All the drunks they were singing

24 12 2017

Christmas Eve we’d alternate going to my mom’s Episcopal Church and my dad’s Lutheran church. There were more Lutherans in Falls, so the church was bigger, and with a pretty good choir; it was always a lovely service.

Still, I preferred the Episcopal service. I loved that church: its wooden pews, worn by decades of congregants resting their arms across the tops of the backs in front them as they prayed, the stained glass all around the nave, maybe some kids in robes in the chancel, ready to sing the children’s songs, and the altar, with Father Kaiser, the kindly priest of my childhood, there to greet us all.

My favorite part was the singing: Glo-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-ria, in excelsis deo, and, at the end, in a darkened church, “Silent Night”, a beautiful hush to a small girl in a small Wisconsin town.

I still like “Silent Night”, tho’ it’s been many years since I’ve sung it in St. Peter’s; my tastes as an adult run more to the rough and bitter-sweet.

So, the annual tradition:

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and a happy, raucous, bittersweet, beautiful peaceful to us all.

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25 12 2017
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