Ube Caritas

 

At the height of the eastern wall, sculpted in stained-glass, St. Cecelia was wrapped in royal blue.  The morning light called the choir’s eyes skyward when reaching for high notes in the liturgy.

Bossy and boisterous as she was, Sylvia sang soprano. 

She had never desired to sing in the church choir.  But because she sat in the front pew with her children, Father Pat had heard her, and she was drafted.

At first, she told him she was busy, he reminded her that it was God’s work. She said it wasn’t a good time. He reminded her that was what all the prophets and saints had said when they were called.  When she said she didn’t think that singing in the choir was considered a calling, he recalled St. Terese of Lisieux and her ministry of “little ways”.

 “You’re a retired army chaplain, aren’t you?”  Sylvia smiled for saying something by implication.  She winked.  He smiled back, wise and loving.  “I am.  And you are the eldest of 12, as I recall…happy to give instruction, but seldom willing to take it.  We’ll see you Wednesday at rehearsal.”

Neil slapped his knee and burst into laughter.  “Ha! Been telling her that for years.”

Father Pat laid a stern hand on Neils arm, “And I’ll see you at confession this Wednesday? It’s been too long.”

For rehearsal and in the light of vespers Cecelia’s robe glowed a warm cobalt. Sylvia wore her best and pinned her hair up properly.

“Alto or Soprano?”  The choir director asked as she entered.  He sat at the piano and looked up at her over his bifocal’s

She stood by the piano to be placed with the arrangement of the choir.  The director played notes, beginning with the deeper ones, then slowly climbed higher, higher and higher still until he suddenly stopped playing.  He looked at her again, this time sitting up straight with a new energy.  He began lower on the piano keys than he had before, and moved into deep bassy tones, which Sylvia held. After moving up and down the chords for what seemed like longer than he needed, he said “Now sing with me, stay on the melody and I’ll harmonize.”

They sang together and for a moment he lost himself in the music, like a memory.  They held the last note in unison until he gave close and breathed a heavy sigh.

“This week, you will sing Soprano…”  And he pointed to her chair.  He said nothing more but from that day on, when he spoke to her, he raised his chin a bit, and looked into her eyes a spell as though he had discovered a kindred spirit, a diamond in the rough.