Christmas Eve
What do two people do on Christmas Eve when they are far away from their family and friends in a cold cold Slavic country? They go to church, that’s what.
I have a range of emotions associated with church spanning awe to boredom. Since my grandmothers are not reading this site, I can say quite safely that the faith I had in my youth has been pretty much mothballed. But I still have a residual curiosity about Catholicism. It’s more anthropological than anything else. So, I wanted to see what Midnight Mass is like at St. Mary Magdalene’s Church in the centre of town.
The church is nice and old. I’m told it’s late baroque. The ceiling is plane, but the altar and side chapels have impressive art. There is stain glass, but it never seems that impressive because the surrounding buildings have been put up too close to the church.
I hoped mass would be scary. I’ve said this many times before, but religion isn’t any good if you are not afraid. The services I’ve been to in Whitby are as insightful as the new-age section at a Chapters. But I remember that the Polish church in Ottawa could be scary. (The church, St. Hyacinth, is actually a lot nicer than its gaudy web site.) It could be really boring too, but let’s stick with the scary. The services were in Polish, which made them strange. The stations of the cross were stone with weird Art Nouveau figures. Whenever the congregation—which was mostly old ladies—sang, they did so with a unified wail that ached of Old World sadness. I was hoping some of this fearful magic would be present at the Midnight Mass here in Cieszyn.
Martha and I did Christmas Eve the Polish way, or at least as Polish as we could. For the Poles, Christmas Eve is a bigger deal than Christmas Day. They have a twelve course dinner without any red meat and then they open presents. We cut our dinner down to fish, mashed potatoes and cabbage, but we didn’t skimp on the presents part. The walk to church was freezing, but it went pretty quickly because we spoke with my family on the cell phone. I think that was the first time I’ve ever said, “Oh hi mom, you just caught us on the way to church.” We got there really early and found a seat. We were afraid we might sit in somebody’s regular spot so we settled on the pew at the back left, just under the Seventh Station of the Cross. The church was really cold.
Mass was a bit of a let down. The incense was pungent, which was good. The lighting was well done: soft at the beginning and big and bright in the middle. But, things just weren’t scary enough. In some ways, a Catholic mass is just a Catholic mass. I suppose it takes more than setting to get one spooked. Or maybe we should have just sat closer.