I doubt that there is an extensive history of funny things that happened at church. After all, church is a place for reverence and prayer, not a locale for stand-up comedy (except perhaps for Southern Baptists churches). Still, I have personally experienced church incidents which although probably are not comedic in nature are at least outside the box, so I’ll relate those.

Before doing that, and I recognize this is a really strange pivot, when I used the word “still” at the beginning of the last sentence, it caused me to again silently sing to myself a refrain from one of my favorite hymns, i.e., “For you, oh Lord, my soul in stillness waits; truly my hope is in you”. As I try to survive this pandemic and reconcile myself to my underlying health conditions I am pondering more than ever if there is an afterlife and what might it be like. The quoted verse gives me comfort. Sing it for me when the occasion arises.

So now on to serious business. My first impromptu church occurrence allegedly took place at my baptismal ceremony. I cannot vouch for it, but I was told by both godparents that as the priest lowered my head and my butt in the blessed water I took an untimely dump. That must have been a hoot.

In all modesty I was one of the best altar boys St. Patrick’s Church ever had. I even knew what the Latin words meant so I said them with real conviction. Still (there’s that word again), I had two “accidents” and a third embarrassment during my years of service. The accidents happened because (while you would not ever guess it now) I was a bit clumsy as a kid. So back in the day before communion was allowed to be placed directly in the faithful’s hand (thank you, Second Vatican Ecumenical Council) the priest deposited the wafer representing the body of Christ on the communicant’s tongue. This is when the congregation knelt at the altar to receive the sacred host and did not wear masks. The altar boy’s responsibility was to accompany the priest on his delivery of the consecrated host and to hold a dish-like object called a paten under the communicant’s chin, with the purpose being to catch any misplaced wafer before it hit the ground. While that sounds simple enough, the alter boy had to be to the right of the priest, requiring the poor lad to walk backwards as he performed his job. So you can visualize how under that pressure one might trip some day on his backward step just as a holy wafer slipped off a communicant’s tongue, dropping to the carpet because the paten was not there. This required the communion service to halt until incense was brought out and priestly prayers were said to consecrate the landing area of the body of Christ.

Remember, I didn’t say my incidents were funny, at least not at the time. Speaking of incense, that segues nicely into the tale of my second accident. At more solemn celebrations of Mass incense had a role. It was burned in a chalice-like container that was suspended from chains that would be swung forward to release the fragrant smoke of the incense, as a blessing of some sort, I suppose. I never did question it. But one time I swung it too vigorously, causing some of the burning incense to fall upon the ground and burn a little hole in the carpet. All of us on the altar that day had a good laugh at that. I did get interrogated afterwards about how could I be so careless, but I retorted by asking why was the altar carpeted in the first place. I never noticed carpeting in the temples Jesus visited.

The good news related to those two accidents is that while they occurred in the same year I still received the annual $2 bill given to altar boys after Christmas Eve Midnight Mass.

Oh, yes, the embarrassment story. Altar boys were charged with the task of ringing the bell as the priest said “Body of Christ” while elevating the wafer plate and “Blood of Christ” while elevating the wine chalice. I served a Sunday Mass with a visiting priest as the celebrant. He apparently was not much into the elevation part of the consecration. Priests were facing the altar back then and were not microphoned. He had a low speaking voice. So naturally, being hard of hearing, I was left to guess when he was saying the magic words. I guessed wrong, twice, and rang the bell at the wrong times, causing the congregation to beat on their breasts out of tune. The other altar boy serving with me that day thought it was pretty funny.

The last unusual episode from my altar boy days involved Father he-shall-remain-nameless. To the best of my knowledge we did not have any pedophilia priests in our parish, or if we did they didn’t find me attractive. But Father what’s-his-name was a bit of a drunkard. At one Mass, with his front to the altar and his back to the congregation, he appeared to become motionless during the litany of prayers between the consecration and the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. I was suspicious because I thought he seemed tipsy when he was putting on his vestments in the sacristy before Mass. I got up and walked over to the wine and water table as if I had to do something there and loudly cleared my voice. It awakened him as he had fallen asleep on his feet in the midst of praising all those saints and remembering the dearly departed. Funny, right? I chuckled, saying to myself “that’s Father you-know-who for you”. 

Once I ended my altar boy career and grew up, I never had any more funny experiences in church. Nor do I believe that any of my brothers and sisters in Christ found anything to laugh about while in church, except perhaps my efforts to sing Amazing Grace on key.