I gave up Roman Catholicism for Lent years ago. I’ll never give up Theatre.
Our City Cathedral is adding a multi million dollar addition while thousands of residents are less than privileged. Many homeless . The wealthiest non profit in need of more space ? One of my punch list of grievances.
When I heard Christmas Mass would be celebrated in our Symphony Hall. I figured . What would it hurt. Abundance to be thankful so what the hell. I put on a simple white dress, dusty rose flowing scarf , favorite flats, reams of low cost shiny bracelets and my long now silver hair tightly on top. I was ready to face The Lord .
My husband returned to services a few years ago. Every Sunday . “Give my best to God.” I chime as he heads out. Guilt? Maybe a pinch . Indoctrination is a sneaky bitch.
Eve calm and loving ? A verbal battle over the temperature in the house. He always cold. I hot! Undertones. Years of unresolved tension. He. Seemingly even disposition. A clear thinker. Financier . The good boy. The only child . I. Muddled brain. Creative. The misfit. One of 6 sisters. 44 years married. Attracted by differences , similarities, worlds or brink of lives apart . We remain. Together. Not as the joke refers until the children die. United we stand. Divided. We’d mourn.
Xmas morn. The silent treatment. I used most of my wiles to warm up his pride and left over resentment. Slow melt. Limited success. I entered his office. He stood. Elegant. Handsome. Grey flannels , white striped cuffed linked shirt, flitted blue blazer and tanned loafers. I teased“ You are sexier with your clothes on.” Either way as we entered the made for prime time Church more than a few heads turned.
Now this was the way to pray. Center row. Lush comfy seats. Four piece orchestra tuning up. Makeshift altar. Mangers each side. Poinsettias in desperate need of water and the baby Jesus , Mother, Father, animals. The whole gang.
Lights dimmed a bit. Down the aisle. Two priests. White robes. Gold embossed, carrying high the Cross and Bible. Once on stage. Seated. Music. Joy to The World. I joined. Whole heartedly.
Stage left. A tiny person . Bird like. Slowly walked on to join the “actors”. I smiled. We’ve come a long way baby. Altar Girl.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her face . Finely boned. Softly chiseled . Serene. Delicate . Serious. Respectful. Ageless. I looked down . The child had kickass confidence ! An Angel in white wearing Red Conserves .Her feet, crossed in, never touched the floor . Damn I was having fun.
. The head priest had an accent I couldn’t place. Croatian? Italian? Definitely not French . It was so pleasing. Slow. Engaging as well as his sermon. The man had my attention. Jesus’ birthplace never sounded so real. Manger? Nope. A troth of hay where animals of every kind slobbered. I envisioned a Labrador . Passionate I’m of my dog. Naked until wrapped in a dirty sheet . He gently suggested the congregation be mindfully humble. I couldn’t agree more profoundly and praise he wrapped up under 4 minutes .
Red Shoes in my site I joined in the prayers . Knew em all . Memorized age 4. New “peace be with the persons closest” we were seated way apart . I waved sideways and back. My husband turned . Hugged me. Held me. Still here. Always.
The priest was inside the exit door shaking hands with his audience . I approached.
“You are a gift. My husband comes to church. I don’t. Because of you I just might return.” He looked directly into my eyes . “ I hope to see you soon.”
If he’s serving Mass with the girl in the Red Converse’s.
Maybe…
Brilliant. Surprising. A mishmash of stories that resonate in all of us.
Sounds like an epiphany! The girl in red sneakers looks like she could have appeared any time in the last 500 years of Catholicism.