Let's see, The Moonshadow Song ponders losing one's hands, one's eyes, one's feet and one's mouth. I could stand to lose my ears, last night especially. Well, partially, because I heard some rockin' singin' , great music (Handel's Hallelujah Chorus) and preachin' last night.

Yet couldn't help but be bothered by the comments of those around me. First of all, the dark church was not deathly quiet before Mass. The young people behind me were selecting new ring tones for their phone and talking about their deadend jobs. I tried to pray my rosary for Annabel, whose blog I have been reading. I felt as if I were the only one praying in a packed church. But, of course, that can't be true. I mean, it can't be me!

Father came in and beckoned us to follow him outside to the new fire. He chided us not to worry about retaining our "good seats" on such a night but to experience the Vigil Mass in its fullness. Still ladies left their pocketbooks as "down payments" towards reclaiming their seats after our parade outside. And, in a Catholic Church, the "good seats" are in back, don'tcha know?!

In years past, beside the bonfire on the front lawn of St. Greg's, Father's prayers have been punctuated by the sound of screeching tires as motorists slam on their brakes to get a better look at the mob of worshippers. I would love to know their thoughts, an outsider's impression of us, out after dark, burning a fire on the front lawn of our church.

The singing of the Exsultet was ok. Father sings it better than anyone but a deacon sang it this year because Father's concerned about losing his voice on the first night!

At the words from Genesis, "Let there be light", a side wall of the church which is all stained glass and open on the other side to the old church became backlit and shed a little light on us. Still not enough to follow along in my missal. Another reading from Genesis, the sacrifice of Isaac. In between a psalm from the cantor, not the usual woman who does it but a young Indian man. His voice was like a professional recording. It was absolutely perfect.

The account of the Exodus from Exodus which is set to some Israeli music he also performed and we echoed along on the chorus. It was so exciting because Israeli music tends to get faster and faster like a dervish. It became a frenzy and the lady in front of me who was in danger of falling over, her head nodding as she struggled to stay awake in a dark room with boring readers at 10 o'clock at night, sat bolt upright during the cantor's proclamation of the Exodus and never flirted with slumber again! For a while there, she was drifting so far towards the woman next to her that I got off my hands (I was sitting on my hands because of carpal tunnel syndrome) and got ready to catch her. Like the tower in Pisa, she leaned but didn't fall.

Then Isaiah 55 was read with a piano accompaniment and the woman behind me said to her companion, "Sounds like Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood" The selection of readings is here. Then we read Romans 6 and the account of the Resurrection from Mark's Gospel, chapter 16. And it felt good to sing "Alleluia" again after not singing it for so long (see, I told you). In fact, I was in danger of losing my voice in the first half of the service! Probably because of the incense.

Before the homily, Father had us sing Alleluia again a few more times and he strode up and down the aisles, getting in people's faces (people he knew, I presume), pressing them to sing louder. The lady behind me, again, asked of her companion, "And this is the guy who's in charge here?" I really wished that I could sing louder, not just to drown out her inane sidebars during the service. I sang as hard as I could. My throat is a little sore today, if that counts for anything.

Five adults were baptized. A total of 15 people entered the Catholic Church in this parish. The lady next to me said that she needed to leave by midnight and I assured her that things would probably wrap up before midnight. She walked out immediately after communion, at 11:25, as did about 25% of the church so I guess she left at her usual time and didn't leave early after all.

During the recessional hymn, Father walked out very slowly, singing loudly. People were watching him because they were anxious to leave but didn't want to until after he exited. I don't understand that, so many others had already left! Then Father turned towards the altar, still singing, walked slowly backwards. People continued to watch him and started to laugh at him. Few around me were singing anymore. As I drew deep breaths for each "Alleluia", I thought of Christ's labored breath on the Cross and how he had to pull himself up in order to breathe.

On my way out, past the baptismal font in which five people knelt tonight and received water thrice upon their heads from a sea shell, someone commented, "Geez, do you think they have enough water there?!" Thinking of the damp sponge that served as a holy water font in my previous church, I couldn't help but give him a very, very pained, puzzled look.

And if I ever lose my ears,
I won't shed any tears.
Oh, if I ever lose my ears,
oh, dee-dee-dee-dee-dee, dee-dee-dee,
I won't have to hear no more.