Phuong, my interpreter, is a Sister of the Holy Cross. She attends Mass every morning at 4:45 am. I say I might join her if I wake up at that time. This morning I am awake at 4:10, wide awake. I get dressed in my "nun like clothes", black pants and a conservative shirt. As I leave the hotel, I see people out for their morning walks, this guy asleep on his motorbike, and a few party goers staggering along the sidewalk. Morning air is cool before the sun. I am in such a hurry I walk right by the church and find myself with women getting their vegetables ready for market. Stacks of zucchini surrounded by women chatting and laughing as they do their job catch my eye. I turn around to find the church right beside Chopstick's, Andy's restaurant!
Chanting greets me as I enter the sacred space. I find Phuong with Thuy. As I genuflect before entering the pew, Thuy's face looks like she is seeing a ghost! She did not know I might attend.
The doors and windows open to let the cool air be circulated by the fans. The prayers and hymns sound familiar though I do not understand a word of Vietnamese. I could be in Heaven. I feel transposed - on another planet where I recognize so much of my world, but everyone is speaking a different language. Like attending Mass in Latin at the St. Joseph church of my youth, I know the sequence of the liturgy. My heart follows the prayers on 'auto pilot'.
St. Joseph is my mother's favorite saint. She keeps a little statue - just like this one - on the window in her kitchen. She calls on him for help, the carpenter, always ready to make something out of nothing. I love talking with my mom about her devotion to St. Joseph. I am thinking of my mom so far away. I miss her.
Mother of Perpetual Help is balanced by two candlesticks with the traditional Vietnamese bird standing on a turtle, symbolizing things of the air, earth, and water. I love how the flowers are arranged off to one side, though the altar offers peace and balance as we pray.
All around the world I visit churches. Something the same finds me though each culture, each community, each parish designs the spiritual space with their own grace.
We meet the priest after Mass. He is a smiling happy man. He says to me: "I noticed you in church, a foreigner!" I wonder how he picked me out of the 4 men sitting on the right side of the church and the 12 of us women sitting on the left side. Maybe he noticed my accent when I said "Amen". He is very friendly and says he's been to Boston one time. He wants to understand why we are in Nha Trang. Interested in our volunteer work with the Global Foundation for Children with Hearing Loss, we tell him all about it. He tells me I look Vietnamese and laughs. I answer; 'Yah, with my blue eyes?' I remind him it is almost St. Patrick's day and then St Joseph's Day!
We pose for pictures. I wish I could remember his name. Names in this language are very hard to remember. He told me it is like St. John the Baptist - perhaps it's John in Vietnamese?
He encourages me to get on the motorbike and take it for a ride. He puts the helmet on my head.
Off I go! Brrrmmmmm!
Morning Mass can be a lot of fun!
