(ENG ESP)A Humbling Saturday in God’s House/Un Sábado de Servicio y Silencio en la Casa de Dios.

Today was not just another Saturday. It was the kind of day that slows you down and reminds you that life is more than your to-do list, more than your plans or distractions. It was a day that brought me back to the basics. Service. Humility. Faith. I woke up this morning with a clear mind and a peaceful heart. I knew I had to be in church. Not just to sit and pray, but to be part of something hands-on. Something real.

When I arrived at the church compound, the sky was still finding its color. The air was cool and calm. I could hear the chirping of birds as if they too were in prayer. A few people had already gathered. Young ones like me, elders with their wrappers tied up, and even some middle-aged folks who had taken time off their market runs or home errands just to be there. No one needed to tell me what to do. I picked up a broom and got to work.

We swept the surroundings like it was sacred ground. And honestly, it was. Every leaf I picked, every corner I swept, I did it with intention. Not because I wanted someone to notice, but because I knew I was preparing a place where people would soon gather to worship. And that made every single task feel important. There was dust, there were cobwebs, but more than anything, there was a quiet joy in doing it together.

Sweeping felt more than just a chore today. It felt like a form of prayer. Each movement of the broom was like a conversation between my soul and God. I remembered how the early Christians used to come together, not only to pray but to physically prepare their gathering space. Today felt like a continuation of that same spirit. Nothing fancy. Just people showing up to serve.

After the compound looked neat and refreshed, I joined the altar servers in a different kind of preparation. We took out all the vestments. The albs, stoles, cassocks, cinctures. Garments that had been worn during liturgies, stained with incense and touched by sacred hands. We did not treat them like regular clothes. We handled them gently. One by one we washed them, pressing the folds with care, making sure they were fresh and worthy for tomorrow’s celebration.

Washing those vestments was a sacred moment for me. It wasn’t just about removing dirt. It was about restoring dignity to what is holy. We laughed a little, joked around here and there, but deep down we all knew the weight of what we were doing. We were preparing the visible signs of our invisible faith.

Then came the sacramentals. The vessels. The altar linens. The cruets. The chalices. We polished them, dried them with clean cloths, and arranged them like they were jewels. Because in truth, they are. These items touch the mystery of the Eucharist. They are part of the miracle. And to be trusted to care for them, even in the smallest way, felt like a gift.

At one point, I held a purificator in my hand and just stared at it. So simple, so quiet, yet it has wiped the sacred Blood of Christ from a chalice. These are not just items. They carry stories. They have seen prayers, tears, thanksgiving, healing. And today, I was part of getting them ready once again.

There was no applause, no camera, no official announcement. Just the sound of soap, water, sweeping brooms and the soft hum of people doing something beautiful for God. There is something deeply humbling about that. Serving not to be seen, but to be sincere.

When we finished, we gathered inside the church for a brief prayer. We were dusty, sweaty, but full of joy. The altar was shining. The floor was clean. The air felt light. It was not just physical cleanliness. It was spiritual too. I walked outside and felt peace. A kind of peace that only comes from giving without expecting anything in return.

Serving in church today reminded me of something very important. Church is not just a building. It is not just Sunday Mass. It is also the small efforts we put in when no one is watching. It is sweeping. It is washing. It is folding. It is being present. Church is where our hands do the work and our hearts stay connected to the divine.

I share this today not to make it about me but to remind anyone reading this that service matters. And it does not always have to be on a pulpit. Sometimes the most powerful acts of worship happen with water, broom and time. If you have ever felt far from your faith, try returning by doing something simple and quiet. Something no one may notice but God.

Tomorrow when the Mass begins and the bells ring, I will be in my seat. And I will smile. Because I know I helped prepare that space. I know I helped carry the love of the church in a small way. And to me, that is everything.

Un Sábado de Servicio y Silencio en la Casa de Dios

Hoy no fue un sábado cualquiera. Fue un día de esos que te hacen detenerte, respirar hondo y recordar por qué estás aquí. Un día que no giró en torno a mis planes ni a mis preocupaciones, sino a algo más profundo, más sencillo y más lleno de sentido. Fue un día para servir. Y lo hice con gusto, con manos dispuestas y un corazón tranquilo.

Desde temprano supe que debía estar en la iglesia. No solo para rezar, sino para ayudar. Para dar un poco de mi tiempo y de mi energía en algo que, aunque muchos no lo notan, tiene un valor enorme ante Dios. Cuando llegué al recinto, el cielo apenas se estaba aclarando. La brisa era suave y había un silencio que parecía oración. Ya había algunas personas allí. Jóvenes como yo, mujeres mayores con sus paños amarrados, hombres que venían directo del campo o del mercado. Todos con un propósito claro: limpiar la casa del Señor.

Tomé una escoba sin que nadie me lo pidiera. Empezamos a barrer todo el entorno. Las hojas secas, el polvo, los pequeños papeles que trae el viento. Lo hicimos con cuidado, con calma, como si cada rincón fuera sagrado. Y es que lo es. Este lugar donde celebramos la Eucaristía, donde nos reunimos como comunidad, merece estar limpio y digno. No por apariencia, sino por reverencia.

Barrer hoy fue como rezar. No exagero. Cada movimiento me conectaba con algo más alto. Pensaba en cómo las primeras comunidades cristianas se reunían no solo a orar, sino a preparar el lugar. Hoy sentí eso en carne viva. Estábamos todos sirviendo. Algunos en silencio, otros hablando bajito, pero todos con un mismo espíritu.

Después de dejar el lugar limpio, me uní a los monaguillos. Sacamos todas las vestiduras. Las túnicas, las estolas, los albos. Las prendas que usan los sacerdotes y servidores durante la Misa. Las fuimos lavando con delicadeza, una por una. No era solo ropa. Eran prendas sagradas. Y merecían respeto.

Mientras las lavábamos, sentí que cada prenda tenía una historia. Han estado en el altar, han recibido incienso, han sido parte del misterio. Lavarlas fue, para mí, como purificarlas. Como devolverles su brillo original. No hablábamos mucho, pero sabíamos que eso que hacíamos era importante.

Luego pasamos a los objetos litúrgicos. Los vasos, los manteles del altar, los copones. Todo fue limpiado con cuidado. Usamos paños limpios, los secamos con delicadeza. Cada uno de esos objetos ha tocado el misterio de Dios. Ha sostenido el Cuerpo o la Sangre de Cristo. No son simples objetos. Son instrumentos de fe. Y tener la oportunidad de cuidarlos fue una gracia.

En un momento, mientras secaba un corporal, me detuve. Pensé en todo lo que ese pedazo de tela ha visto. Misas, bodas, funerales, bautizos. Es testigo de momentos únicos. Y hoy estaba en mis manos. Fue un instante que no olvidaré.

No hubo fotos. No hubo agradecimientos públicos. Solo nosotros, sirviendo en silencio. Y fue hermoso. Porque el servicio más puro es aquel que se da sin buscar reconocimiento.

Cuando terminamos, entramos a la iglesia y rezamos un momento. Éramos pocos, pero nos sentíamos plenos. Cansados, sí. Pero con el alma liviana. Miré el altar limpio, los bancos ordenados, y sentí una paz que no se explica con palabras.

Hoy entendí que ser Iglesia también es esto. No solo es ir a misa. Es barrer, es lavar, es doblar, es estar presente. Es amar a Dios con acciones simples.

Y mañana, cuando escuche las campanas de inicio de la Misa, estaré ahí, sentado en paz. Porque sé que ayudé a preparar ese lugar. Que puse un granito de arena. Y eso, para mí, ya lo es todo.