The
Mass, despite all the unexpected pre-Mass adventures,
started on time at one o'clock.
Our Mass, conducted by the rector, Stanisław
Górecki (good
name) was somewhat Spartan in that we elected
not to have the traditional organ accompanyment
during the prayers and recitations, so there
was a spontaneous element to the Mass as no
one really wanted to be the one who started
belting out the "Amen" and such.
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| Dave reading Ecc |
We did have music, though: the local youth choir
sang, and a traditional Highlander band played (though
not together, of course!).
Other than that, the Mass was pretty much according
to the patter of Masses for the last, I guess,
few hundred years: two readings, some hymns,
some prayers, a sermon, communion, and a benediction.
There was an anxious moment for me as we neared
the giving of the communion. I had earlier
been told that, as a non-Christian, my vows
would be a little different than Kinga's as
a Catholic. The Catholic wedding vow, after
promising to be faithful, loving, and so on
until death, ends with something like, "So
help me God and all the Saints." Since
I don't believe in these beings, it doesn't
make sense for me to be asking for their help,
and so in perfoming mixed marriages, the priest
usuallyleaves that out for the non-believing
partner.
In my case, though, the priest had me say that.
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| Kinga
takes communion |
Suddenly I was worried that he might have forgotten
and later might offer me communion. "What
will I do?" I thought. "I can't possibly
take it — doing so would offend too many
people here. Yet how can I not make a scene?"
Forutnately, the priest remembered. But that
led to further confusion as the altar boy stood
beside me in confusion, waiting to hold the
little golden paddle (for lack of a better
word — not trying to be offensive to
Catholics here, I just don't know what that
device is called) under my chin as the priest
puts the waffer on my tongue. The boy stood
there, confused, anxious, looking at me, looking
at the priest, looking at Kinga, looking back
at the priest. Finally I whispered, "Go
on — I'm not taking communion,"
and he left, hesitantly.
After kneeling at the main altar (which, apparently,
everyone was supposed to do, but didn't), Kinga
and I left arm in arm.
Msza podobno była piękna. Tak słyszeliśmy od
gości, bo my widzieliśmy tylko kolejne wpadki
— z Biblią na początku, ksiądz proboszcz |