Christmas Midnight Mass - 1. Chapter 1

Christmas Midnight Mass
Montreal Ormolu (2009)
The priest shook the last hand, waved to the last person, exchanged best wishes and blessings with the last family and finally closed the church doors. He was exhausted. The service had gone well, everything had come off just the way they had planned. And he was exhausted. It always hit him this way. It was the let-down after all the build-up leading to Christmas – all the services, all the special music, all the planning, all the different sermons to prepare and deliver, all the special requests for financial help, just all the stuff. He was exhausted.
He locked the front doors and turned off the outside lights. Then he began his rounds, turning out lights, turning down the thermostats, checking that all the doors were locked for the night. It took a good 20 minutes to do the rounds. But he had a routine now. After all these years, he knew how to do everything quickly.
He went into the sacristy and took off his robes, hung everything up, put the microphone away. As a sign for himself that his day was over, he pulled his clerical collar off, too. He was finished for the night. He could feel his body begin to let down, to feel the physical tiredness of it all. He looked forward to getting home, sitting in front of the fire with the cat and dog, and having a nice drink.
He put on his coat and did his last quick check; just peeking in the church to make sure everything was ready for the night. He looked in, and then took a second look. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it. He went into the church and flicked on a set of lights. What was it? He looked around again, letting his senses stretch out into the building that he knew so well. There! There it was again – a muffled sound, almost like crying. Who could still be here? He was exhausted, but something kicked in and he began walking down the aisle, looking for whoever was still here. Towards the back, off in a side chapel, he spotted a lump that shouldn’t be there. He walked over quietly and saw shape huddled over, throbbing with nearly silent sobs. He sat down and put his hand on the shape’s shoulder. The shape jerked up, startled, and looked at him, tears streaming down the boy’s face, eyes wide with fright and pain.
“It’s OK, son. Come here.” And he reached over and took the boy into his arms, reaching around him to hug him tightly. He was exhausted, but no one should be crying on Christmas. “Come here.” The boy lunged into his arms and held onto him fiercely, sobs wrenching out. They sat there, the old priest and the teen-aged boy, holding each other as the storm of the boy’s grief spent itself against the priest’s shoulder.
Time passed, and the boy’s shudders seemed to slow down. Finally, he leaned back, still sniffling but under some sort of self-control. The priest gave him a Kleenex from one of the boxes kept in the pews. The boy wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and sat back. He fidgeted with the used Kleenex, watching his fingers rather than looking at the priest.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” asked the priest.
“They threw me out.”
“Yes…” the priest waited.
“They threw me out -- on Christmas Eve. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and no one wants me, anyway.”
The silence deepened. The boy wasn’t ready to say more, and the priest was exhausted. It was time to go home.
“Come with me, son. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll see what’s going on in the morning.”
The boy looked at him, surprise written across his face. “But you don’t know me, and you don’t know why they threw me out. You won’t want me, either.”
The priest smiled a little, “Well, are you an axe murder on the run?”
“No.”
“OK. Maybe a serial killer?”
“No.”
“Then come with me. I think I can trust you for one night.”
“But I’m gay.”
There it was, out in the open. Now the priest had some good guesses about what might have happened.
“Well, now I’m really frightened,” he said with a smile. “Son, come home with me. It’s late. You need a good night’s rest. I need a good night’s rest. We’ll talk about all that later.”
He got up and held out his hand, an open invitation. The boy looked at it, at him, and got up, too. He reached down and got a backpack from the under the pew. It wasn’t large. He hoisted it onto his shoulder and followed the priest out. They turned out the light, and went out the door, locking it behind them. They walked into the parking lot, the snow crunching under foot, the crisp air fogging with their breath. They reached the priest’s car and got in. They drove silently, each hidden in his own thoughts. Just a few minutes later, they turned into a driveway up to a small house, ablaze with Christmas lights, a warm glow in the silent landscape. They got out and walked up to the door, the boy hanging back a bit.
“Come in. It’s not much, but it’s mine, and you’re welcome here.”
The boy just looked at him, and then silently followed him into the house. The priest took off his coat and hung it up, slipped his shoes off and wiggled his toes just before putting on old, comfortable slippers. The house was toasty warm. A cat came up, brushing against his legs, winding itself around him to say welcome. An old dog slowly came up, obviously having just woken from its nap. She wagged her tail a bit, just enough to say that she, too, was happy that he was home. Both animals looked at the boy curiously, sniffing around him cautiously. Satisfied, they decided that the boy was OK. The cat gave her brushing greeting, and the dog wagged her tail, too, butting the boy’s hand with her old, graying head. The boy thawed gradually, unbent enough to kneel down and greet the old dog. The dog enjoyed his attention for a while, and then wandered off to find a place to lie down. The cat butted her head aggressively against the boy, demanding her due, too.
“Come on in, son. Let’s have something warm to drink.” He padded into the kitchen, letting the slippers shuffle along the floor. “How’s some hot chocolate?” He began opening the fridge, pouring out milk into a pan, adding chocolate powder and whipping the mixture into a froth. “How old are you, son?”
“Nineteen.”
The priest looked at him, his eyes questioning that statement.
“I’m nineteen. I know I look younger.” He grinned wryly. “That’s an advantage when you’re gay, you know. But I’m really nineteen. I have ID if you want to see it.”
The priest just looked at him, then nodded to himself. “OK. Do you drink?”
“Why?”
“Cause I’m going to add rum to this. Do you want some?”
“Are you trying to corrupt me, an innocent boy?” He laughed.
“Nope. Chances are pretty good that you’ve already had some drinking, if you’re nineteen. We’re not going out again tonight, so there’s no danger of drinking and driving. And besides, I usually have something to drink on Christmas Eve. It’s part of my custom. And since you’re here, with me, tonight, you might as well join me. So, do you drink?”
“Yes, some.”
“OK.” He finished the drink and poured it into two mugs, handed one to the boy, and moved into the small den. He took a sip, put his cup down on the small table beside the comfortable chair and went over to the small Christmas tree. He plugged it in, and then went back to sit in the chair.
“Come on in, son. There’s another chair in here.”
The boy came in, put down his backpack, and curled into the other armchair. He lifted his cup and took a sip. He took another longer one, and sighed. He began to relax into the chair, letting the warm chocolate and rum do its work. They sat silently. The priest picked up the TV remote and turned it on, tuning to a specific channel. The sounds of Gregorian plainsong filled the air as an ornately dressed man walked around an altar, censing it thoroughly.
“I always watch midnight mass from the Vatican on Christmas. And I open up my Christmas gifts. It’s just a custom of mine. It lets me unwind from all the frenetic activity of Christmas and lets me get into the spirit of it all for myself. I need to remind myself of why I do all this, and this is a way to do this.”
“OK.”
They continued to drink in silence, listening to the Pope celebrate mass, surrounded by all the pomp that attended that particular celebration – singers, musicians, crowds of people, all looking at the altar as they awaited the mystical reality of Jesus come again in bread and wine. Eventually, the priest got up and brought a gift over. He carefully slipped the ribbon off and opened the box.
“Well look at this! My sister sent me a new cookbook. I really love cooking, and my family knows it. They also know that I collect cookbooks. There’s nothing better than reading a really creative recipe.” He nattered on, talking to himself and to the boy, trying to help him relax. He carried on, going over for each box, opening them and sharing them with the boy. Then he went over again, and brought the box back to the boy. “This one’s for you. I don’t know your name, and it doesn’t have a name on it, so it must be for you.” He held the box out to the boy, who gingerly took it.
“Is this for me? Why? You didn’t know I was coming. I didn’t know I was coming.”
“There’s always an extra gift or two under the tree. I never know who is going to turn up for Christmas. And God always finds a way to make it just the right gift for whoever He brings to my house. Since you’re here, then this gift must be for you.”
The boy gingerly took the box and held it in his hands. He looked at it, and then looked up at the priest, tears glistening in his eyes. He carefully unwrapped it, taking the ribbon off, running his finger along the seam to take the tape off, and then unwrapping the gift, preserving the paper as he went along. Inside was a CD. He turned it over and looked at the title, Classical Love Songs from Deutsche Grammophon. It was a compilation of love songs from many of the great classical operatic masterworks -- Puccini, Bizet, Verdi, Mozart and others.
The priest wondered why this CD came to this boy. At first thought, it wasn’t really something that would appeal to a modern youngster, yet the boy looked overwhelmed. Tears began to drip.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“I didn’t, but God did. Can you explain it to me?”
The boy looked down at the CD and took a deep breath. “I’ve been studying voice for the past few years. I’m at the Music Conservatory at the University, training to be a classical singer. My family is very conservative. Studying music was OK, and being a singer was OK as long as it was classical music. But being gay was definitely not OK. As I admitted to myself this past year that I really was attracted to other men, that I was gay, I’ve been more and more terrified at might happen if my family ever found out.” He sighed, and murmured, “And I was right.” He looked up again at the priest and continued, “This fall I started seeing someone at school. I don’t know how serious it is, but it was a beginning. And my parents found out. I forgot and left an email open on my computer, and they read it. When I came home today, my father threw me out and my mother let him. I had nowhere to go. The church was open as I walked by and it just looked inviting, so I came in. I don’t know what I expected; I’m not a churchgoer, but it just felt right. And here I am.”
“So this CD really fits for you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s as if someone knew me really well and got me a special gift. But you don’t know me at all.”
“No, I don’t, but God does. Just like the CD, He is sending you a love song.”
The boy looked at him, clutching the CD in his hands, tears pouring down his cheeks. As the sobs began to wrench out, the priest got up and came over to him, knelt down beside the chair and took him into his arms. He rocked him gently, stroking his head and letting the boy clutch him fiercely in his overwhelming grief. Finally the sobs quieted and the boy drew back. The priest let him go, gave him some Kleenex and sat back on his heels beside him.
“I can’t tell you it’s all going to be OK. I can’t explain your parents to you. But I can tell you that God still loves you.”
“He does?”
“Yes.” He leaned over and kissed the boy on top of his head, “Merry Christmas, son. Would you like to listen to the CD?”
“Yes, please.”
They got up and walked over to the CD player, put it in and sat back down. The music filled the room, moving from one love song to another as they drank their hot chocolate and watched the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. Maybe things would work out after all.