Finding Love and Purpose as a Sacristan
By: Lord Joseph G. Brundo
One of the most unforgettable moments of my life, when I truly felt
deeply loved and appreciated, happened during my time as a sacristan. It
was a quiet Sunday morning, and the parish was abuzz with the usual
preparations for Mass. The air was filled with the comforting scent of incense,
its smoke curling in delicate wisps, while parishioners greeted one another
softly. Inside the sacristy, the rustle of vestments and the clink of sacred
vessels echoed as I carefully set the altar for the celebration.
As I moved about, lighting the candles, arranging the chalices, and
preparing the sacred host, the tasks felt like a familiar rhythm. Yet,
something about this morning felt different. There was a sense of stillness, as
if the air itself was holding its breath. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew I wasn’t
just preparing for Mass—I was preparing for something more.
Father Ariston, our parish priest, entered the sacristy with his usual calm
presence. He had always been a steady guide for the parish, offering wisdom
and encouragement. But that morning, he approached me with a warmth I
hadn’t anticipated. As I adjusted the altar cloth, he placed his hand gently on
my shoulder. His touch was warm and reassuring, and when he spoke, his
words carried a profound weight: “You know, my child, your dedication and
service to our parish do not go unnoticed. You are loved and appreciated, not
just by me, but by our entire community.”
His words, though simple, hit me deeply. Time seemed to slow as I stood
there, the hurried pace of my tasks fading into the background. I no longer
felt like a mere servant preparing the altar—I felt like a valued member of
something far greater than myself. In that moment, I realized that my small
acts of service were noticed, appreciated, and even cherished.
The sacristy, usually just a place to prepare, suddenly felt sacred in a
new way. The scent of incense enveloped me, and the walls, adorned with
sacred relics, seemed to acknowledge my presence. I wasn’t just performing
a task—I was participating in something much larger. It felt as if the divine
and the ordinary were connected through my humble service.
I had always felt honored to serve behind the scenes, whether setting up
or cleaning after Mass, ensuring everything was in its place for the
celebration. But that Sunday, I realized that my role wasn’t just about
completing tasks—it was about being part of a community. I wasn’t invisible.
I wasn’t forgotten. My service contributed to something more, and I was part
of a larger network of love and faith that bound us all together.
Father Ariston’s words made me feel seen, heard, and most importantly,
loved. That moment transformed my perspective. I understood that service
wasn’t just about what we do—it’s about the relationships we build through
our actions. The smallest tasks, performed with love and devotion, can hold
immense value. I left the sacristy that morning with a renewed sense of
purpose, a heart full of gratitude, and a deeper understanding of how even
the quietest acts of service can bring people closer together.
It wasn’t just the tasks I performed—it was the love I gave and received
that truly made me feel valued.