Grace

Have you ever stepped into a Catholic Mass far away and felt like you’d never left home? That’s the beauty of Mass—a universal rhythm as familiar as your child’s face, unchanged no matter where you are in the world.

For Catholics, Mass, with its consistent and predictable format, is comfort food for the soul — healing, inspiring, and grounding. Aside from the priest’s homily, there are rarely any surprises. We know when to stand and sit. We know when the bells will ring, when the choir will sing, and when and how the altar will be prepared for us to receive the Holy Eucharist through Communion. For non-Catholics, it may seem repetitive or ordinary. To us, it’s Home. (Yes, I meant to capitalize Home.)

Yesterday, amid this familiar rhythm, I witnessed something unexpected—something more beautiful than the well-oiled machine of a traditional Mass. I’m unsure if everyone could tell what was happening, and had I not been so close to the altar, the third pew, I might have missed it. Luckily, I was able to see grace in motion.

A young altar server stood beside the priest, visibly nervous, his hands unsure as he waited for occasional guidance. The priest, with infinite patience, nodded to him, offering quiet directions. He gently pointed or whispered a few words when the server missed a cue. And when the boy tripped, the priest smiled, leaning in with what must have been encouragement because the server nodded and returned a smile.

These were small moments, but they were filled with grace. The priest’s patience and the young server’s courage to serve, even though he wasn’t entirely sure of himself, left a more profound impression on me than the homily itself.

They were living examples of God’s quiet guidance and unending grace.

It reminded me of my struggle to show myself that same grace. It’s only January 6th, and already, I’ve been hard on myself for breaking two New Year’s resolutions. (Yes, TWO! Already!) Are there other shortcomings? You bet your sweet King Cake there are, and I’ve been thoroughly annoyed with myself over (even) the smallest of things.

But yesterday, I learned again that tripping isn’t failing—it’s proof that I’m moving. God, in His infinite patience, offers me direction, encouragement, and grace when I stumble or feel confused about what to do next. I need to keep my eyes on Him, just as that young server watched the priest, and trust that I am being guided, even when it feels like I’m failing miserably.

So, how’s your New Year’s going so far?