Altar Serving

Last night's 5pm Mass was Conor's first turn as an altar server. He did very well, aided by big sister Fiona.

Fi has really enjoyed doing this for the past couple of years; if we're 10 minutes into a Mass and she sees that there's only one server, she'll leave the pew, head to the back to get robed-up, and jump in. It's easier for a kid to be a participant and not a spectator this way, rather than actually listening to the service and thinking/praying...

I never signed up for altar boy (just boys back then) training when I was young, but somehow got drafted into serving when I was a freshman in high school. We lived in Ashland, Ohio, and I started serving Masses with my brother Rob, who's a year older. We took pride in doing it well, moving in unison and being as unobtrusive as possible. The most fun was probably ringing the bells during the Elevation of the Host; I miss that sound during Mass, to this day.

During my sophomore year we were asked to do readings at the Good Friday (Tenebrae) service -- Rob and me, our friend Steve Moore, and a few adults. This was a bigger deal, of course, and we were in suits, not cassocks/surplices.

The traditional service varied a little from parish to parish, but it included a gradual darkening of the church, and the end of the service was marked by a loud noise, to symbolize the earthquake at Christ's death. (My father told me they used to drop stacks of heavy books from the choir loft in his church growing up.) Somehow we didn't get prepped on this, as we were focused on getting our parts right.

The readings went just fine.

So at the end all of us up on the altar were kneeling, facing the congregation, who were kneeling and praying in the darkened church as well. Someone from the high school band came from the back behind the altar, with a big pair of cymbals, stepping silently on the plush red carpet. Everyone was watching and anticipating, except for Steve, as the percussionist was right behind him, and therefore unknown. Until the tremendous "CRASH!" of the cymbals...

I've never seen anyone before or since jump so high in the air from a kneeling position. Poor Steve also let out a short but loud "AAAAH!" shout as he whipped around, and there were a few guffaws from the pews. He quickly settled and kneeled again, but the mood was really broken. I could hear people chuckling as they walked out -- "Well, Christ has died, and that kid on the altar almost joined Him!"

We moved a few months after that, so I don't know what Steve went on to do with his life. I hope he doesn't wake up too often in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, with a crash of cymbals in his ears...

Pat