It Is Good for Us to Be Here
About a year ago, after a week by ourselves with Louisa off in Ireland with Anna and Peter, Mary and I finished off with a lovely weekend in New York City, hosted affably and skillfully by our son Bob who even picked up the tab for dinner Saturday night at his favorite Japanese eatery in the Union Square area.
From his apartment in Jackson Heights I plotted out the options for Sunday Mass, based on a poll of friends more familiar with the local liturgical scene than I. We ended up at the Church of Our Saviour on Park Avenue at 38th Street. The Pastor is Father George Rutler, whom I have seen many times on EWTN. He is in the top tier of the finest homilists in the English-speaking world and today he didn’t disappoint.
There is a side altar dedicated to St. Thomas More, one of my heroes and the patron saint of lawyers. I wanted to go over there and quietly sing the Ballad of High Noon for All Seasons, but alas, there wasn’t enough time before Mass and the opportunity never presented itself again.
“This isn’t gonna be all in Latin, is it?” Mary asked. She is that much younger than me that she has no recollection of the sublime beauty of the Tridentine Mass. “No, of course not,” I replied without telling her that my second choice was the Tridentine Mass at St. Agnes which was even closer to Grand Central than this church, and at the same hour.
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“Something old, something new.” Father Rutler may have been in the midst of his brief history of Time, but he might just as well have been talking about the liturgy itself. For a Novus Ordo Mass, there was little evidence that the old order had passed much. Six candles, incense, sprinkling of the congregation with holy water, triple bell-ringing at the Consecration, and glorious Gregorian Chant sung by a magnificent choir whose voices filled the church. It seemed like dozens, but I think there were only about four of them, in wondrous harmonies, accompanied by a most-accomplished organist. First rate all the way.
When they did occasionally break into English, it was the good stuff, like Holy God We Praise Thy Name. (No Gift of Finest Wheat or that calliope number Sing a New Song.) I never really understood why we abandoned Gloria in Excelsis Deo for the flat English translation. Hearing it again today, I would find it difficult to believe that anyone would not understand its meaning. And the Sanctus! To me, as an altar boy, that chant always sounded like the clink of censors and the tinkling of altar bells. It was in word and sound a brief glimpse of the Beatific Vision itself. It all came back to me today.
Fill the heavens with sweet accord
Holy! Holy! Holy Lord!
It really doesn’t matter that they don’t write hymns like that anymore. ‘Cause we’ve still got ‘em!
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The first thing I noticed on entering the church was the long line at the confessional. This is something you don’t see much anymore. The congregation was largely youthful, something we don’t see at all at home, the demographics being what they are. It was most encouraging.
As I say, Father Rutler is an extraordinarily gifted preacher. My hearing has been steadily deteriorating in recent years, and it is harder and harder for me to place myself in an assembly where I can get much out of what’s being said. I tried to capture each of the words today, and repeat them to myself as he went along. I felt, in the end, reassured, revitalized. Refreshed.
New York City is such a paradox. It is crawling with sin, sin of the worst kind, lost souls,drugs and alcoholism, diminishment and despair.
Yet in the midst of it all are these islands of hope and confidence, oases of grace and blessings in abundance. It is the surest sign that He wasn’t kidding when He said, “I will be with you always.”
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High above the sanctuary of the church there is written this legend: “LORD, IT IS GOOD FOR US TO BE HERE.”
Amen.
