VISIT TO ST. THOMAS AQUINAS CATHOLIC CHURCH MASS OF BLESSED VIRGIN MARY

    There is something truly gratifying in being enveloped in an aesthetic setting such as an old beautiful church. There are just not many places one can go and sit and feel comforted without the usual crowds, noise, and scenery. I gained a sense of the olde world, and totally forgot that right outside the front doors was a hot busy street in the middle of a huge bustling city in Texas. It was like an immersion in cool soothing waters.
    Saint Thomas Aquinas Parish has existed for over fifty years. I was there for two hours attending a four o’clock Saturday vigil, lasting only one hour. For most of the second hour, I sat and meditated undisturbed by the few who remained to collect offerings, extinguish candles, and remove the items for the Sacrament. I moved closer to the altar, more comfortable in doing so than when I had first entered.
    The church is a beautiful high arched, softly lit structure and endows a quiet, reflective quality. Arriving as I did at around three thirty in the afternoon, I noticed several of the parishioners had already gathered. There were many who were awaiting confessional, others kneeling upon the prayer bench in their pews, and others like myself sitting quietly. No music played, and conversation was minimum and hushed. Most were elderly who had arrived early, but as the hour grew closer to four, I noticed younger couples and families with children. Most of these sat in the back, lest they needed to remove crying infants. Dress was casual, comfortable. I suppose more so than Sunday Mass may be.
    The ambiance was very warm and inviting, and the palettes soft with natural cast stone surfaces. Large Gothic styled lanterns hung from the support pillars that are built in between walls holding beautiful stained glass windows, also arched at their tops. I strained to see from where I sat what the inscriptions were under each but couldn’t quite read them. Later, as I looked at still more of the same style windows did I realize they were dedicated in Memorandum, and requests for prayer from different families.
    Soon the strains of a hidden pipe organ began to play just before four when service was to begin. A young girl in white robes appeared at the altar and began lighting candles, adding to the many separate flames of glass held banks of candles already glowing on several tables that ran the length of the church. These were placed under life -  sized statues of Angels and Saints. The playing light seemed to animate the faces and enliven their eyes.
    The opening hymn sung was Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, penned by Reginald Heber, 1783 – 1826. Although about three quarters full, voices seemed to get lost in the vast amounts of space reaching far above us. After being seated a Priest began to tell a personal story relative to the theme of building together a nation for Glory to God.  On a personal level the story was of his parents families coming to America from Sicily and settling in New York State. His Father was a florist, and started a fund raising committee, which sought donations that were then given over to those in the community who were in need. The point of the story was that nation building begins within each of us, and to those in our own small surroundings, the giving of our selves and building from this point.
    We sang a second hymn called Come Now Almighty King, anonymously written in 1757. Interspersed prayers and invocations were read and responsorial psalms were sung. Feeling a bit lost, being unfamiliar to these new rituals; I simply bowed my head and listened to the single voices around me. One woman in particular who sat directly behind me would stumble with the first few words, but about the middle of each sentence was more vocal than most. I felt she was learning, or maybe it had been awhile since she had attended. I felt comforted either way.
    An offering was passed, and though I usually give at other Church services I attend, I saw only two twenty-dollar bills in my wallet, so didn’t participate. A basket at the end of a long handle floated in front of me for what seemed like an unusually long time, held by an elderly deacon who had a look of genuine disappointment on his face at my ungenerous pose. I told myself I would make it up the next time I attend, which I do plan on doing.
    This faith, although far from understanding it is what I have romanticized a service should be if seeking a relaxed, personal sense of God. It abounds in the architecture and aesthetics, the sensual complexities held within the moments of worship, and in the unity of its message and purpose.
    At one point everyone greeted those sitting in proximity with kisses and the phrase, ‘Peace be with you.’ A simple utterance, which holds the total strength of Mankind in his basic needs. A final closing hymn was O God Almighty Father, again anonymously written in 1959. And then within an hour, it was over. But I remained.
    I moved closer to the altar to reflect and to enjoy the warmth and glow. My senses were gently played upon with the smells of flower arrangements and candles, the soft colors and dim lighting. The acoustics are wonderful and each word spoken resonates, letting the ear and mind receive them clearly and slowly take them in.
    The stained glass panels each reflected a story, from the garden and flood, to the crucifixion and resurrection. All dedicated from families past, with prayer requests and blessings inscribed. All facets of the structure are beautiful art, symbolic of the beliefs and teachings. One is drawn inside ones own self to reflect outward, to feel peaceful and comforted.
    It is the parishioners who actually do most of the speaking of the words, the singing of the songs, in answer and response. In this I sensed a bond, and unity within. Love is clearly the message, and the phrase ‘Peace be with you’ was offered from several of those I sat with.
    The crucifix at the altar was the visual and displayed high to draw the eye upward. It depicts the suffering Christ with Joseph and Mary flanked on either side, with Mary Magdalene kneeling and weeping at Jesus’ feet. A Sacrament was offered, the symbol of body and blood through the unleavened bread and wine. I was one of very few who remained seated as most everyone else rose to receive the tablet and drink from the golden chalice. All was very formal, very procedural, and yet so very solemn. There was peace.