She felt God with and in her, a daily companion walking alongside her, visible in the twinkling of Christmas lights, the happiness of songs, and the contemplative quiet of the church she had just entered.​

​

As she reached her seat, a familiar voice pulled her out of her thoughts, calling out, “Ready to rock it, Addie?”

 

“Sure thing, Theodore.”

 

Two could play that game. He knew he was one of the few who she would allow to call her by a nickname. An implicit understanding of trust on a night when everything they sang and played needed to be perfect. Though he never said it, the pastor of the parish considered Christmas Mass to be his crowning achievement. He worked for weeks on his homily, he micro-managed the decoration of the sanctuary, and he constantly repeated that “Christmas was the only time many people went to Mass.” Theo and Adeline knew all this meant music would be held to a very high standard, even if the priest himself did not understand much about liturgical music. 

 

Another woman took her seat next to Adeline, briefly tilting her head on Adeline’s shoulder as a means of greeting. The first Mass would just be the three of them – Adeline, Theo, and Sadie. Theo would play piano and organ. Sadie would sing melody while Adeline held down the alto part, at least until the two women felt like switching parts or making up parts or simply having a little fun. Theo trusted them enough to make their own choices. Their rehearsal flew by, and they rarely went over anything more than once. The three of them were a well-oiled machine; body language and eye contact more than sufficed for communication, even with masks covering their noses and mouths. A small laugh occasionally escaped the lips of Sadie and Adeline when one of them would skip a page or sing the wrong words. Rehearsal was the time to get their giggles out before the solemnity of the Mass reigned.

 

The priest approached the microphone at the pulpit long enough to greet the gathered congregation and ask them to move towards the centers of their respective pews so there would be enough space for those standing along the walls of the church. As he walked to the back of the church for the entrance procession, Adeline and Sadie each took a deep breath, looked each other in the eye, and nodded that they were ready to begin.

 

The opening chords of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” rang out from the organ, filling the darkened church with shimmering sound. A pang hit Adeline’s heart. Normally, she would sing this song while shepherding the children’s choir down the main aisle. But this year, because of COVID, it was just her and Sadie. She let herself briefly feel this loss and then moved on, knowing that she, like everyone weary of isolation and loss, must continue and enjoy what could safely be done.

 

As Mass continued, Adeline felt herself zoning out when she was not singing. The Mass was intended for the children of the parish and their families, not for a single woman in her twenties. She did not hold this against the parish, but she did not hold her lack of concentration against herself. She did her best to pray her way through the liturgy and make music that helped others to do the same. Before she knew it, she was singing her solo on “Night of Silence,” the final communion hymn for the evening. Communion ran longer than planned, so this solo was wholly unexpected. Sensing her slight unease, Sadie joined her for the next two verses, blending their voices into a single sound. With Sadie’s voice bolstering her own, Adeline felt her entire body relax: her shoulders dropped, her jaw felt looser, and it was easier to breathe. She soared through the piece, confident even as Sadie introduced the countermelody of “Silent Night.” She felt tears pool in her eyes and begin to slowly trickle down her cheek, her natural reaction when harmonies came together perfectly, heightened even more by the magic of Christmas Eve. Despite the mask on his face, she could tell Theo was beaming. Though their reactions were different, they were both moved by the beauty of the profound music they created together.

 

A few announcements and thank-yous later, the organ fired up again, with Theo blasting “Joy to the World.” Adeline and Sadie united their voices on the melody so that they stood a chance of being heard over the bells and trumpets of the organ; Theo had a self-admitted tendency to go a little over-the-top at major holidays. The procession made its way to the back of the church and the Mass officially concluded. Adeline sat down and took a deep breath, soaking in the atmosphere for one final moment. As parishioners filtered out, taking one last family photo in front of the manager, Adeline reached into her bag to grab a protein bar for dinner. Right before she opened it, Theo called out, “Adeline, aren’t you joining us in the rectory?”

 

“Sure, I guess,” she called back.

 

They still had a couple of hours until rehearsal for the second Mass of the evening would start, enough time for a leisurely dinner—and she knew that if she went home, she would be tempted to change into pajamas and go to bed at a decent hour instead of returning to the church.

 

Collecting their things, Adeline, Sadie, and Theo traipsed to the rectory together. They were unexpectedly ushered into the dining room, where they joined the three priests, a few volunteers who helped with the Mass, and a couple of friends. On the sideboard was a full Christmas ham, numerous sides, and two gorgeous desserts. Adeline and Sadie made eye contact, exchanging expressions of confusion and excitement. Perhaps dinner would be more substantive than a protein bar and a piece of fruit? Seeing their surprise, the associate pastor explained, “you all are here for most of Christmas, we figured the least we could do was make dinner for everyone.” Gratitude rushed over Adeline, not only for the food but also for the opportunity to break bread and share time with her community, something that often fell to the wayside in the frenzy of the holidays.

 

They said grace quickly, and there was little conversation as they began to eat. Adeline hadn’t realized how hungry she was – singing took a lot out of her but she was so often lost in the music that she failed to notice. As they all settled in, conversation begin to flow. They shared their personal Christmas traditions, regaling each other with stories of childhood Christmases filled with gifts, big meals, and extended families. The conversation struck Adeline as strangely intimate. Though she knew everyone at the table, she rarely interacted on a personal level with any of them other than Theo and Sadie. She appreciated the deep sharing, but she felt nerves in her stomach about sharing her own Christmas traditions. With divorced parents, Christmas always felt like a point of conflict, a strategy game in which she feared, as an only child, she was the principal pawn. So Adeline busied herself with eating, allowing others to share their traditions freely.

 

One of the priests, noticing her silence, asked her directly what her favorite family traditions were. Adeline pondered for a moment before opening up a bit, responding, “Family traditions were tough for me growing up, but I always loved singing with my choir at midnight Mass and I’m so glad I can continue that tradition here.” Across the table, Theo nodded and she knew he understood; growing up a gay man before it was widely accepted meant he dealt with his own family ups and downs.

 

Table conversation soon lightened, and Adeline found herself laughing uproariously as the associate pastor did a spot-on impression of a friend, overemphasizing the friend’s reliance on the word y’all, his habit of always pushing his glasses up with his thumb, and his complete inability to function without a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. It was a wonder he had never accidently thrown his coffee or his phone in his face while adjusting his glasses. Others chimed in with anecdotes about this friend, which quickly devolved into identifying mutual friends and telling charming (or embarrassing) stories about anyone more than one person seated around the table happened to know. Adeline was beaming, marveling at how many names she recognized and the connections she had managed to make over a few short years in the city.

 

Just when Adeline gave up hope at finishing her last pieces of ham and green beans, Sadie asked the question that they were all waiting for: “So, is it time for dessert?” Some nodded, others groaned at the idea of eating any more. All, however, acquiesced to the temptation of sweet potato pie and stollen as they were passed around the table. The room was once again silent, mouths more occupied with sugary treats than conversation. They wiped the final remnants of powdered sugar and whipped cream from the corners of their mouths and, one by one, pushed back their chairs. The priest celebrating the late Mass went to do some final edits on his homily, Theo headed back to the church to check in with the brass quartet, and the associate pastor went to his room to call his family. Soon only Adeline and Sadie remained, enjoying the final minutes of their break in a quiet place rather than in the church, where they could already hear the brass warming up.

 

The clock in the hall chimed eight times. It was once again time for rehearsal. Adeline and Sadie brought their dishes into the kitchen and let themselves out the back door. Walking from the rectory back to the church, Adeline pulled out her phone to send a couple of quick texts, wishing her parents a Merry Christmas so they would each see it when they woke up in the morning. So many questioned her choice to stay alone for Christmas, but she didn’t see it that way. She was not alone for the holidays - she celebrated Hanukkah with dear friends a couple of weeks ago, she just had dinner with those she loved in her faith community, she creates music with some of her best friends. She was not alone. She could not imagine spending her Christmas any other way.

 

Back in the choir seats, Adeline moved her bag back a row, where she would anchor the alto section for the late-night Mass. With the full choir joining them, Adeline felt she could disappear from view in a way that allowed her to be fully present and to enter the music as prayer, forgetting any elements of performance that might have hovered in the back of her mind. She exchanged Christmas hugs and greetings with the rest of the choir, excited to be back singing after a COVID-Christmas without choir.

 

This second liturgy of the evening washed over Adeline like an impressionist painting. She felt the movements of the Mass, was held by its emotions, and savored favorite moments. She was filled with joy as a close friend proclaimed the psalm, laughed alongside the congregation as the priest cracked a joke during the homily, and was filled with awe as the priest consecrated the host in front of the glowing Christmas tree.

 

While the congregation received communion, Adeline once again sang “Night of Silence.” This time the women sang the whole song, then the men sang “Silent Night” against the women a second time through.  Adeline found she could focus on the words since she no longer had to carry the melody on her own. She found herself asking what lies “frozen, sleeping” in today’s world. Is it those who had to put dreams on hold during the pandemic? Those who struggle with isolation and mental illness? With socio-economic inequality? She knew what lay frozen, sleeping within her: the forced isolation of the pandemic, her frustrations with the patriarchy of the Church, and her often-strained relations with her family. Even just singing these words, she could feel the frozen numbness within and she knew, deep down, that others were carrying similar hurts, pains, and struggles.

 

In spite of all this, what are the “rumors of a dawn so embracing”? Where is there hope and healing? Where is there the promise of a better future? What lies ahead? Dawn has to come, doesn’t it? This late December evening, celebrating the newborn baby Jesus, a distant glimmer of hope appears on the horizon. Adeline prayed that hope would remain after the Christmas lights were taken down.

 

Against these lyrics, the men claimed: “All is calm, all is bright.” So which is true? Is all calm and bright, or do “we tremble in shadows this cold endless night”? Or are both true? The night might seem cold and endless, yet still contain moments of beauty and grace. And every struggle seems endless when we are caught in minutia. Adeline needed to trust, just as she sang, that “soon will we know of the morning.”

 

The choir took their seats and the piano stopped. The silence of the still, darkened church embraced Adeline. The gentle flickering of candles and of the shadows they created on the church walls were the only indication that time continued to pass. Adeline’s heart felt full, overflowing even, and she wished she could live in this moment forever. She was home, she was whole, and she was safe. What more could she want? She held on to this feeling through the closing song, letting the voices of tenors and basses behind her wash over her, joining her own voice to create the final triumphant chords of the evening. As the final note reverberated in the space, she felt a tinge of sadness – it was over. 

 

Adeline was grateful when a choir member offered her a ride home, given the late hour and the rain. They drove in silence, comfortable in each other’s presence. Besides, they both knew they would be back to choir in a mere ten hours for Christmas morning Mass and they wanted to save the energy they had. The squeaking of windshield wipers and the sound of tires on wet pavement provided accompaniment for the short drive to Adeline’s. She thanked the choir member and bid her goodnight as she got out of the car. Entering the courtyard of her apartment building, she was careful to ease the gate closed, lest any slamming awaken those already asleep. She left her umbrella outside the door and let herself into her apartment, taking her shoes off and hanging her coat.