Italian Surprise!

Another comparison of this year to last: December 8, Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Last year, it was on a Monday, which happened to be my busiest day of classes every week. With the exception of chapel time and a brief hour between anatomy lab and band, I had no free time from 6:45 a.m. until after the Norseman hayride (and dinner and bonfire). Masses at St. Dominic were all during my classes and activities, so a contingent of us Norseman Catholics discovered that our only option was to leave the hayride early to go to Annunciation (how appropriate!), a small church a few miles outside of Northfield. Normally there would be nothing wrong with this; I had been to Annunciation before and didn't mind driving there. Last year, however, there was a snowstorm on December 8. By the time we left the hayride, the gravel roads back to Olaf were slippery under 2-3 inches. After picking up more churchgoers at St. Olaf, for a total of 8 (yes, 8!) of us in my tiny Saturn, I drove slooooowwwwwllyyyyyy through the quickly accumulating snow to the little church on the hill. Mass was warm and beautiful, and you could feel the little-kid excitement throughout the congregation because of the snow. As we left church, the snow was still falling quietly, peacefully -- and had deposited several inches on the vehicles. There was an attitude of congeniality despite the difficult driving conditions, and everyone helped each other clear the white powder from the cars. Everything about it -- the feast day, the people, the church, the weather -- was beautiful.

This year on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, I followed the Minnesota blizzard with interest, mostly because I wanted to be there myself. There's something about extreme weather that's exciting to me. Here in the Bronx, though, it was a sunny, warm day (although most of my classmates would skewer me for saying 40 degrees is warm). I decided to go to Mass at St. Clare, and I assumed the schedule would be the same as a typical weekday schedule, with Mass at both 7:00 and 8:00 a.m. I also assumed that, with the typical 15-minute daily Masses, I'd be able to make it to my 8:45 class on time. My assumptions were only marginally correct. I arrived at 7:55, heard the priest greet an old couple with a quiet, "Buon giorno," and thought nothing of it. We are, after all, in a very Italian neighborhood. Turns out I should have thought something of it. Since it was a feast day, the church was on its Sunday schedule, in which the 8:00 Mass is in Italian. And there was music. Music in Italian. After an initial moment of confusion, I realized what was happening, and then I started beaming. Mass in Italian! It was wonderful. I ended up being 10 minutes late for lecture, but it doesn't matter. It was a beautiful morning, with a joyous service, a sunny walk, and an Italian surprise.