At noon everyday,
I hear the chiming bell of the Angelus
And each time I hear it,
It takes me back.
Back to chapels where schoolgirls stood in line, waiting to enter,
And hoping to stay long enough to skip Math class.
Children stepping through the dark corridors, stepping softly, silently,
Barefoot
Onto cool marble floors
The clean smell of emptiness in the dark chapel
A solitary flame flickering before the Sacred Heart statue
Warming the deep red glass that holds it in a perpetual embrace
With its dark sense of mystery, the chapel felt both dangerous and welcoming.
It takes me back...
To churches and their sweet smelling, highly polished wooden pews
And the grandeur of it all
Fat hymnals, yellowed and frayed at the spines,
Girls in poofy Sunday dresses, patent leather shoes and socks that held a dainty rim of lace to match the ribbons in their hair.
Some with bowed heads, arms outstretched, eyes shut as they said their prayers
Some heads modestly covered in satin scarves that they were forced to wear by devout grandmothers
Old priests in chasubles with glimmers of gold
That caught the light with every animated movement
Of arms waving about wildly
As they loudly delivered sermons to the congregation.
It takes me back
To impressive collections of medals, scapulas and rosaries
Collected in chocolate tins over the years,
At church, catechism classes and Bible camps.
At family get-togethers and while chatting with Sister Roselyn over juice and coconut cookies after lengthy novenas and vigils.
Pretty prayer cards embossed with gold, bordered with pink roses and laminated
Pulled out from the deep mysterious pockets of a nun's habit
Each promising to be miraculous
Holding hope
Beneath the layers of lamination plastic and in the eyes of the pretty saints
And in the glow of the halo of the Virgin Mary.
All these treasures handed to us by aunts, uncles, priests and nuns, or maybe by Grandma.
Each of them holding a story, a memory, and a special, peculiar feeling that can't be named.
It takes me back...
To saying the rosary
After dinner
Pappa standing tall, closest to the altar
All of us behind him
Some of us giggling
Some of us exhausted
Some of us solemnly saying the prayers, setting a good example for the younger ones.
Some waiting for us to be done with the rosary
When Pappa would lift us up to reach the altar to kiss the Sacred Heart,
And then Mamma's picture
So we could go to bed after hearing Pappa say the words for us...
Jesus, bless me...
Mamma, bless me.
©️ Rebecca Manari
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