Come Empty-Handed

Margaret Gartlgruber reflects on the spiritual lesson she learned when her pastor said parents could no longer bring snacks and toys to Mass.

I looked up at Jesus when I heard those words. I was in Adoration and, at that precise moment, I was reaching for some work, something I had written that I planned to edit, hoping to get some guidance from the Lord.

“Come empty-handed.”

It was like the words were in bright red letters.

“Come empty-handed.”

Glancing at where I was pulling my work from, a tote bag sat next to me overfilled with stuff. My notebook, journal, pens, phone, wallet, glasses. Rosary, of course. And my iPad (with my spiritual reading and prayer apps). I did not get many opportunities to be alone with Christ at Adoration, and, having a big to-do list for my holy hour, I did not want to waste a second. It was all good and meant for holy things, but I was definitely not empty-handed.

“Come empty-handed.”

Hearing this again, my mind went back to the day before, my friend telling me about her recent trip to Adoration. She was upset with a loved one and was feeling powerless. Running late to her appointed holy hour, she had forgotten her prayer things. Without her things, it was only her and Jesus. So, she poured out her heart to Him. And He responded: “I have the power.” The words of consolation carried her.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

My friend was empty-handed. Would she have heard Jesus had she been using her prayer things?

“Come empty-handed.”

Letting Go of My Mass Bag

I put my papers away and let my mind travel to Mass the week before. I observed several moms and their young children. Some moms were empty-handed. But many others carried big bags with the things most moms relied upon to keep their children quiet and occupied, such as toys, snacks, and sippy cups.

And that memory transported me even further back. This time, I was that mom with the young kids. And that big bag of stuff.

My children were little when I returned to the Catholic faith and began attending regular Mass. Our parish was in the middle of constructing our new church, therefore Mass was held in a local high-school gymnasium as we awaited its completion. The gym made it easy to bring the children to Mass. Arriving each Sunday armed with a huge bag of toys, books, snacks, and sippy cups (anything my three children might need), I would sit near the back, grateful for the space to spread out and avoid disrupting the other parishioners.

One day, as Mass ended and announcements began, my pastor, Father Mike, shared the updates on the new parish center. In his Irish brogue, he said, “The parish center is complete and soon we will be moving our Mass there.” Everyone was delighted. And so was I.

Until he said, “We have a lot of beautiful families with beautiful young children. I know we have gotten used to bringing toys and snacks for them. However, when we move into the parish, we will no longer allow this.”

What did he just say?! He wants us to come empty-handed? Without toys? Or snacks? That is crazy. How in the world would I be able to survive taking preschoolers to Mass without the stuff to keep them occupied?

I felt like my mom just told me I could no longer have my security blanket.

I wondered, “Did I make the right choice to join this church? Maybe I should go back to that non-denominational church in the movie theatre down the street. After all, they had free babysitting.”

Father went on to explain why: we are there for Jesus in the Eucharist; we must teach our children how to be at Mass; it is not playtime or snack time. Mostly, he “encouraged” us to give our children the benefit of learning everything about the Mass.

I did not like it, but when we moved into our beautiful new parish, I came “empty-handed.”

Leaving my bag of security items at home, I parked my kids in the front row. That was sure to show Father Mike! Defiantly, I wondered how quickly he would rescind this new rule.

But then the opposite happened. Instead of me showing him, he showed me. When we sat in the front row, empty-handed, I watched amazed as my kids, being able to see what was happening, were able to calm down. The disruptions I expected did not happen.

Are My Hands Too Full to Receive What God Gives?

“Come empty-handed.”

My mind came back to the present moment — to His presence. What is actually needed? If my hands are full of what I think I must do to pray and serve God, will I be able to receive the truly needful things? Then I remembered what Jesus told Martha. She was mad at her sister, Mary, when she chose to sit at Jesus’s feet, while Martha buzzed around doing all of the work required when guests visited. She finally told Jesus:

“Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? Tell her to help me.”

The Lord said to her in reply,

“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part.” (Luke 10:40-42)

Reflection

Lord, I know I worry and am anxious about many things. I bring a lot of my baggage with me. I want to serve You. I want to be with You. But I have a hard time trusting that without my stuff — my things, my security blanket — will I be able to?

“There is only need of one thing.” When my hands are full of the other things, ideas, and plans, (no matter how good and holy they are) it becomes difficult to receive and hold that one needful thing You wish to give me.

What can I leave behind so I can sit at Your feet? Help me see. Help me empty my hands so I can come to You and receive the one needful thing You want to give me.

Thank You, Jesus, for reminding me like You reminded Martha. Your grace is sufficient.

I will be like Mary and sit at Your feet.

I will come empty-handed.

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Copyright 2026 Margaret Gartlgruber
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