You are not extras!

Dear new altar servers,

dear experienced hands,

dear congregation,

I have had a look at who has done this job before you.

And the list is not bad:

Thomas Gottschalk — altar server.

Günther Jauch — altar server.

Hape Kerkeling — altar server.

Stefan Raab — altar server.

Christoph Maria Herbst — altar server.

And even football World Cup winner Thomas Müller was an altar server.

So, dear parents:

If you have wondered whether being an altar server offers any professional benefits later on …

there do seem to be certain career opportunities.

Television. The stage. Football.

I cannot guarantee that it works for everyone.

After all, I was an altar server myself —

and look what became of me.

A parish priest.

So that risk exists as well.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that many people who later appeared on stage or took responsibility were once altar servers.

Because you learn something as an altar server.

Suddenly, you are at the front.

Everyone can see you.

And the first time, that is not particularly relaxing.

You have to remember:

When do I stand up?

Where do I go?

When do we bring the book?

When the candle?

When do we ring the bells?

And then comes that wonderful moment when you suddenly realise:

Oh no. Everyone else is going right — and I am going left.

That is part of it.

Being an altar server does not mean:

I must be able to do everything perfectly.

Being an altar server means:

I dare to try.

I dare to stand in front of others.

I dare to take responsibility.

And I dare to make a mistake sometimes too.

I still remember a service when I was allowed to look after the incense.

Of course, I was proud.

Because back then, for us altar servers, incense was more or less the premier league.

And I wanted to do an especially good job.

So I put in plenty of charcoal.

Then some incense on top.

A little more.

And just to be safe, a bit more again.

The result was impressive.

Within seconds, the entire sanctuary was shrouded in smoke.

The priest almost disappeared behind the cloud, people in the front rows began coughing — and I stood there holding the thurible and thinking:

Right. Now God really is mysterious. You certainly cannot see anything any more.

The priest simply looked at me and said quietly:

“Jens Henning … that’s enough.”

That day, I learned:

More is not always better.

And perhaps that is even a spiritual insight:

Sometimes we do not need anything spectacular.

Sometimes a little is enough for something to be felt.

When I think back to my own time as an altar server, what stays with me first is not whether every action was perfect.

What stays with me is people.

Community.

The nonsense before or after the service.

The feeling:

I belong.

And anyone who has ever served with incense knows:

Between

“Nothing is coming out at all!”

and

“We’re about to evacuate the first three pews”

there can sometimes be about twelve seconds.

Church can be lively.

Church can be fun.

And yes:

Sometimes church can go wrong too.

But behind all of this lies something bigger.

Because you are not simply decoration at the front.

You are not extras in white robes.

The word “ministrant”, another name for an altar server, comes from the Latin ministrare.

And that means:

to serve.

Now, “serving” does not sound particularly cool at first.

Today, people want to be influencers.

Creators.

Leaders.

Perhaps CEOs.

But “servant”?

Not necessarily the number one career goal.

And this is where it becomes interesting.

Because Jesus completely turns our understanding upside down.

For him, greatness does not belong to the person who lets everyone else serve them.

Greatness belongs to the person willing to do something for others.

Someone who does not always ask:

“What do I get out of it?”

But sometimes:

“What can I give?”

And that is exactly what you do.

You come here on Sundays, although you could sleep longer.

You take on tasks.

You help make our worship beautiful and solemn.

You are here.

And sometimes that alone is already an incredible gift:

Being here.

And then, during the Eucharist, you stand very close to the altar.

Bringing the book.

Bringing the gifts.

Candles.

Bells.

Incense.

But something extraordinary is actually happening there.

In the midst of our completely ordinary lives, we say:

God is here.

Not somewhere far away.

Not only in old stories.

Here.

Among people.

In the midst of bread and wine.

And you are right there.

Not because you are holier or more important.

But because you are offering a service.

And perhaps that is one of the most beautiful lessons you can learn at the altar:

God does not need stars.

God seeks people who are present.

People who say:

I will join in.

I will give it a try.

I will take something on.

So being an altar server is more than just any children’s job in church.

It can be something that shapes a person.

Perhaps one day you will become youth leaders.

Perhaps one of you will stand beside a football pitch as a coach.

Perhaps someone will present a television programme.

Perhaps someone will become a doctor, teacher, craftsperson, engineer, artist …

and perhaps — you never know —

one of you really will become a priest.

But something of what you learn here can be useful anywhere:

Taking responsibility.

Looking out for one another.

Not turning mistakes into dramas.

Achieving something together.

And knowing:

I do not always have to be the centre of attention to matter.

That is why today we say to you:

We are glad you are here.

We need you.

More than just someone to carry candles or ring bells.

You.

With your ideas.

With your laughter.

With your questions.

With your talents.

And, as far as I am concerned, with the occasional blunder too.

Because a Church where young people can try things out, receive responsibility, experience community, laugh, believe and perhaps sometimes doubt —

that is a Church with a future.

So:

Welcome to the team.

Have fun.

Give things a try.

And if, one day while serving, everyone goes right and you go left …

do not panic.

Just look dignified.

Then, to the congregation,

it will look as though that was exactly what was planned.

Amen.