When I was twelve, my family began going to a church that doubled as a elementary school cafeteria. This wasn't a novel idea. Before we moved, we went to church in a college lecture hall. If there was one thing I learned from my first twelve years at church it was that Catholics can have Mass just about anywhere. So when we moved into this cafeteria cathedral I was already a seasoned veteran at alternative worship. At the new parish, I was the first, second, third, and fourth altar boy – along with two other friends. For the first two years, we were the only three boys that assisted Fr. P and Fr. B during the three masses each weekend.
When my younger brother Christian stepped in that third year we still only had six or seven altar boys at our church so we served at least once a week. I'm not complaining. The advantages of being at the front of the church are endless. You don't have to wait for Communion, you don't have to crane your neck around the tall guy in the pew in front of you, and most importantly, you can easily see the entire congregation. Why is the last one so important? Because if you can see the entire congregation, it's easy to pick out the cute girls to talk to after Mass is over.
I would be amiss if I didn't tell you about the other, real best advantage I had by serving as an altar boy. I had the privilege of spending personal, private time with Fr. P and B. They have taught me many things about my faith, but also about life. These past ten years, I've traveled with Fr. B to New York, visiting his childhood home and the spot of his conversion. I've shared coffee with Fr. P as he put my life in perspective. Those two men are heavily responsible for who I am today. Never, in all my experiences with every religion I've encountered, have I witnessed two men with the same dedication and zeal that Fr. B and P have for their congregation. Now, our church has upwards of 20 altar boys and and seven masses each weekend. Yet, still only two priests–Fr. B and Fr. P just doing their thing. Does Fr. P get grumpy? Yea. Does Fr. B sometimes give his sermon and then repeat the same sermon verbatim–during the same homily? Almost every time. But it's hard to fault them.
They have always been there for me. When I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the fall, Fr. P was the one who talked me off the ledge. Fr. B was there when I was talking to a girl after mass and decided it would be a good time to proclaim, "SO I HEARD YOU'RE GOING INTO THE PRIESTHOOD!" and then walked away grinning like a five-year-old who just took two cookies. Maybe, they've talked me on to the ledge a few times as well. But I love them. I do, absolutely to death. They're like uncles or big brothers or something familial. Without them I'd be a neurotic train wreck. With them I'm simply neurotic.
This is going to be a tough summer and fall. New problems with old faces have surfaced in our parish and Fr. B is going to have a hard few months. But I'm not worried. "However bad you think things are right now, they aren't that bad." Fr. P told me last fall. "A little prayer and a little devotion goes a long way." He said. Sometimes life is tough. Luckily, Fr. P and Fr. B are tough people. They just need a little prayer and devotion.
