Most people observing the workings of the Catholic Church, whether from the inside, as a parishioner, or outside as someone with a relative keen interest would assume that it is readily permissible for a woman to serve in several ministerial roles (or certain of the minor orders as they are officially called) like reader, altar server and Eucharistic Minister both within the church service and in bringing viaticum to the sick in their homes or hospitals. They would assume that by the number of us, women, or girls as the case may be, that it is, in fact, a matter of routine.
As I understand the norms of Catholic ministry (and those of you who have more expertise than I are free to clarify), a woman, or girl, in a parish may serve on the altar in a Catholic Church as permitted by the local bishop, and also as I understand, only really if there are an insufficient number of men available for altar service. As to going to hospitals and homes, there is no restriction on whether the "minister" be male or female.
In my particular parish, when first I arrived there in the 1980s, the then pastor was a strict adherent to the idea of the rarity of a woman doing other than reading, and even that was not particularly common. Even after, in the later 2000's, when he was still celebrating Mass I attended on Sundays and at which I had been vouchsafed to lector, any assistance with acolyte duties, helping to dress the altar, bring the gifts, or carry the gospel, were reserved tenaciously only for males. As the years passed, the celebrants at the other Masses and the more recent pastor allowed female servers other than as lectors, but in respect for my former pastor, I continued to do only that which he allowed. Just before he truly retired from celebrating the 12:15 he was allowing me a few of the tasks of the acolyte, but only if there were insufficient servers, as often there were at that Mass.
Since Christmas 2011, after a call for more servers, which have for a time included other women at Masses I do not routinely attend during the weekend, I decided that I was going to be comfortable with an expanded role commensurate with theirs. I abandoned my long worn choir robe, which distinguished me as only the reader, and began wearing the uniform of the rest of the altar servers--wearing the clothes of the altar does provide a certain gravitas that a simple choir robe did not. Deeper involvement meant paying closer attention to the particulars of the duties of assisting the priest, how to carry the candles upon entry into the church, how to hand the gifts to the priest which he consecrates thereafter, how to give out communion, or the Blood of Christ, if called upon as I might be now more frequently.
I did very little more than my usual lectoring activities during Christmas, but with Holy Thursday and today, Good Friday looming, (and since now not worried about making it on time from work or having to request the day off) I signed my name to assist at both, and of course, for the Easter Mass upcoming.
I did not in any way influence the orchestrators of the duties of the various volunteers so that I did any particular task during the service. I was assigned to be one of the candlebearers, which I had done previously, but only in very limited part. On this occasion, not only did I kneel on the hard marble during the consecration before the altar, (which was less burdensome than I anticipated, and perhaps even thought deserved) next to the thurifer and the second candle bearer, but I also bore the candle as we processed to the side altar to expose the Blessed Sacrament for Adoration after the service. I was one of the ministers of the Blood of Christ. And through the Gloria which will not be heard again until Saturday's Easter Vigil, I ran the bells throughout, as they accompanied the singing to God. I can tell you this. If I am feeling arid, as so often I do in my faith, these experiences of walking, literally, with God down the aisle and handing a cup of Him to one of my fellow parishioners, can only, as they did last night, and again during the Good Friday services, restore my feeling, and generate the awe to which God is due always, but which only with prompting do I proffer.
Today, I was an intimate part of the veneration of the Cross, again a candle bearer and also holding one of the three small crucifixes for the faithful to kiss. I found myself nearly in tears watching each person kiss His feet. I wished my heart were the repository of more holiness given the honor of this service I was now performing more frequently. And I was delighted at the crowd of people who came during the day to be part of the three hour memorial.
And, it all came for me after a very hard week in which an accidental and frankly small spill of water from my being renovated bathroom went into the bathroom below me, generating all sorts of claims for damages that simply are not reasonable. The reminder to trust God with my suffering, and this mishap (although you can imagine, if you know me, how obsessive it has made me), which hardly bears even the soupcon of the gravity of the word "suffering", was let's say, timely. The services made me stop, not entirely forgetful of the things I fear in this life, in particular, last night the burgeoning fear, generated by a small life incident, of being bereft of everything as life's crises continue and alone, but enough to think of He who gave His all to heal our woundedness.
Today, I was very grateful for my faith. Dennis Prager, talking about religion today, called it an anchor. It is indeed. Without it, I would float away on my anxieties.
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