The Acolyte Fiasco

Growing up in Rockford meant church every Sunday at First Lutheran. Kids went to Sunday school, adults to church. Giving up a few hours of your Sunday morning was painful, but not as painful being in Sunday school instead of the actual boring church service. When I turned 12, however, I was informed that I needed to take confirmation classes….every Saturday morning…for a FULL YEAR! No more lounging in my pajamas with a bowl of Frosted Flakes watching Tom&Jerry cartoons. Yikes!   If I was going to suffer, at least I would be doing it with my best friend, Gary Johnson. Confirmation classes also signaled the end to Sunday school, and we would now be attending the adult services in the youth choir (where, incidentally, I perfected the art of lip-syncing which was later used by many stage personalities). It also meant that every Sunday two of us would be selected to be acolytes during the main service - where we would get to light the altar candles at the start of the service and extinguish them at the end. This was a highly prized honor because not only did you get out of choir duties, but you also could make your parents proud seeing you in a position of authority at the altar with the pastor. Playing with fire was a secondary perk.

Around Christmas time, it finally happened that by chance my name and Gary’s came up on the same Sunday to be acolytes. We arrived early to get dressed in the white robes and reviewed the instructions from the pastor: we would be stationed behind the altar curtains and come out on each side at the start of the opening processional hymn to light the 15 or 20 candles on each side of the altar; and again at the sound of chimes just before the recessional hymn, to extinguish them. Pretty easy. During the rest of the service, we were to be seated behind the altar and follow the service with our programs. Gary, however, had other ideas.

Gary knew that the pastor’s private bathroom was also behind the altar next to his office, and that it had a tile floor which was perfect for pitching pennies – our gambling addiction. So, right after we lit the candles, we ditched our poles and headed to the bathroom for some serious gaming. We were having a blast and forgot about the time (as 12 year old boys are wont to do), when suddenly Gary said, “Was that the chimes?” In a moment of panic, we raced out of the bathroom in time to hear the start of a hymn, which we assumed was the recessional hymn, and which meant we were late to be out there putting out the candles. So we piously walked slowly out from either side of the altar…paused momentarily to signal each other with a slight nod…and proceeded to extinguish the candles. I glanced sideways to smile at the pastor and give a little wink when I noticed the look of surprise in his face. We finished our duty and retired behind the altar where we looked at our program just as the pastor was beginning his sermon. “Holy Crapola!” Gary said, “The service isn’t over!” In fact, there would be another 40 minutes of candle-less service before it would be over. We were both dead and we knew it! How could we be so irresponsible and stupid? We knew precisely what our parents would say, and how they were mortified and embarrassed by our behavior.

I don’t remember the exact punishment, but I’m sure it fit the crime. I also don’t remember being asked to acolyte again. This did have a silver lining, however, as it allowed me more choir time to perfect my lip-syncing.