Christmas Eve
Between vigil masses and midnight mass last night I drove to the other side of Hartford (sounds ominous!) to my mother's family's annual Christmas Eve gathering. My oldest uncle is 72, and my youngest cousin-once-removed is in kindergarten, and they were both there, along with most of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' kids.
The last time we were all together was at my bro's graduation party last summer, which my parents hosted out in our big backyard. My uncles told LB they wanted him to graduate again this year so that we could have another party.
I don't take for granted that my family all likes to get together, and neither does my mother. So we will have another big party this summer. My mother determined that in 2008 two of my aunts will turn 70, she will turn 60, one aunt/uncle pair will have a 50th anniversary, my cousin will turn 40, LB will be 20, and a cousin's daughter will be 10. Mom thinks that is plenty reason to have a party.
Midnight mass was fine and I wasn't as tired as usual. I sang O Holy Night after communion - it is nice to sing a song that uses some of the skills that I work on with my teacher and that shows (at least to me) the vocal progress I make from year to year. I sang quite well - the held notes above the staff were vibrant and overtone-y, and the B-flat was in a resonant spot I only discovered the last few months. People were really moved, which is rewarding, although I admit I wasted a few minutes after mass indulgently lamenting that my lot in life is to work really hard to create transcendant moments for other people. What a jerky thing to think.
But then I remembered the moment after the fractioning rite, when I kneeled at the altar with the other ministers as the choir began their song. I was with people who have known me literally since I was born, and the sacrifice of the Second Person of the Trinity was being made manifest up on the altar while the choir howled away on some awful hymn. In that moment I felt totally beloved - by my family, my community and my God - and I felt confident that even if I couldn't sing a note, even if I had no special talents to speak of, God would still cherish and hold me. My many, unearned, extraordinary gifts are not my blessings - the love of God is my blessing, one that will not be withheld.
The last time we were all together was at my bro's graduation party last summer, which my parents hosted out in our big backyard. My uncles told LB they wanted him to graduate again this year so that we could have another party.
I don't take for granted that my family all likes to get together, and neither does my mother. So we will have another big party this summer. My mother determined that in 2008 two of my aunts will turn 70, she will turn 60, one aunt/uncle pair will have a 50th anniversary, my cousin will turn 40, LB will be 20, and a cousin's daughter will be 10. Mom thinks that is plenty reason to have a party.
Midnight mass was fine and I wasn't as tired as usual. I sang O Holy Night after communion - it is nice to sing a song that uses some of the skills that I work on with my teacher and that shows (at least to me) the vocal progress I make from year to year. I sang quite well - the held notes above the staff were vibrant and overtone-y, and the B-flat was in a resonant spot I only discovered the last few months. People were really moved, which is rewarding, although I admit I wasted a few minutes after mass indulgently lamenting that my lot in life is to work really hard to create transcendant moments for other people. What a jerky thing to think.
But then I remembered the moment after the fractioning rite, when I kneeled at the altar with the other ministers as the choir began their song. I was with people who have known me literally since I was born, and the sacrifice of the Second Person of the Trinity was being made manifest up on the altar while the choir howled away on some awful hymn. In that moment I felt totally beloved - by my family, my community and my God - and I felt confident that even if I couldn't sing a note, even if I had no special talents to speak of, God would still cherish and hold me. My many, unearned, extraordinary gifts are not my blessings - the love of God is my blessing, one that will not be withheld.