The Alleluias came clear and strong, the cries of an angel.

Not my Angel, however. This voice was just as strong, but deeper, more vibrant. The alleluias were followed by verses of song from a dozen voices in the loft, and if I listened close, I could pick out the high alto tones of my Angel.

As with all the other songs of this special Mass, the words were in Spanish and, while the natural tongue for many in the parish, few gave voice to join the choir.

We were a thin crowd, taking less than half the seats in the rows of wooden pews. Almost all of the women kept their winter coats and hats on, to stave off the bitter cold outside. Most of the men, like me, had stripped off the outer layers of insulation. Except for youngest son beside me, still in his new black leather jacket, and for wife's godson on his right.

The wife had been practicing with the choir for this special mass for weeks. She was planning on attending the potluck dinner after the mass, along with the boys. She remarked it "would be nice" if I joined them for dinner, and easiest if I came to mass as well.

True enough.

Being still unfamiliar with the procedures and rituals of this service, I had asked the boys to keep me from making a fool of myself. To know when to kneel, when to sit and when to stand. Their advice? "Just watch everybody else."

We were in the sixth row of pews, which is actually the fifth row of seats, since no one sits in the front pews. No place to kneel. The pews are low and simple, but with high end caps. A large stand was set at the head of the aisle, supporting the advent candles in a wreath of greens and ponderosa pine cones. A small, artificial 4' Christmas tree was decorated simply along the front left wall.

The altar is set in what seems to me to be an unusually large and deep domed alcove, definitely reminiscent of Spanish style. When first I entered this church, the walls of this alcove were painted with a huge crucifixion, in almost garish '70s colours. The current priest had that painted over with a simple ivory white, and installed a lifesize statue of the crucifixion. More realistic and less symbolic, and perhaps that is to the good.

The walls have tall, narrow stained glass windows, spaced at about every other pew. And small dioramas in between. There are several other statues in the church, features not existant in the church of my youth. Neither are the kneeling bars at our feet. Now that was a feature that took some getting used to.

One of the ushers came forward up the aisle, and signaled to a man in the front pew. The meaning of two quick jerks of the hand could not be mistaken. The man rose and went back, and we soon heard the hand-pulled bells pealing, calling all to mass. A couple women went down the rows, gathering young children together and herding them out the side door.

A lone acolyte came in, and lit the candles. A job I remember and enjoyed.

Whenever an acolyte failed to show for services, Pastor Pierce would peak around the corner and crook his finger at me, and I knew I had duties to perform that day. Enjoyable, comforting duties. Eldest son shared in that service with this church, but youngest son chose not.

Soon the young children came filing back in through the side door, each carrying a single rose. They disappeared to the back.

The mass began with a Spanish hymn, with difficult words and phrasing. I had yet to turn around, but I could hear where my Angel was standing.

The procession was led by three Knights, the first a friend in his resplendant uniform and cape of black and royal purple, topped with a bi-cap hat with purple plumes. The children followed, each placing their rose into one of two vases in front of a banner of the Lady of Guadalupe. The acolyte, deacon and priest brought up the rear.

As near as I could tell, the service followed the normal order. The soloist during the collections was the same as for the alleluias. The whole choir soon joined in, and I heard my Angel's voice hold strong and clear above the others on the high notes.

Her voice rang out, confident and inspired. I could feel and share the joy she projected into her voice, and was surprised to find tears welling up in my eyes over the experience.

The rest of the mass passed quickly, with me receiving only one sharp jab to the side from youngest son when I missed a protocol. The dinner was excellent, but we made the mistake of letting the boys select our seats. So we ended up at one of the far tables, joined later by three teenaged girls.

No adult conversation for us except with each other, which is too rare as it is, but the plan worked well for them.

Now I need to go see if I can help clean up the upstairs, so that we can finally get our Christmas tree inside.

Hope there haven't been too many dogs and cats peeing on it outside.