Читать книгу "How Awesome Is This Place!" (Genesis 28:17) My Years at the Oakland Cathedral, 1967-1986 - E. Donald Osuna - Страница 8

By the summer of 1969, the crowds at the 10:30 a.m. and 12:15 p.m. Masses had significantly increased as more Catholics and curious pilgrims from around the Bay Area discovered the Oakland Cathedral. They were an eclectic lot: simple folk from the inner city, visitors from other parishes, academics from neighboring colleges and a smattering of tourists from around the world. Many were drawn by the extraordinary music program; others came out of curiosity to see what fresh twist the Gospel would receive in the “creative celebrations.”

Along with music, we blended the visual and dramatic arts to underscore and enhance the Liturgy of the Word. One of our earliest efforts was a four-week series commemorating the end of an era. We Hold a Strange Hope became the focus of meditation for the Advent liturgies in the final days of the historically devastating decade of the 1960s. Our goal was to look at the events convulsing the world, the Church and the country from the perspective of the Gospel, which, as the word implies, contains “good news.” Hopefully we could provide a positive spin to a negative issue. How strange is that!

The curious were not disappointed this first Sunday of December 1969.

There, encircling the granite altar of the tastefully remodeled Norman-Gothic sanctuary, loomed the blown-up portraits of Che Guevara, Joan Baez, the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and Neil Armstrong

The young Chicano homilist (Father Tony Valdivia) assigned to answer the question “Hope in Today’s World?” was reviewing the shattering events that had obliterated the composure of the planet in a matter of seven years. It was a litany of crises in a decade of despair: “Cuba, Dallas, Selma, Atlanta, Watts, Kent Sate, Berkeley (not ten miles away), the Black Panthers (headquartered across the street!), Vietnam — and now Nixon!”

The preacher’s insightful commentary did not prophesy an approaching doomsday. Rather, basing his analysis and assessment of the times on the promises of Scripture and the lessons of history, he called for a renewed confidence in God’s power to redeem, and the Human Family’s ability to transcend any obstacle. “After all,” he concluded, pointing to the central photo above the altar, “have we not, at the end of this very decade, reached for and landed on the Moon?”

On the following Sunday, the same congregation returned to find, staring at them from the sanctuary, the image of one solitary revolutionary: the smiling face of Pope John XXIII. The topic: “Hope in the Church?” This time the preacher was Monsignor Frank Maurovich, editor of the diocesan weekly, The Catholic Voice. The clever journalist was pretending to interview the Pontiff who eight years before had summoned the Second Vatican Council with the simplicity of a child lighting a match in a dynamite factory.

The initial question addressed to the papal icon unfolded into a string of desperate charges: “How can Your Holiness justify the shambles in which you have left the Church? Was it your intention to open the windows so that all of our priests and nuns could scramble out, along with our youth and the older folk who can no longer recognize their own religion? And what about Humanae Vitae, the latest encyclical by your handpicked successor: Is that also part of the conspiracy to further encourage this mass exodus? Where will it end, Pope John, where will it end?”

“Well, Monsignor,” came the response from the presiding portrait (the homilist had turned ventriloquist), “let me ask you a few questions: Are you concluding that because many have left the Church they have by that fact abandoned their faith? Are you suggesting that in exposing the deficiencies of our present tradition, we are indicting the Gospels? Have you forgotten the seminary axiom: Ecclesia semper reformanda (the Church is to be constantly reformed)? Would you have counseled Christ not to have convoked the gathering at Calvary on the grounds that many would flee the scene? Did you think that the revolution shaking the foundations of every institution in the world would leave the Catholic Church untouched? Tell me, my dear Monsignor, am I the only one who still holds a ‘strange hope’?”

No, he wasn’t the only one. People everywhere were sincerely hoping to find spiritual bonding with God and one another. “Community” was the prevailing imperative of the times. John XXIII and John Kennedy had provided the world with the briefest vision of “Camelot” and of “The City of God” where peoples could be welded together in pursuit of the highest ideals. More recently, an idealistic and youthful generation was searching for mutuality and support at “Woodstocks” and in rural “communes.”

And we at the Oakland Cathedral were making a concerted effort to create community through meaningful, vibrant and prayerful worship. It was working. The liturgies were attractive and engaging. Local parishioners were drawn back into the “arena.” Wounds started to heal as the alienated discovered the welcoming and stimulating communal experiences. In short, we were becoming the “family” of St. Francis de Sales. As “mother church” of the diocese, we were also learning how to graciously embrace the growing crowds of community seekers from throughout the area.

The one who was responsible for introducing additional art forms such as dance and audio/visuals into our liturgies was Father Jim Keeley, our enthusiastic and indefatigable associate pastor who spent much of his time with the teachers and kids at the parish school. His lively presence and constant “God love ya!” reverberated throughout the halls and classrooms, inspiring faculty and students to work hard, have fun and dream great dreams.

Father Jim was as hardworking and fun-loving as they come. And his great dream was to reconnect the school with the parish. (Over time the two populations had drifted apart and rarely related to each other.) He put forward an ingenious proposal: “Let’s involve our school kids in the parish’s liturgy on Sundays.” Summertime would be ideal, he noted, because the children could be prepared and trained during the forthcoming Summer School Project, which was to last five weeks. “After the final Mass,” he suggested, “we can put on a 'Cathedral Carnival' as a fund-raiser for the school!” He even proposed a theme for the first July Summer Series. We should call it Life, I Love You! (an English translation of the recurring Greek phrase in one of Lord Byron’s poems, Zoe mou sas agapo).

The faculty and staff were eager to begin, Father Keeley announced. “All we need is for Father Don to pull it all together!” This would be a challenge. Working with children had never been my forte. I did have, however, some experience directing children’s choirs and coaching youngsters in dramatic skits. I would have to find a way of including children as key ministerial elements into a medium designed for adults. It was worth a try. Besides, I felt that the entire enterprise was a stroke of genius!

The concept of a ritualized children’s liturgy was virtually unknown in those days. There were no official guidelines or regulations. One had to proceed solely on instinct and the general ground rules set forth in the documents of Vatican II, which essentially said: Get everyone, young and old, to internalize and express their faith by actively participating in the Church’s worship.

Actually the challenge was a winning proposition from the start. We soon discovered that children, when performing for an adult audience, can get away with just about anything. In our case, we found that our well-rehearsed and tutored kids became a catalyst transforming cold and isolated churchgoers into a warm, open-hearted community. Experiencing the children at prayer reminded one of the mystery of human innocence, underscoring the relevance of Christ’s admonition: “Unless you become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of God.”

The process of preparing for these Sunday Masses uncovered hidden talents among the children and taught them new skills. Through ensemble singing, dancing and the art of dramatic presentation, they learned the rudiments of artistic discipline. By sewing costumes and creating liturgical art pieces, they learned to incarnate spiritual realities in images and sacred icons. Each day, the children were reminded that the sole purpose of their artistic efforts was to help people pray and worship God in a more vibrant and prayerful way. Weekly rehearsals in church introduced the children to the special magic of God’s house — a sacred place where people came together to encounter their Heavenly Father.

One of the highlights of the series — along with the children’s choir, of course — was the disarming little corps de ballet that our own dancing nun, Holy Names Sister Mary Gene Heller, had trained as a “movement choir.” As a veteran educator, she knew that children naturally expressed their feelings through body gestures. Why not their faith? As the Offertory Hymn was being sung, the brightly costumed youngsters interpreted the sacred lyrics with graceful arm and body movements.

But the piece de resistance was a slide presentation, which was projected onto a movie screen located in the cathedral sanctuary. Steve Essig, one of our instructors and a gifted photographer, created a tapestry of snapshots. In projected transparencies it depicted our delighted school kids at home, at school and at play, enjoying as only children can, the simple pleasures of their inner-city surroundings — and having the time of their lives! The visual montage amounted to a commentary on the poet’s ode “Life, I Love You,” but also on Jesus’ words: “I have come that you may have life, and have it to the full.” Never had the Gospel message been proclaimed with greater impact.

As novice liturgists we learned two important lessons from these early experiments. One was that children, when properly coached and motivated, can be extremely effective ministers of the Word. They can capture a congregation’s imagination, open up hearts, and even broaden the minds of the most skeptical. For example, the fact that a makeshift movie screen was obstructing the view of the altar no longer mattered; the images and the charm of those children had transformed the screen into a pulpit.

Secondly, we realized that the liturgy in English possessed a power to touch and move people’s souls as never before. What had been lost by the suppression of the stylized liturgy in Latin could be replaced and even enhanced by an artistic and prayerful use of traditional and contemporary art forms.

Moreover, the musical and visual arts, which were undergoing such technological advances, could surely be adapted to the requirements of the liturgical reforms. New “hardware” was available that could be tailored to the service of contemporary churchgoers and their worship. In other words, the Gospel could be as freshly addressed in church as it was on the Broadway stage. Jesus Christ, after all, is the “Superstar” of every Eucharist.

St. Francis de Sales School children’s choir

Jack Miffleton preaching at a children’s liturgy