Day 297
Okay, so maybe I don't have much to confess, at least in terms of my 8 or 9 years as an alter server. I was always the good kid when it came to church stuff, and always very dependable too. When asked to fill in for other altar servers, I always said yes, and if I got to church on Sunday and noticed they were down a person, I'd immediately "suit up" and fill in for whomever didn't show. That often meant priests and parishioners alike thought I was the one assigned, and just horribly late, but whatever. I did what I thought was right.
The job of an altar boy was a full one, not least of all because it meant serving at mass fairly frequently, often at odd hours. The priest in charge tried not to put us all on the 6:30 AM weekday masses often, but they were certainly part of the regular rotation, as were funeral masses and weddings, both of which meant extra duties and more stress. If it were a funeral mass, I'd make certain I stayed calm and looked spiritual for the mourners. If it were a wedding, I smiled more and made sure I looked good for the cameras.
In both cases, I was guaranteed a tip, either from the funeral director or the best man, depending. A funeral mass would earn me maybe $6, and a wedding anywhere from $10 to $20, all of which were very appreciated as a kid!
Sure I had my setbacks too, the occasional trip as I walked up the stairs--those cassocks were long--and once I even got sick during mass, though thankfully not until I was "backstage" in the sacristy. Some priests were more serious with us than others, and you tried very hard to not make a mistake, lest they scold you. If you were late reaching the altar with the wine and water cruets, or with the water and cloth after Communion when the priest cleaned his hands, the priest might scowl or even meet you halfway with impatience. It was always a very serious business.
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| St. Agnes Cathedral, Rockville Centre, NY |
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| St. Agnes Cathedral, Rockville Centre, NY |
This was all at St. Agnes Cathedral, too, the center of the diocese on Long Island, so there were tons of people watching from the pews, and everything felt very important.
I was a good kid, like I said, and at home, I even said mass from time to time! I was maybe 11 or 12 years old, but some Coca-Cola in one of my mom's nice wine glasses, and a piece of Wonder Bread cut carefully in a circle worked well. Everyone always told me I'd be a priest one day, and they were mostly right. A monk doesn't say mass, but I did give sermons to my brothers in the monastery, and served Communion and the Blood of Christ as well.
So confessions? Maybe not. I guess that's a good thing, though. There are enough horror stories out there, and even just tales of rambunctious kids doing crazy things at church. The worst I ever did was light a few matches or go through some of the drawers in the sacristy. A rebel I was not. Still, I look back on those years with great fondness and appreciation. I learned about the church from "the inside" very early on, and it gave me much... what's the word? ...perspective for the road!
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