You wake up. It’s early on a Sunday morning… you should be asleep. But instead, your mom drags you to church so that you can altar serve at Mass, serve a service that you don’t even fully believe in.

Sitting at the front of the Mass, right next to the Priest, you realize how pretty it all is. The big, sweeping ceiling with old wooden rafters and huge hanging lights. Stained-glass portraits of old saints. Stations of the cross. Old wooden pews. Big marble altar, right in front of everything. And even if you don’t believe in all of it, you can appreciate it.

The Priest goes over to read the gospel. You stand up, along with everyone else. You do a tiny cross on your forehead, lips, and chest, even though you forgot what it means.

Look at him read. The Priest. Look at all of those people, looking up at him. Listening with reverance, with faith, with absolute belief.

How? How can they have so much faith?

I want that faith. Unconditional faith.
I wish I could believe, like them. Without.. a doubt.