Painting of St Mary's Chapel, by Susan Maddox
One of my favorite childhood memories was going to mass with my Grandmother. She was the choir director of our parish church. I don't think I've written about Grandma K before; she was my step-father John's mother. She was a strong and determined woman, one of few words. I cherished Sunday dinners around her table. While her cooking was unmatched; it was in her music where her true talents shone. She played piano, organ and she had a natural ear for music.
We all know the women who are the foundation of our religious homes. Nothing get's done with out them. My Grandma K was that woman. If there was a queen--she was it. As a child, I remember going to mass and sitting with her and watching her direct the choir. She had beautiful choirs and they worshiped her. My childhood parish, St. Mary's had a beautiful historic church, one of the oldest in the States. The old church seated just 100 and as with most parishes, a larger "new" church was built in the 1960's. Thank goodness, they didn't tear down the old church to make room for the new one.
One of my strongest memories was after sitting in the big church for mass we would walk the 10 yards to the old church for choir rehearsal. I was so little my feet couldn't touch the pedals on the organ. I would sit with the organist and smell her strong but sweet coffee and watch my Gram lead the choir. A tiny choir loft in that old drafty church, I knew which steps creaked, and where the old windows leaked. It was an old farm church, now in the middle of a bustling city. The church had no heat, but the cold chill was nothing for this choir. They were always beautiful. The warm winter morning sun, would sparkle and shimmer through the old stained glass windows, warming my little body. The choir voices rising in musical prayer, would forever shape and fill me with a unique love of religious music and old churches.
You see, that little chapel was and is my safe place. My adult body still knows it as well as my childhood body did. My parents divorce didn't matter there, the fact that I wasn't the best student, or most popular didn't matter... None of it mattered. Because I was cozy in the house where God lived. I liked my skin there.
I was at peace there...
God was there, floating in between the stained glass and the life size angel holy water font. It was my home. I could talk to God, and in my childlike mind it was my portal--my connection. I spent countless hours of my childhood there. I spent many a cold March afternoon freezing during Stations of the Cross, I attended daily mass as an elementary school student, I attended funerals, baptisms, weddings. I grew up in that little church.
I got married there. We baptized our sweet Irish Prince there.
No matter how far I travel or what beautiful places I worship, St. Mary's is always home--the very first place I met the true presence of God. The size of the church still envelops me; the smell of the wood, the way my hand feels as it travels down the pews to the altar, it is as if I'm running my hands down my own arms. That church breathes through me as I breathe through her... I'm the physical form that moves while she sits on a small little rise in what was once a sleepy little town.
I owe that comfort, that self-confidence to my Grandmother; and in the years sitting watching her; she was my example. That church, that place, was her's on loan to every other soul that entered. It was her house. That air, that confidence was what she imparted to me. Grandma K wasn't my most influential spiritual teacher; no, others shaped that part of me. She was the self esteem maker. I have always known, thanks to her; that my (female) talents were a necessity in the church. It was my vocation too; and when called; we answer.
This past week, I sat down with the pastor of our parish here at the Mission. Father offered me an opportunity to leave my mark on the church, just as my Grandmother had done. And with the self confidence that only comes from a true Queen; I accepted a staff position in our parish. I will help shape the children's religious education for the future of our church. As one of the parents shared yesterday, "Miss Kathryn is your new principal of religious education." I laughed at the description, but it is sweet.
I'm always surprised as to what the Divine has planned for us; but as I walked around the Mission on a chilly and foggy Sunday, the keys to the Chapel in my hand; I could hear the choir warming up for mass. I stopped and sat outside the door for a few moments, the music was a piece I had known forever, likely first heard in a small choir loft in Maryland.
I took a deep breath, gave thanks and realized that once again... I was home.
Thank you Grandma K, for leading the way.
Peace be with you,
Kathryn
PilgrimageGal
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Photo Credit: PilgrimageGal
Painting Credit: Susan Maddox