Lyrics

Midnight Mass at Notre Dame

Hurled by way of the Paris Metro through the numb, cold night,
couched in the bowels of Shakepeare and Company, we browsed through books;
Current young men kept watch over still warm embers of genius, art drunk sentries manning an outpost they hadn’t sweated to build.
Then, crossing the street to Notre Dame, we stood in line for midnight mass.

A handsome couple embraced behind us.
He sang along with the songs the robed choir sang.
His French natural, calm, matching the cadence of their singing,
making us believe that this was our night to be there, in line,
frozen, stiff, like figures in an outdoor sculpture of ourselves.

Later, looking behind us, the line curled and swung all the way
to the end of the block. For an hour we waited in silence,
glad the others had come so late, watching small groups of pilgrims
run between the barricades and metal detectors,
pass through inspection, stand in another line,

then, after they were deemed harmless and weaponless,
climb a few steps, walk toward a low door,
and disappear into the cathedral.
Soon we followed them, were asked to doff our caps,
entered, and were warmed.

My daughter followed the flow of a single line of people
passing through the crowd, a riverlet of moving bodies in the vast throng
of the seated and the standing.
What strange mixture of devotion, boredom and hope
had gathered us all here?

My determined daughter kept pushing, venturing out
into the space between strangers, making her way,
with my wife and I behind her,
all the way to the front, eventually reaching the edge of the altar,
incense blanketing the air.

Too short to see, my wife and daughter heard only
the amplified benedictions, stood staring
at the shoulders in front of them,
when a young man inexplicably moved aside
letting them move closer.

As my wife walked forward I pushed my daughter into the space
that he had left for them, only to have her turn,
go back to where she had been and give that place to someone else:
A tall man with two sons who forced them through
the opening, to the very front.

Wondering why my daughter had chosen to give up her place
I watched her gently crouch down and sit on the floor.
A priest swinging a censor led a procession that climbed the steps
and gathered in front, other priests and altar boys spread out behind him.
A choir crooned chants in low monotone.

Then another woman bent at the waist, lowered herself
and sat down by my daughter.
It seemed as if they understood something
none of the rest of us could know, gathered up into themselves
as they were, in fetal position, heads bowed, sitting, still.

What unheard instruction had they been given
to both behave that way and with such dignified resolve?
There were so many different motives in all of us,
so many distinct paths that led us here. What monumental ceremony
would this public service finally come to be?

The head priest, the bishop I suppose,
gave his sermon, all in French, incomprehensible to me;
gradually becoming more and more passionate, more and more pleading.
I wondered what solemn pronouncements
he was presenting to his people.

The crowd in the chairs, those who had waited much longer
or who had been better connected than we,
gave no hint of what he must be saying, only staring
in a sort of stolid indifference.
Saving his most emotional words for the end, he pleaded and coerced.

Surprisingly the congregation applauded.
Then my daughter rose and with a look on her face
like she had heard from God, whispered, “We better leave soon
or we’ll never get out of here. Five minutes.”
Following her again through the crowd,

it was amazing how we’d come to a stop,
nothing but immoveable bodies blocking our way,
yet she would find a path, gently push herself into a crack and move on.
One lady got mad at her, scowled and moved her lips to say,
“Why don’t you stay for the mass?”

Could she know what agenda we had?
What necessities were leading us to leave?
Safely out on the street again, we moved quickly to the Metro,
carrying with us the faint odor of incense,
hallelujahs lodged in our souls.