The Sincerity of a Server

I rouse my son from sleep
before the light is full,
fingers brushing the blonde
of his hair, whispering,
"Get up for Mass."
It takes two tries
before he responds.
He quietly dresses
without waking the others.

We race into the rain
and arrive as the rosary begins;
he scrambles to the sacristy
to prepare the altar.

He never fails to bring the
cruets down with a loud click
on the glass table, causing
distraction to those
praying the rosary.

Our voices drone on in prayer
as my son continues
his work of preparation.

As Mass begins,
he stands stoically, holding the
sacramentary in his hands
as Father prays the words within,
and during the readings
he silently watches from his seat
behind the altar.

He smooths out his alb
during Father's homily
as he stifles a yawn.

I watch as he carefully opens
the tabernacle doors to bring
the hosts to the altar.
His work here is holy, blessed
and beautiful.

When Mass is over
the church ladies rush
to hug him, beaming with pride
and gratitude, the earthly reward
for the boy who rises early
on a summer day to
serve the Lord with sincerity.