Tuning out the conversation in the front seat, he turned his
thoughts ahead to the rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. Robert would drive him to the church where he
was scheduled to play for midnight Mass, immediately following the radio
broadcast on Christmas Eve. The evening
would be hectic, he knew, but he never turned down the opportunity to perform
in a church. He had played in cathedrals
and synagogues, churches and chapels.
The same sense of intimacy, no matter the size of the building, lent a
unique depth to his performance, which he had never been able to attain in a
concert hall.
Stani especially looked forward to this event. From that first Christmas Eve Mass at St.
Patrick's, just after they'd moved to New York, he'd had a fascination with
this particular celebration. Jana had
taken him, her one venture back to her childhood religion. The pungent-sweet smell of cedar, and the
glow of hundreds of candles, along with the glorious music, made a profound
impression upon him. He'd become curious
for the first time as to what motivated so many people to come, year after
year, to sing the same hymns and whisper the same prayers. He hadn't pursued religion; it didn't fit
into his already over-scheduled young life.
But he’d discovered performing in churches evoked the same emotions he’d
experienced that night. He found himself
looking forward to the prospect of spending another Christmas Eve among people
who came to greet a child they believed had forever altered the nature of
man. It would be a welcome change from
the faceless crowds in dim, smoke-filled rooms, crowds which seemed to be drawing
him farther and farther from his own humanity.
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