June 20, 2014

I Ripped My Pants

It happened at Mass last night.

I have been dealing with an extremely difficult person at work - God’s way of teaching me to bear with the faults of others, as well as family issues, etc. Anyway, I was having a hectic day. Thursday nights I am sacristan for Mass and then altar server for a Novena to St. Jude which includes Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. I arrived later than I like and didn’t get to pray.

Everything went well until Father walked to the ambo during the penitential rite, pulled out the lighter we keep there, and lit the altar candles. I had completely forgot to light the candles.

Father started dressing the altar, turns to me and says, "Tim, will you get me some purificators?" Yep, I forgot those too. There were none in the vestry so I had to go all the way to our other vestry by the chapel to get some and got back in time for the Sanctus, handed them to Father and then knelt.

I almost missed ringing the second bell at the consecration. I rang the first bell fine, zoned out and missed the second bell. Doh!

And here is the best part….

During the benediction, Father exposed the Blessed Sacrament and as everyone was singing O Salutaris I stood to get the Thurible for Father. I felt my pants leg get caught on the heel of my shoe as I stood and felt the seat of my pants let go. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!!! Good thing I was wearing a cassock and surpice.

So I'm standing there singing O Salutaris with a giant hole in my pants under my cassock. I'm half horrified at the thought of my pants being ripped and half trying not to laugh at the thought of the Spongebob Squarepants "I Ripped My Pants" episode.

I apologized to Father about the candles and purificators later in the vestry (still wearing the cassock) and he was most gracious, but I'm sad now. These were my altar server pants for four years. They were worn threadbare but had a permanent smell of incense that wouldn't wash out. There was even a "My Pants Smell Like Incense" thread on Catholic Answers about these pants. My buddy says that I should cut out the worn knees as relics but something about venerating my pants doesn't seem right.

Anyway, I'm going to miss those pants. They were like a friend who shared all the special liturgical moments with me. Black Dockers martyred for Jesus.


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