There is a geological layer in my memory buried deep beneath decades of adult responsibility that smells of old hymnals, beeswax, and Murphy Oil Soap. That was the era of my service as an altar boy. A fact that may amuse you. Calm your giggles though because I once looked quite angelic shrouded in the starched white of a surplice over a black cassock.
D. K. Wall:We use the term acolyte in the narrowest sense reserved for the youngest and least experienced among us. Those solely responsible for the lighting and extinguishing of candles. Most of the year, that involved only the two tall candles on the altar, a task of profound simplicity that placed them on the first rung on the ladder among altar boys.
D. K. Wall:Oh, the opportunities for minor disaster were legion even in this simple task. There was a specific order for lighting and extinguishing. You had to remember to ignite the taper, the small wick on the end of the long brass pole before snuffing out the final altar candle, lest you be left with no flame at all, a crime of biblical implications.
D. K. Wall:And, of course, there was the cardinal sin of clumsiness. Knocking a candle over with the brass snuffer bell while reaching for the flame. Rest assured, every single one of these blunders was committed at some point.
D. K. Wall:The pressure on the lowly acolytes amplified as Christmas approached. The advent wreath with its circle of candles introduced a new level of complexity. Each week, a unique combination needed to be lit, a test of memory everyone dreaded failing.
D. K. Wall:But the true crucible, the acolyte's grand finale was the midnight service on Christmas Eve. For that service, we had two acolytes, and they didn't just light the altar nor did they just slip in and out a side entrance. Instead, they led the entire procession, a position of unparalleled honor and terror they held for one night only each year. Their task was to proceed down the center aisle, lighting a single candle in a holder at the end of every pew.
D. K. Wall:These pew candles were essential. At the service's end, in a moment of breathtaking beauty, a designated person in each row would use that flame to light a small candle in their hand, then turn and share the light with their neighbor, And so on until the entire nave was transformed into a silent flickering sea of individual flames.
D. K. Wall:None of that was possible, of course, without the acolytes lighting those first candles, which is how this became a story about a massive resounding failure to light.
D. K. Wall:Fortunately, I can report I was not one of the two acolytes involved in the catastrophe. Though, I had a front row seat in my role as crucifer.
D. K. Wall:I carried the processional cross, a gloriously heavy brass crucifix atop a 10 foot oak staff. My job was a test of isometric endurance to hold it perfectly vertical with no sway or lean. My hands adorned with white and slippery gloves, gripping the wood in a precise formation. The base of the staff was forbidden to touch my body, adding to the challenge.
D. K. Wall:The slow solemn pace of the procession was agonizing for every crucifer during a normal service. We wanted to hurry just to relieve the screaming in our arms, but decorum forced us to keep our pace measured and steady.
D. K. Wall:But on Christmas Eve, we didn't even control that. A crucifer on that night could move no faster than the pair of acolytes could ignite their targets pew by pew. So, yes, it's possible I mentioned to the two nervous acolytes that they might not want to dawdle. They took the warning to heart and made a single critical decision, a practice run.
D. K. Wall:Unbeknownst to the reverend, the ushers, or the other altar boys, they arrived early. With the solemnity of a dress rehearsal, they walked the length of the empty nave, lighting each and every candle. Then they retraced their steps, extinguishing them one by one.
D. K. Wall:With a successful practice under their cassocks, they returned to the sacroste, dutifully replaced the taper in the candle lighter to ensure the ability to light candles for as long as needed and felt a sweet relief of confidence. All would have been perfect except for one ingenious yet catastrophic element.
D. K. Wall:In years past, wax drips from the pew candles were a minor menace. A holder might get jostled leaning perilously over the person seated underneath. With a single drop of hot wax, the recipient would utter a sudden yelp of surprise, punctuating a moment of solemn prayer.
D. K. Wall:To avoid this, a pair of enterprising ushers installed a modern marvel, mechanical candles. They looked genuine with real wicks and flames, but the flammable oil was safely contained inside a realistic looking but plastic exterior, leaving no scalding falling wax.
D. K. Wall:The candles, however, had one tiny insignificant yet fatal design flaw. After being extinguished, the wick retracted inside the container. To be lit again, the candle had to be manually reset with a small lever at its base, which pushed the wick back out.
D. K. Wall:You can see the disaster coming, can't you? A freight train of liturgical failure barreling down the tracks. The acolytes didn't know about the needed reset. The ushers were blissfully unaware of the earlier practice.
D. K. Wall:We assembled in the narthex, the air thick with a nervous energy and the scent of winter coats. We watched the congregation fill every available seat. Many were what we privately called Chreasters, the parishioners we saw only at Christmas and Easter. The term was always whispered well out of the earshot of the good reverend to avoid a well earned cuffing.
D. K. Wall:The organ swelled. The congregation rose with a collective creek of pews and old knees, and the elegant procession began. The two acolytes led, followed by a pair of banner bearers, then me with the cross, the choir, and finally bringing up the rear, the reverend, who had just admonished us to be on our absolute best behavior.
D. K. Wall:My view of the unfolding disaster was limited because of the elegant banners in front of me. I only knew we had stopped at the first pew.
D. K. Wall:I spied the brass candle lighter rise to their targets on both left and right. The flames from the tapers licked, danced, and caressed the tips of the pew candles, but the fire did not pass. The candle set stubbornly dark. The acolytes tried again. The result was the same. The acolytes froze. Their lighters held aloft over the uncooperative wicks.
D. K. Wall:Fortunately, two ushers, the very architects of this elegant yet failed solution, scurried forward. In urgent whispers, they urged the acolytes to move to the next pew, thinking the problem was isolated. They deftly extracted the stubborn candles from their holders, reset the wicks with a practiced flick, rebalanced them, and set them afire with trusty pocket lighters.
D. K. Wall:But the acolytes had frozen again at the next row, met with the same mystifying failure. The scene repeated. The ushers whispered commands, move forward, reset, and relit. Our procession moved at the speed of molasses on a winter day.
D. K. Wall:The ushers feared their new candles were duds. The acolytes were dumbfounded. Their flawless practice run a fresh bitter memory. The choir, bless them, tried to stretch the verses of o come all ye faithful in creative ways.
D. K. Wall:And I prayed for the strength of Samson as my arms turned to stone. Far behind me, I could almost feel the reverend's clerical collar tightening in frustration.
D. K. Wall:Several pews in, an usher and an acolyte held a frantic whispered conference. Between the swaying banners, my view captured the dawning horror as comprehension crossed the usher's face.
D. K. Wall:Realizing that none of the pew candles would light on their own, a new shambling processional was born on the fly. Ushers in the lead, frantically resetting wicks like a pit crew. Acolytes followed, now able to light the prepared candles. Behind them, the banner bearers shuffled impatiently. And then there was me with arms I was certain would never regain feeling again.
D. K. Wall:As realization spread among the congregation, a ripple of understanding followed by a wave of muffled titters spread through the pews. At long last, as Christmas Eve morphed into Christmas, we reached the altar.
D. K. Wall:Back in the familiar territory of actual wax, the acolytes made quick work of the advent wreath and the altar candles. They scurried to the altar boys' bench, their duty done. The banner bearers split and set their standards in place before taking their seats beside the acolytes. Among them were hushed whispers of recrimination.
D. K. Wall:But I, the crucifer could not yet sit. I had to remain holding what now felt like a two ton burden steady as a rock as the entire choir filed past me and into the loft.
D. K. Wall:Finally, mercifully, I heard the reverend approach behind me, my signal to retreat. I settled the crucifix onto its stand and collapsed onto the bench. Still unaware of what had caused the travesty, I tried to catch the eyes of our offenders, but they had developed a profound interest in the floorboards.
D. K. Wall:An hour later, the service culminated in that magical sea of candlelight as beautiful as ever. And then I once again hoisted the cross into the air and led the choir out of the nave.
D. K. Wall:Fortunately, the acolytes were behind me, seeing to their role of extinguishing the flames. That part went well. They had practiced.