‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’ – the return to Mass may begin for young people

Each year, I have the privilege of teaching cohorts of Catholic student teachers about liturgy and the liturgical year. It is a part of my work I value deeply, not only because of the content itself, but because of what it reveals about the changing landscape of faith among young adults.

Twenty-five years ago, many of those entering the teaching profession arrived with a solid, lived understanding of the rhythm of the Catholic liturgical calendar. Seasons such as Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter were not just concepts to be learned, but they were realities they had experienced. Today, however, that familiarity is more the exception than the norm.

What is particularly striking is that many of these students come highly recommended. As part of their application, they provide a priest’s reference affirming that they are committed, practising Catholics and likely to be an asset to Catholic education. Yet, when conversation begins, a more complex picture emerges. A significant number admit—often somewhat hesitantly—that regular Mass attendance has not been part of their recent lives. I am always careful not to approach this with judgement. Instead, I try to be inquisitive. One session I run each year is titled, somewhat provocatively, ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.’ It provides a space for honest reflection on their experiences of the Church, and particularly of the Mass.

Good

What interests me most is what emerges when they are invited to articulate the ‘good.’ Predictably, some speak of a welcoming priest or a strong sense of community. But more often than not, something deeper surfaces. They speak—sometimes searching for words—of beauty. Of a sense of mystery. Of moments that stirred something spiritual within them that they cannot quite explain.

It is here that the real work begins. These glimpses of beauty and mystery become the starting point for richer conversations about tradition, symbolism and the deeper meaning and experience of liturgy. They remind us that faith is not sustained by obligation alone, but by encounter—by something that captures the imagination and speaks to the soul.

This reality was brought home to me again just this week. Due to a Comhaltas Irish music competition, we found ourselves attending Mass outside of our own parish. I left with a question lingering in my mind: what would draw a young person—or indeed anyone—back to Mass?

Lent, with its invitation to reflection, repentance and renewal, seemed reduced to a colour rather than a lived experience”

The Mass we attended was, in many ways, well-intentioned. The priest was no doubt sincere. The organist and cantor were both dedicated. And yet, something essential was missing. The liturgy felt hurried, as though it were something to be completed rather than entered into. There was little sense of reverence. The music, though earnest, wasn’t great and the hymns—projected onto a wall—felt functional rather than prayerful.

More striking still was the absence of any real sense of the season of Lent. Beyond the purple vestments, there was little to distinguish this Mass from any other time of year. Lent, with its invitation to reflection, repentance and renewal, seemed reduced to a colour rather than a lived experience. Even the consecration—the very heart of the Mass—was rushed through at speed. It felt, quite simply, like going through the motions.

And yet, in contrast to this, we are hearing more and more about young people returning to the Church, or even converting to Catholicism. This is undoubtedly good news. But it raises an important question – where are these returns happening? And why? Anecdotally, we often hear that many of these growing communities are marked by a more traditional or ‘conservative’ approach to liturgy and theology. Some are drawn to the Latin Mass. This is frequently met with criticism or dismissal. But rather than anyone criticising this, perhaps we should be asking a more fruitful question – what is it that attracts people in the first place?

In an age marked by uncertainty, fragmentation and a search for identity, it is perhaps not surprising that people are drawn to something that feels rooted and enduring. There is a deep human desire for meaning—for a sense of belonging to something larger than oneself.

And time and again, what seems to resonate is not novelty or convenience, but beauty, tradition and mystery.

Beauty, because it lifts us beyond the ordinary and hints at something transcendent. Tradition, because it connects us with a narrative that stretches across generations and cultures. And mystery, because it acknowledges that not everything can – or should – be explained.

Hearts

If our liturgies are to speak to the hearts of people today, they must take these elements seriously. They must be celebrated with care, with reverence and attentiveness to what the church teaches to enable an awareness that what is taking place is not just meant to be a communal gathering, but the whole purpose of Liturgy – an encounter with the divine.

Young people, in my experience, are not looking for something watered down. They are not inspired by what feels casual or rushed. Rather, they are drawn to authenticity—to something that feels real, meaningful, and yes, even challenging.

Perhaps the question is not why some are seeking out more traditional expressions of faith, but what this reveals about a deeper hunger that exists within all of us. If we are willing to listen to our students, to our communities and to the quiet stirrings of the human heart, we may find that the path forward is not as complicated as we think.

It may begin, quite simply, with taking beauty, mystery and reverence seriously once again.