Birthday of a King
Christmas Midnight Mass returned to St. Mary’s after a long absence. (In my lector capacity in the past decade or so I would get a chuckle announcing “The Midnight Mass will begin at 9 PM.”).
Each time I step foot in my home parish a flood of memories sweeps over me, and it was no different tonight.
In addition to our regular duties serving Mass during the week, back in the early to mid 60’s ALL of the altar boys would gather at the 11 am Mass on Sunday at which point we were transposed into the Altar Boy Choir, a musical ensemble of little range and short attention span, under the firm direction of the Good Sisters. We each were responsible for our own cassock and surplice, and for Sunday we each had our own heavily starched “Eton Collar”, purchased at a downtown Men’s store (when we still had such things). The nuns carefully guarded the black satin ties, and only they were allowed to touch and tie them for us and believe me, thou shalt not fidget.
But Christmas Midnight Mass was special, a Solemn High affair in the old manner, now called he Extraordinary Rite. There would be a Priest celebrant, a Priest Deacon and a Priest Subdeacon, incense, bells and the bright red satin ties which only came out once a year for the forty or so yawning lads (covering grades 4 through 8, as I recall). The High school Girls choir sang from the choir loft accompanied by Miss Augusta Canale. The High School Boys — well, they couldn’t sing worth mentioning, so they were the altar servers, acolytes, censors, etc. The cream of the crop would be the Master, rhythmically slapping his missal so that we all stood, sat and kneeled when appropriate in complete unison, theoretically.
We were provided with wooden single-use benches and were strictly instructed to keep our backs straight and not slumped over like football players. With such a sizable supporting cast, the church was packed and it was all very very reverent and special.
We didn’t need no stinkin’ hymnals. We had our hymns memorized and besides, none of us could read music anyway. We were doing our duty as best we could until our voices changed. (The eighth graders were generally told to mouth the words and not let a noise escape).
As I say , we were not particularly gifted, but somehow it always came off and if we had been allowed to glance at the congregation we would have seen a sea of beaming parents. Once in a while a genuine talent came along, however, and the rest of us would exhibit suitably disdainful jealousy. Thus it was that John Bintz, year after year, soloed that lovely yet seldom heard, Birthday of a King, just the right type of hymn, really, for an altar boy choir.
In the little village of Bethlehem there lay child one day
And the sky was bright with a holy light o’er the place where Jesus lay.
Alleluia! O how the angels sang.
Alleluia! How it rang!
And the sky was bright with a holy light–
‘Twas the birthday of a king.
The Altar Boy Choir has long since been disbanded, the extraordinary rite placed in limbo; the High School Girls Choir disappeared with the High School in 1966. We do have a few dedicated altar servers, however, and wonderful and pious priests.
We also have a well-seasoned adult choir. We arrived a half hour early tonight to listen to them sing a selection of Christmas carols.
Just before the end came a very familiar (and complex) organ introduction to a simple melody, and the sound of a familiar voice, accompanied by a choir with far more depth than the altar boys of 46 or 47years ago could ever have mustered. I drifted along in my reverie.
‘Twas a humble birthplace, but oh how much
God gave to us that day.
From the manger bed, what a path has led-
What a perfect holy way.
Alleluia! O how the angels sang.
Alleluia! How it rang!
And the sky was bright with a holy light–
‘Twas the birthday of a king.
