The Recovering Choir Director

From Sunday evening to Tuesday morning I was in Albany at a conference for my new job. On Monday afternoon, my father (who I work with) and I attended daily Mass at a church close to the hotel. Dad attends as often as he can, one of many habits of his that I should pick up for myself.

We arrived just as a funeral Mass was being completed to the strains of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” being ejected from the organ pipes, replete with semitone modulation. The quiet time after the funeral gave me the opportunity to survey the church as well as prepare myself for Mass.

Naturally, my eyes were drawn to the sanctuary area, which was obviously renovated. The altar rails were gone, the crucifix was replaced by a “resurrexifix”, and the reredos with organ pipes. In front of the organ pipes was a dark rectangular wood carving, which from afar looked like a modest Tabernacle. “Ah well,” I thought, “at least His Real Presence is still front and center.”

My eyes deceived me. The carving was actually part of what is today called the “presider’s chair”, whose front-and-center position will forever call to my mind Pope Paul VI’s “cult of man” quotation at the close of the Second Vatican Council.

I looked to the left of the sanctuary towards a side altar, where a multitude of white votive candles were lit. “Could He be there?” I thought. Again, the answer was no. It was an altar to the Blessed Virgin Mary with what seemed to be a book that seemed to contain prayer intentions. The side altar to the right was for St. Joseph. There were no candles there.

To the right, the organist was walking toward the side exit, and genuflected in the middle of his personal procession. My glance headed towards what looked like a side closet, and there was the Tabernacle, a solitary seat, and a set of kneelers. A-ha! I whispered to Dad, “He’s in the closet.”

We headed there and had our knees occupy two kneelers. While Dad recited his Rosary, I gazed at the domed metal repository. To its right were two candles, neither of which were lit. “Isn’t a lit candle symbolic of the Presence?” I thought to myself. For a moment, I was tempted to approach the Tabernacle and open it to verify that the Blessed Sacrament indeed was present. But I dared not do so. Instead, I knelt, contemplating the many ways my own life mirrored this church.

As we departed the chapel for Mass, we encountered a large, simple, but lifelike crucifix affixed to the nearest column. Dad quipped that the powers-that-be should switch the position of the crucifix and resurrexifix. I couldn’t disagree.

At least at Mass, in spite of the confusing surroundings and faulty English translation, we knew that the Real Presence was in our midst.

Dad and I left Blessed Sacrament Church discussing the not-so-unique features of its interior, which seemed to mirror the interior of the sinful soul instead of mirroring the saintly which we are all called to aspire to.