A Christmas remembrance

When I was in the sixth grade, my family moved from the former home of my grandparents to a different house in a new school district. I began attending a new school, where I was delighted to find a real, honest-to-goodness music teacher. My previous parochial school never had a music teacher, and I had longed for one with the deep heart-longings that only a little girl who loves to sing and has no opportunity to perform can know.

I can still picture Mrs. Moran: a beautiful black woman, with a quick smile and lots of energy. She and I took to each other immediately, and she was more than happy to put all my pent-up desire for exhibiting my talents to use. Though we had only been in St. Anthony's parish for a few months when Christmas time rolled around, she arranged for me to sing a solo with the organ, from the choir loft, at midnight mass. It was to be "Oh, Holy Night", right before mass began, after the church was packed and when everyone was waiting expectantly. I remember being excited, but I honestly don't remember being nervous. I felt like my time had come.

When it was time to sing my solo, I walked to the front of the choir loft (which was elevated at the back of the church), and stood next to the organist. She played the introduction, and I began:

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

When I began to sing, and my voice filled the air in that church, many of the heads facing the front of the church below me turned to look. My voice seemed to float over the crowd and bless them like a prayer. It echoed and reverberated, and filled the place. And I, who had always loved singing, fell in love with singing all over again.

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

I have sung this song at Christmas many times since that first midnight. And all these years later, I am still grateful that Mrs. Moran recognized my desire and gift, and gave me the chance to fly. And every time I hear that soaring chorus, I remember that space being filled with the voice of a little girl.

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!