at the choir director’s
side. Francesca noticed that Randall’s eyes had a hunted look now. The priest
fidgeted with a page in his hymnal.
“Look, I don’t want the ‘Lamb of God’ sung in Latin
today. Do it in English like the other churches in the archdiocese. The
congregation won’t sing if it’s in Latin.”
Randall didn’t say a word, but Francesca saw the muscles
in his cheeks clenching. He had commented time and again to the choir that St.
Rita’s parishioners refused to sing, no matter what language the songs were in.
They enjoyed sitting snugly in their pews and listening to the choir.
“Right, Father,” he said quietly, and the priest rushed
away. Randall again pounded out the opening notes.
“If ye love me, keep my commandments,” sang the choir.
Randall stopped them dead at the end of the first line.
“ Someone in
the soprano section is as flat as the proverbial pancake. If you cannot hit the
notes, then please don’t sing.”
Rebecca lightly poked Francesca in the ribs. “Guess
who?”
They went through the piece again. Patricia, Francesca
noted, continued braying flat notes at top volume. Randall cast Patricia a dark
look, but she apparently didn’t notice, since her eyes were glued to the music.
Mass began promptly at 10 with the choir singing the opening hymn. When it was
time for them to sing the psalm with men and women taking turns on the verses,
one of the basses, new to the choir, accidentally sang with the women. His
mistake prompted a look of unadulterated rage on Randall’s face. The man was
elbowed quickly by the men near him and silenced.
After he read the Gospel, Father William Snortland carefully adjusted the microphone, causing it to
emit a string of embarrassing sounds that sent two teen-agers in the back of
the church into a fit of hysterics. The main gist of his sermon was about
keeping Advent holy. He mentioned the wheel of the liturgical year. He said
that Advent and Lent were both times of preparation and penance. The wheel
brought to Francesca’s mind the image of a hamster wheel with a little furry
creature running on it. Ignatius, she
thought, isn’t that the name of Father’s
hamster? She tried to keep her mind on the thread of his sermon, but she
couldn’t get the image of the hamster out of her head.
Father William also mentioned a few words about the
rules related to genuflecting. Many of St. Rita’s parishioners, he said, were
growing lax in following the Church’s dictates. Francesca remembered that last
week he’d talked about the importance of dressing properly in church. Still, as
she surveyed the congregation this morning, she noticed that many people were
wearing blue jeans and sweatshirts.
Fifteen minutes later, as Francesca tried to stem her
tide of yawns, Father William ended his remarks. Next came the offertory
prayers and the hymn, and then, before long, the congregation headed to the
altar for Communion. After she had received Communion and completed her prayers,
Francesca sat studying the line of parishioners waiting to receive the
consecrated Host from the priest. She loved to see the way their expressions
softened afterwards.
When the choir stood up to sing the anthem, Francesca
silently said a prayer that it would go well. She knew from past experience
that her own actions could help prayers come true, so she decided to sing very
softly and let Rebecca take the lead.
“If ye love me, keep my commandments,” the choir sang,
“and I will pray the Father, and he will send you another comforter.”
Patricia seemed to be going out of her way to pronounce
each “r” in spades, but at least she was hitting the notes. And then it
happened. Just as the song was drawing to a climax, with the sopranos’ voices
soaring delicately skyward with the words “That he may bide with you forever,”
the organ emitted an unexpected, very loud noise. It sounded like a cross
between a groan and a moo. In the ensuing shock, many of the choir
side. Francesca noticed that Randall’s eyes had a hunted look now. The priest
fidgeted with a page in his hymnal.
“Look, I don’t want the ‘Lamb of God’ sung in Latin
today. Do it in English like the other churches in the archdiocese. The
congregation won’t sing if it’s in Latin.”
Randall didn’t say a word, but Francesca saw the muscles
in his cheeks clenching. He had commented time and again to the choir that St.
Rita’s parishioners refused to sing, no matter what language the songs were in.
They enjoyed sitting snugly in their pews and listening to the choir.
“Right, Father,” he said quietly, and the priest rushed
away. Randall again pounded out the opening notes.
“If ye love me, keep my commandments,” sang the choir.
Randall stopped them dead at the end of the first line.
“ Someone in
the soprano section is as flat as the proverbial pancake. If you cannot hit the
notes, then please don’t sing.”
Rebecca lightly poked Francesca in the ribs. “Guess
who?”
They went through the piece again. Patricia, Francesca
noted, continued braying flat notes at top volume. Randall cast Patricia a dark
look, but she apparently didn’t notice, since her eyes were glued to the music.
Mass began promptly at 10 with the choir singing the opening hymn. When it was
time for them to sing the psalm with men and women taking turns on the verses,
one of the basses, new to the choir, accidentally sang with the women. His
mistake prompted a look of unadulterated rage on Randall’s face. The man was
elbowed quickly by the men near him and silenced.
After he read the Gospel, Father William Snortland carefully adjusted the microphone, causing it to
emit a string of embarrassing sounds that sent two teen-agers in the back of
the church into a fit of hysterics. The main gist of his sermon was about
keeping Advent holy. He mentioned the wheel of the liturgical year. He said
that Advent and Lent were both times of preparation and penance. The wheel
brought to Francesca’s mind the image of a hamster wheel with a little furry
creature running on it. Ignatius, she
thought, isn’t that the name of Father’s
hamster? She tried to keep her mind on the thread of his sermon, but she
couldn’t get the image of the hamster out of her head.
Father William also mentioned a few words about the
rules related to genuflecting. Many of St. Rita’s parishioners, he said, were
growing lax in following the Church’s dictates. Francesca remembered that last
week he’d talked about the importance of dressing properly in church. Still, as
she surveyed the congregation this morning, she noticed that many people were
wearing blue jeans and sweatshirts.
Fifteen minutes later, as Francesca tried to stem her
tide of yawns, Father William ended his remarks. Next came the offertory
prayers and the hymn, and then, before long, the congregation headed to the
altar for Communion. After she had received Communion and completed her prayers,
Francesca sat studying the line of parishioners waiting to receive the
consecrated Host from the priest. She loved to see the way their expressions
softened afterwards.
When the choir stood up to sing the anthem, Francesca
silently said a prayer that it would go well. She knew from past experience
that her own actions could help prayers come true, so she decided to sing very
softly and let Rebecca take the lead.
“If ye love me, keep my commandments,” the choir sang,
“and I will pray the Father, and he will send you another comforter.”
Patricia seemed to be going out of her way to pronounce
each “r” in spades, but at least she was hitting the notes. And then it
happened. Just as the song was drawing to a climax, with the sopranos’ voices
soaring delicately skyward with the words “That he may bide with you forever,”
the organ emitted an unexpected, very loud noise. It sounded like a cross
between a groan and a moo. In the ensuing shock, many of the choir
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