mass on Sunday. Those who didn’t, stood out. Everyone went to Mass, in part, because we all knew that’s what it means to be Catholic and there was an ingrained culture that supported adherence to the Faith. Being immersed in a culture shapes us.
One of the absolute clearest predictors of whether a child will grow up to attend Mass when they are adults is if their father attended Mass. When the father attends Mass regularly, 44% of children will grow up to do likewise. 30% will attend irregularly and roughly a quarter will stop attending completely. If a mother attends regularly, but the father rarely attends, only 2-3% of those children will practice the faith in their adulthood. And, of course, the best of all worlds is when both parents are practicing the Faith and modeling it to their children. A recent study shows that when both parents attend, there is a 72% chance their children will stay close to the Church.
Children whose fathers regularly attend Mass exhibit better self-control, less anxiety and depression, and have a significantly decreased risk of substance abuse. Studies also show that children whose fathers regularly attended Sunday Mass were 18% more likely to report higher levels of happiness in their twenties.
63% of former Catholics left the Church by age 23 and they say the process began between the ages of 10 and 17. Dads, I don’t mean to lay it heavy upon you, but you have a job to do.
If you are a Catholic Dad, I want to encourage you to step up your game. Just resolve that you are going to live a life that makes you a better son to your heavenly Father and a better father to your children. Create a culture in your home with your wife that puts God first and foremost in your life. This is for your own sake, but also for the sake of your children. Your children need a Dad who loves them enough to teach them by his example that the Sunday Mass is non-negotiable.
Could that require some sacrifice? Could it require a change in your life? Could it require making yourself do something for a while that will be difficult? Yeah, but that’s what you’re supposed to do as a man. Are your children worth it? Is your soul worth it? Is God worth it? If you’re not being a spiritual leader to your children, you need to correct that. Not down the road. Today.
Whenever I write something challenging to others, I am immediately confronted by all of my own weaknesses and failures. So, as I write to challenge you fathers, I am well-aware that as a priest, I too am called to examine myself and to exercise greater diligence in my own fatherhood. Fatherhood is serious business. Let’s treat it as such!
Your Brother in Christ,
Fr. David Barnes
You might also like
Pastor's Notes
My original intention for this week was to use this space to speak about Fr. Mario (whose Third Anniversary we commemorate on August 29th), but some other recent event kept returning to my thoughts. In the end, I decided that the particular matter which I want to address was one near and dear to Fr. Mario and one about which he spoke boldly. I hope in addressing this issue, I also honor him. Oftentimes in the confessional, people resort to euphemisms. Instead of naming a sin clearly, they use some euphemism. Although we should strive simply to name a sin, for some people embarrassment or fear prevents them from doing so directly. A good confessor, I think, usually can sort out whether a person is using vague language to deceive as opposed to a person who is just embarrassed or fearful. For example, the man who says, “I spend too much time with my girlfriend,” but doesn’t mention that he is married, is attempting to deceive at that moment. You can’t deceive and make a good confession. On the other hand, the person who gets the point across but just can’t bring themselves to say some actual word or words, the confessor recognizes as doing their best at the present moment. The hope for that person is that, as they grow in faith and in confidence in the Lord’s mercy and the grace of the sacrament of Confession, they learn to be more direct and simple in their language. They are not being dishonest or deceitful. They are usually just afraid. Recently, Massachusetts lawmakers passed a law which they entitled, “An Act Prioritizing Patient Access to Care.” Who could possibly be opposed to such a nice sounding law? I mean it's all about “patients” and “care.” I bet if you asked many of the legislators who advocated for this bill to describe in detail what this law would permit to be done to a fully-formed baby, they would obfuscate, demur, and use euphemisms such as, “reproductive health,” “patient care,” “women’s health.” Why in the world would they not be willing to describe some of these procedures in detail? Is it because they are embarrassed, ashamed, fearful? Unfortunately, I suspect that is not the case. I suspect it is purely a political and public relations concern. The grotesque, violent, and abhorrent nature of what is permitted and promoted by this law’s advocates is deeply offensive to the very nature of a decent society, and is also a grievous offense against the author of life Himself. A law permitting and promoting the targeting of vulnerable babies with lethal violence is egregiously offensive to human dignity. The recent law just passed by our local legislators and signed by our governor ought to give each one of us pause. What kind of people have we become? What kind of society have we allowed? What role have I played in allowing this horror to continue? As people grow in their faith, their confessions become more plainspoken, simple, and clear. They want to be honest before the Lord. In the confessional, people sometimes use code, but they are not being deceitful. They are just slowly growing in their trust in the Lord’s mercy. They are on the right track. Eventually, each one of us will stand before the judgement seat of God. It is unavoidable. Christ, the One who will say at the Judgement, “What you did to the least ones you did unto me,” will not judge by appearance, euphemism, or deceit. All of these will burn away like fog in the bright light of the sun. In that moment, everything will be laid bare and we will be commanded to give an account to the Judge of Heaven and Earth for our every act. That will most certainly include “An Act Prioritizing Patient Access to Care.” Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes
When I originally planned the parish pilgrimage to the Holy Land well-over a year ago, I held out hope that the chaos in the region would have long subsided by now. Alas, with the constant “on again, off again” status of the conflict, we found ourselves at a crossroads needing to make a decision. So, we have decided to delay the Holy Land trip and, when a more opportune time arises, attempt it again. While the cancellation of the Holy Land pilgrimage is disappointing (because it is truly an amazing experience), we decided to pilgrimage to the Holy Shrines of Italy instead. Although I have had the privilege of being in Italy before, I never tire of experiencing the beauty, culture, and history of such a marvelous place. More than that, however, it is incredible to pray in some of the most beautiful, holy, and venerable sites of our Catholic faith. I remember the first time I walked around Assisi, it felt as though I might run into Francis himself! I think one of the most beautiful parts of going to Italy for me is that every time I have been there, something unexpectedly beautiful happens. It is an ancient place, but there is always something new about it. In any event, I hope that some of you might consider joining us. April is a beautiful time of year in Italy. These kinds of trips not only afford us the opportunity to deepen our friendship with the Lord, but also the opportunity to deepen our friendship with the saints and with one another. A pilgrimage is a bit of a microcosm of our life. We are reminded that we are ultimately on pilgrimage to Heaven and we are travelers on that road together. Speaking of being on the road together, this past week marked my third year here at St. Patrick Parish. I always tell people that when you arrive at a new parish, it takes a few years just to figure out what key opens what door, why the filing cabinet is over there instead of over here, and who is related to whom. It takes a while to get to know people. It also takes a while for people to get to know the priest. To be honest, I like (and prefer) that slow “getting to know you” kind of unfolding of life. For whatever reason, God, in His Providence, has chosen us to be together at this time and place on our pilgrimage route to Heaven. Little by little, day after day, we are walking on this path together. It is in and through our communion with one another that each of us is being drawn into deeper fidelity to the Lord. As I have gradually come to know you over these past three years, my heart grows in affection for you. It is a real grace each week to look out at Mass and to see the beautiful ways in which the Lord is at work in your lives. Getting to know one another slowly along the pilgrimage route is not merely for its own sake. Rather, it is how Christ chooses to enter into our lives and to make himself known. When I look upon you, I can say with the two disciples on the Road to Emmaus, “Were not our hearts burning within us … ?” Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes
A few years ago I read a small opinion piece that spoke about the disappearance of beauty in everyday life and how that affects us. As examples, the author included photos of public trash receptacle bins, lampposts, the mailboxes of homes, and switch plates on light switches over the past hundred years or so. It was fascinating to see the shift from beauty to, what I might call, efficiency. The trash bins, for example, that you would see along the sidewalks of major cities looked like works of art compared to the bland box-like things that we now see. The author’s point was that there was a time when even trash receptacles were made to be aesthetically beautiful. I think too of how when we see a building with intricate stonework it does something to us. It can sometimes be imperceptible, but it is nonetheless real. In a world where we are surrounded by buildings that maybe are efficient but certainly not beautiful, it also has an effect upon us. There is always a perpetual temptation to judge everything by its efficiency. (I’m sure there must be a better term for what I’m trying to get at, but “efficiency” is the word that always pops into my mind). For example, I’m sure call centers are more efficient when you have to “Dial One, Dial Three, Dial Seven, Stay on the line and someone will assist you . . . ,” but with each press of the button, it feels like our humanity is being sucked out of us. The floodlight offers greater visibility, but its harsh efficiency robs us of the warmth and subtlety of a less severe illumination. On the front page of our parish bulletin is repeated each week, the words, “Beauty, Goodness, Truth, and Friendship in Christ.” These words express both an aspiration and a concrete fact. They are an aspiration insofar as they express a desire to make every aspect of our parish life an opportunity to experience profound encounters with Beauty, Goodness, Truth, and Friendship in Christ. I would like to see every aspect of our life together judged by those criteria. For even in parish life, we are always tempted to sacrifice beauty upon the altar of efficiency. To sometimes sacrifice efficiency for the sake of beauty, goodness, truth, and friendship in Christ brings with it an element of risk. It means relying less upon our own cautious calculations and relying more upon a grace that comes to us from Another. Besides being aspirational, those words, “Beauty, Goodness, Truth, and Friendship in Christ,” are a concrete fact that is experienced already. They appear to me in our life together, not with that sudden, harsh, and glaring floodlight, but rather in a manner sublime and warm. Allow me to share a few examples. Last Saturday evening, one of our ushers, Michael McLaughlin, died suddenly. The next morning, when I arrived early before the eight o’clock Mass, I found his father, Bill, already kneeling in the pew, praying his Rosary and preparing to serve as an usher for the Mass as he does every Sunday. I said to him, “It’s beautiful to see you here, praying.” He replied, “Where else would I go?” That kind of faith and example is what I need in my life. What a privilege that there is a place that exists where I can encounter such profound faith. Before that same Mass, I chatted with one of our parishioners who will soon be moving. Sr. Irma Meuse, a Sister of Divine Providence, will be moving to the Mother House of her community, located in Indiana. Sister Irma told me that she recently celebrated her 70th Anniversary as a Sister of Providence. Imagine that. She didn’t know it at the time we were speaking, but her beautiful witness of lifelong fidelity really struck me. The world needs witnesses. I need witnesses. Sister Irma’s life of poverty, chastity, and obedience has undoubtedly been like the warm, subtle, glow that brings light into the lives of others. In a world obsessed with fame, boisterousness, and the limelight, how grateful I am to encounter here in our midst that makes the world all the richer. My last example occurs in the dim light of the confessional. When I head over for our daily 11:20am confessions, I almost always bring a book with me in case there are gaps between penitents. I don’t know why I bother because I usually get zero pages read! Happily so! Besides our own parishioners, I get the sense that people from all over come because that time slot is convenient for them. In particular, I have been surprised by how many young people fill our confession lines. It’s really extraordinary. In the hearts of so many people, the sublime grace of Christ is glowing and moving them to profound and life-changing repentance. These humble, hidden, and constant confessions are the work of Christ. While what happens in that confessional will forever remain hidden, the transformed lives of those who leave the confessional undoubtedly carry with them a sublime light that transforms the world around them. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes
Recently I began a novel (let’s see if I finish it!) entitled, “ The Red Horse ,” by Eugenio Corti. Originally written in Italian, the story begins shortly before World War II and carries the reader through the war itself and then, its aftermath. In one scene, in the first fifty pages, a woman is home alone and the mailman arrives with a message informing her that her son must report for military service. Her mind begins to flitter from one place to another, upset that no one else in the family is there with her when she receives this awful news. Then, she recalls memories of her son from infancy until the present. Overcome with emotion and anguish, she feels as though she were suffocating. The author continues, “Her eyes sought the image of our Lady on the wall: a popular picture in which blue predominated, the color of a sky. The beloved face of the Mother of God, and even that color was powerful enough to calm her a bit. Lucia then began to move her lips, to pray, blaming herself for not having done it before. From whom would come comfort but from him who could ask us for anything and instead asks us above all for love, pity, and compassion for our fellow creatures? That he existed was shown no less by the Church than by her own experience. We are not alone: there really is someone who cares for us and our beloved, and at times, in the most decisive moments, we feel his intervention, a reality that comes to be perceived with great clarity, even if later it is difficult to explain it to others with words. But not always is there this intervention, only at times . . . She focused her attention on a postcard stuck into a corner of the picture. It showed our Lady with the dead Christ on her knees, a reproduction of a marble sculpture. The text said it was in St. Peter’s in Rome, and it was from Rome that Giusina had received the postcard, sent by her sister Candida during a memorable pilgrimage a few years before. The image reminded the mother with terror that when the supernatural mingles with human things the outcome may be painful all the same, since they killed the adored Son of our Lady herself.” In those few lines, the author doesn’t attempt to “do away” with the mystery of suffering by providing a fantastical assurance that, “Now everything will be fine.” He doesn’t provide an escape route for the reader. Instead, he describes the mystery and places us in the middle of it. In the midst of suffering, we can turn in prayer to the Mother of God. We can have confidence that the Lord is with us, that he cares for us, and loves us. We have all experienced, at one time or another, His intervention; an intervention that we have absolute certitude about, but for which we lack the capacity to adequately describe to others. And yet, there are times when we feel He did not intervene in the manner we would have wanted. This also is true. And, it is true that He Himself suffered and died in the most horrific manner. Sometimes, especially when confronted by tragedy, suffering, and evil, we desire exacting answers. What should I do now? Why me? Why them? Will this person be okay? Will I live? How will I get through this? What we want–what we often demand–is an unambiguous solution that resolves everything. The truest answer, however, is to live in the mystery itself. It is to meditate upon true things, even though no one of those things provides an immediate and definitive resolution to the questions of the heart. No logical syllogism or catchy phrase will suffice to quell the storm. Although there is always suffering present, these past days I have heard so many parishioners share with me various trials and tribulations that weigh heavily upon them. These are only the ones I am told about. There must be a great deal more. For those of you who are heavily burdened, I want to assure you that there is One who loves you, cares for you, and is close to you. You are not alone. You are at the foot of the Cross and it is precisely in this place that the Blessed Virgin and her Son embrace you. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes
Last Sunday before watching the World Cup Final, I was in my office working on the schedules for September. Both events reminded me that summer is quickly … nah, I don’t even want to say it! But, it is. I read an essay the other day in which the author spoke of our tendency to think of the Church only in terms of our present moment. She then used this turn of phrase that really struck me: “We are not the tree; we are only the foliage of a single summer.” The phrase itself is a bit of a two-edged sword. On the one hand, it reminds us of the brevity of our own life and time. In this way, it contains a bit of a provocation to take our life with seriousness of purpose, to not waste our time, to seize the day, and to respond to the call of Christ with an immediate fervor. Summer is short, so we should thrive while we are able. On the other hand, the phrase places before us a reminder that we ought not be continuously tossed about by the vicissitudes of life. The words of that author provide to us a way of living that possesses an assuring confidence and serenity. We recall that we are but one foliage in the long history of the Church. Sometimes as I walk around our church and property, I try to pray for the various names that are engraved upon statues, windows, and other places. Many of these names are from the foliages of long ago summers. Each of those summers undoubtedly had days of dazzling sunlight, but they also had their share of rain. It was in this commixture that growth occurred. These inscribed names serve as signs to us to live life with a certain sobriety and serenity. We should all do our part in the time that we are given and take our life seriously. We must put all of our energy into seeking out holiness. At the same time, we should not be unduly panicked or unduly distressed by the passing afflictions of this life. Each of us should strive, while we are still in summer, by the grace of Christ, to be a foliage that renders glory to God. At the same time, when we are tempted to become discouraged because this particular place and moment in time does not conform to my vision of “the ways things should be,” we can find serenity in the knowledge that Christ and His Church are the Tree, and we are but one foliage of a single summer. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes
Last week after one of the Masses, a parishioner of ours was speaking to me about her husband who, because of health issues, is no longer able to live at home. In the course of our conversation, she grabbed my hand and said, “Father, please pray for his roommate. We really don’t know him, but he has a lot of medical issues and really needs prayers.” The words rolled off her tongue with such naturality and ease, as if they were the most normal thing in the world to say. I was deeply moved. Here, while she and her own family were undergoing their own suffering, there was room in her heart for the suffering of another. She didn’t ask for prayers for anything specific for the roommate. She simply asked me to pray for him. She trusts that prayer will—somehow in the Mysterious Providence of God—help him. From where does such serene confidence arise? It arises from a long life of Faith which is firstly a gift bestowed by God Himself. Nurtured by her parents, nourished by a Sacramental life, and exercised through prayer and a life of charity, the Faith is not something layered upon top of her regular life. For her, Faith has infused every aspect of her life so that nothing is left untouched by it. It was evident in that encounter that I was witnessing a Faith that is simple. By “simple,” I mean, “pure,” like the way a father or mother looks upon their infant with a love that is simple, without condition, without caveats. I mean that at the very core of the heart is a simple, unshakable confidence in God. The mustard seed has almost contradictory qualities. It is prolific and bursting with newness. At the same time, planted in the solitude of the earth, it is hidden, quiet, and unnoticed. Its humble size indicates a certain fragility, and yet it is resilient, potent, and unyielding. Sometimes in the life of the Church (and in our own spiritual lives), I think, we are overly concerned about what is above the ground—what is visible, verifiable, and capable of calculation at this very second. We want to produce a mustard tree, but without reference to the mustard seed. We want quick solutions to our temporary problems, but not something that is long-lasting, durable, and which provides a stable and enduring shelter. The Kingdom of Heaven, however, is not a quick-fix solution to our problems. It is not something meant simply to make us feel better. It is something so much more than that. It is something sublime and humble, something pure and hardy. It is something trustworthy that grows steadily and relentlessly. It becomes a place where others can come to dwell and find safety and refuge. Last week while I spoke to that woman, I knew I was standing before a mustard tree, someone who brings into the world something beautiful, true, and good. But none of us can make ourselves into that tree. It is a fool’s errand to try. It all begins and is sustained by what was planted by Another. Christ is the seed that was planted into the ground and who—by His Resurrection—has burst forth a new life into the world. The Church and each of its members is invited to exercise a serene confidence in Christ. In doing so, we become—like the woman I mentioned above—a place for others to find shelter and their own serene confidence in Christ. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes
