Called Out of Darkness Page 0,19

I'd ever seen, except perhaps for the church of the Holy Name uptown, and St. Alphonsus was a much more intricately and opulently decorated church. The stained-glass windows are a marvel in themselves. I remember long periods in the pews, when I would study these windows, and the one which has proved unforgettable is the window in which the Boy Jesus appears before the Elders in the Temple, and proves to be admirable and wise. These were romantic and robust depictions, just like the other images in the church, which included vibrant and elaborate murals on the ceiling - of Jesus ascending into Heaven above the assembled Apostles - and numerous other portraits of saints.

A giant mural or fresco stood above the main altar of the church, and the altar was extremely impressive as were the four side altars which this church contained. Our Mother of Perpetual Help had her own special altar to the right of the main altar, and on the far left, on the other side of the church, was the altar of St. Joseph. Two other altars stood against the side walls of the church. And there were times, early in the morning, when Mass was being said on all five altars, because the parish had a large staff of priests, and all priests in those days had to celebrate Mass each day at least once.

Coming to this church for 5:30 a.m. Mass with my mother was an experience, after which we had soft drinks - an unusual treat - at a little restaurant on St. Charles Avenue before going home.

To the right of the altar, and down farther into the body of the church, there was a giant crucifix hung against one of the many Corinthian columns that made up the church. Our Lord on the cross looked resigned with His eyes closed. At His feet stood His sorrowful Mother, whom we sometimes called the Mater Dolorosa, or simply Our Lady of Sorrows.

And I liked to talk to Our Lord on this cross.

Throughout my early years, I witnessed sumptuous Masses and services in this church.

Midnight Mass that first year for me involved a procession in which we first-grade girls were angels with heavy wings strapped to our backs, and we moved out of the sanctuary, and down the center aisle, two by two, over what I recall as a carpet of flower petals.

Benediction in this church, that is, the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, was a splendid affair, and I recall once the priest moving down the center aisle and up another, with a canopy carried over him and the monstrance with which he blessed all those he passed.

To attend the Stations of the Cross in this church was profoundly inspiring, with the priest and two altar boys moving from Station to Station, announcing the name of the Station - for example, the first, "Jesus Is Condemned to Death," or the Sixth Station, "Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus," or the Eleventh Station, "Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross" - and then reciting the prayer for that particular moment on Jesus' journey to the tomb.

The prayers being recited by the priest had been written by St. Alphonsus Liguori, the patron saint of our parish and our church and the saint who founded the Order of the Redemptorist Fathers who staffed our parish and all its schools and its two churches and its chapel in the Garden District.

After the recitation of the prayer for the Station, we sang a verse of a long continuous sad and tender hymn. At the First Station, the verse went:

At the Cross her station keeping, Stood the mournful Mother weeping, Close to Jesus to the last.

After the Fourteenth Station, "Jesus Is Placed in the Sep-ulcher," the concluding verse ran:

Virgin of all Virgins best

Listen to my fond request,

Let me share thy grief divine.

This was quite an experience even for me in my youngest years - intense, and deliberately sorrowful and purposeful and satisfying as rich food or drink.

But to return to the momentous events of first grade, learning to make one's First Confession was keenly important and then First Communion was a bit like a little wedding, as we girls wore the most stunningly beautiful white dresses that our parents could find, and wreaths of white flowers in our specially curled hair. We also wore rouge and lipstick for this.

Later, at age twelve, Confirmation, which I "made" in Holy Name of Jesus Church, near Loyola University, was another little wedding, on an