Girl, go round, nah!

Denise Scott

Girl, go round, nah? Oh gorsh, man!

At least that’s what I often feel like shouting to women sitting at the end of the pews who keep their heads held high and refuse to move around while some newcomers or late-comers wander around looking for a place to sit in church.

Come on, we all know the scene: a visitor steps quietly into a church, scanning for a seat, but everyone’s head is facing forward pretending not to notice them.  It’s a small moment, but it speaks volumes. This reluctance to move aside and make space for another person in church reveals something deeper about the modern Catholic experience: a loss of spiritual hospitality. Do you see it?

I understand that many Catholic women get attached to ‘their seats’. A friend told me that since she was seven years old, she has attended the same Mass, at the same parish, and sat in the same seat. For many, their pew has become a personal sanctuary, a place where they pray, reflect, and find comfort in the familiar. But let me throw a wrench into your thought process—faith was never meant to be comfortable. The Church, at its heart, is a community built on welcome. The open arms of Christ who said, “Come to me, all you who labour and are burdened” (Mt 11:28). When we refuse to move aside, we subtly contradict that invitation.

The problem is not simply physical space but spiritual posture as well. By holding onto ‘our spot’, we send a silent message: This is mine. That message is in direct contrast to the Eucharistic call to communion, which reminds us that nothing we have truly belongs to us— not our pews, not our preferences, not even our pride. Everything we receive is grace, and grace must be shared. Do you know why the early Catholic Christian Church grew rapidly? It was because Christians were known for their radical generosity and welcome. Today, our unwillingness to shift a little to the left has become a metaphor for a deeper rigidity, a comfort with routine that leaves little room for others. We seem incapable of making room for others to experience Jesus’ love

I remember years ago moving to a new community but still traversing every Sunday to my old parish.  One Good Friday, I decided that time was against me so I would go to the Catholic church nearby. Imagine someone coming to Mass for the first time in years, only to feel unwelcomed.  Well, that’s how I felt, when I finally got a seat, the amount of ‘couya mouth’ and bombastic side eyes I got! I have never been back. That one cold glance or refusal to make space could be enough to keep people away.  What seems like a minor act of inconvenience becomes an obstacle to evangelisation.

The funny thing about this to me is that Catholic women have long been the keepers of tradition; we are the ones who ensure the altar linens are washed, the candles lit, and the prayers said. Our devotion is the heartbeat of parish life, but when that devotion becomes possessiveness, when reverence for the sacred space turns into control over it, we lose sight of Mary’s example. Mary was the woman who made room, literally and spiritually, for Christ to enter the world.  We must find the Mary in us, too.

Making room in church is more than just sliding over. It is an act of love, an unspoken invitation that says, “You belong here, too.” or “we are happy to see you”. It’s a small sacrifice that mirrors the self-giving heart of Christ. If Catholic women could see that moving aside as making space for grace, our churches would feel a little warmer, a little more like home. After all, the seat beside us might be exactly where God intends to meet someone new.

So, the next time you see a newbie searching for a space to sit, ‘Girl, go round, nah!’