I Learned .....

A month ago when the church activists called to notify that my daughter was assigned to be the commentator
( a kind of MC) for the Easter Eve at our church, I hesitated. She had been a lectress for 2 years, and Putri kept on telling how nervous she was every time she had to stepped up the altar and read the bible.
She had a soft audible tone that people like, yes. And I was ( and am) very proud of it.
But as a commentator handling such a big service, I trembled.
I was kind of reserved, but they convinced me to mentor her and on the D-day there would be a standing by senior.
I told my daughter I was proud, and encouraged her to keep practicing.

Putri got multi-tasks along the 3 big days. She played organ, accompanying the choir, on Thursday,
clebrating the Last Supper. Then, on Good Friday, she sang the solo part of Crucified, a gregorian.
Then, the on Easter Eve, it was her first assignment being a commentator.

We left the house an hour before, and she kept on saying:"Ibu...pray for me. Ask Him to calm me down inside".
And that was all I did before and along the Mass. My husband and I sat in row 5, the best place because the fisrt four rows were for the "Elderly". I was nervous when Isaw her stepped on to the microphone and started greeting and explaining the procedure of the service. Yes, I agreed with her senior, she had a soft audible voice.

Everything went well until the "Offering" part, which was the third part of the service.
She had to chant the 9 prayers of special offering all by herself. My stomach stiffened.
Then, came her hight pitched soprano voice. I was listening very carefully, and wa relieved because she did pay attention to the vocalization of every word and was very steady in the articulation, while maintaining her voice and breath for long phrases.
Every prayer was ended with "Kyrie Eleison" for which all audience repeated.
To me, the situation that evening was so tranquil, so sacred, that I did not realized tears were flowing down my cheeks.
I was touched and very proud of my daughter. I saw that my husband was as tensed, then a smile broke up when she sang her last part of "Kyrie Eleison". I was relieved. I never realized it would make so nervous, too.

When she just stepped down the podium, the Priest asked the audience:
" What was the meaning of your answering :"Kyrie Elesion?"
Everyone was quiet. Not used to being questioned, not used to two-way true communication
outside the "peraching" part.
THe the priest asked: " Did you hear the words chanted clearly?"
Still, the audience was silent.
Then, it came the thundering question (for me, at least): "She sang the prayer in high pitched, did you HEAR the WORDS clearly?"
The audience answered randomly, "yes" and "no".
THen the Priest asked once again:"Because of the way she sang, I did not catch the words clearly, DID YOU?"
in which the audience answered in almost unison " NO."

I was like being shot on my very heart. I felt suddenly numb and so painful inside. I could see the face of my daughter turned so pale up there, still under the spotlight of CCTV and Video monitor. I wanted to run and hugged her tightly to protect her with all being a mother. But I sat in the middle of the row. I just sat stiffly, and my tears were flowing down.
I starred at the Cross above the altar, and blamed Him for letting it happened.

I saw my daughter knelt down facing the altar, then disappeared into the Sacristy, a room behind the altar.
THe next part of the commentator was taken by her mentor. I imagined how devastated she was, and that she must have been crying back there. I wanted to run out, but my husband held my hand and said..."Let those people and her mentors back there be with her for now. She should brave herself to finish her duty." My heart was torn, but I tried hard to grin and bear it.

After the Mass, I waited outside the Sacristy. My husband went inside to pick her up.
Many people, those I knew well and complete starngers, came and hugged me to show their sympahty.
I tried to smile and answered them: "Thanks. It was really painful to grow, and it was also painful to see your child grow in that way..". I got so many sms expressing sympathy,a nd some sms-es were addressed to my daughter.

When she finally emerged from teh Sacristy, we hugged in silence, no word.
We, then, walked hand in had, towards the car. No words, still.
Once the doors of the car were closed, her cry bursted out once again. She kept on saying:" it was humiliating.."
She felt so betrayed. Not only by the Priest, but also by audience.
"They never knew how trembling I was along the Mass, and how hard it was to sing those prayers by yourself from the altar,
while no music accompanying the others were in silence,"
I understood the pain, not only because I was her mother, but because I was in her position from 20 years ago..
and even now..when I had to conduct or be a lectress or commentator, I was still very nervous.

We calmed her down in our ways...
But deep in my heart, we really learned...
My husband and I grew up...it was even more painful to see how our child underwent such an agony.
At the end..I mused.... "How was Mary, when she saw her beloved son being tortured and crucified?"
Our pain was nothing, nothing at all, compared...

Happy Easter,