EASTER AT ANNUNCIATION
By Gloria Kivytaite O’Brien
Helen Jasaitis, in the days we’re talking about - 1930’s, 1940’s,- was just a little kid, maybe 5 to 10 years old, a pupil in the Annunciation parish’s grammar school. She was born in Brooklyn, to parents who were both immigrants from Lithuania. In Lithuania, Helen would have been known as Jasaitytė, but the Americans didn’t care for all those “funny” endings: -tytės, -aitės, -čiūtės, -ienės, and they leveled off all the name endings, so Helen was Jasaitis, just like her father.
The family had been members of Annunciation parish since the parents, as new young immigrants, were married there twelve years before, and the parish was like another home for them all. Antanas, Helen’s father, belonged to the Šv. Vardo Draugija (Holy Name Society); her mother, Marijona, to the Gyvojo Rožančio Draugija (Living Rosary Society); and both parents sang in the parish’s fine choir. Helen, as a first-grader in the school, recently joined the children’s choir, which sang the eight o’clock Mass daily, and evening devotions during May and October.
While the choir made plans and held rehearsals in preparation for the Easter holiday, the school’s pupils and their parents were occupied in other ways. Many of the schoolchildren were preparing to march in the procession during Sunrise Mass. Lacy white dresses and white suits were readied; parents visited Laskas’s Florist’s Shop to order wreaths, calla lilies and boutonnieres. Laskas was a neighborhood institution: a very large, fragrant florist’s shop on Broadway, right under the Marcy Avenue “El” station. Little girls who had not yet received their First Communion would march in the procession wearing a green box wreath, while those who had, wore their Communion veils. The wreaths, and the calla lilies carried by each participant, were placed in Laskas’s signature shiny white boxes. Everyone got their flowers at Laskas, and brought these boxes home on the Saturday before Easter.
Helen, her hair tied up in rags, stayed indoors feeling ugly all day on Saturday, until her mother bathed her and sent her to bed early. She had just fallen asleep, it seemed, when she felt her mother’s hand shaking her: “Atsikelk, vaikeli! Laikas ruoštis!” (Get up, my child! It’s time to get ready!). It was the middle of the night for the little girl. The world drowsed in silent mysterious darkness, and Helen sat limply as her mother brushed out her curls and helped her into her white dress, long white stockings and polished white MaryJanes. And when the wreath was pinned to Helen’s hair, and she had been wrapped into a new, warm, white knitted shawl, they were about ready to leave for Sunrise Mass, which was to begin at 5:30. Helen would be in the procession with her classmates.
The church began to fill quickly, with families and individuals arriving as the appointed time drew near, and the pews filled with people. Some years, it was so crowded that people stood, not only in the vestibule in the back, but in the aisles as well. The Dominican nuns who taught in the school, left their convent and crossed the street to the church’s side entrance reserved just for them. They would leave their cloaks in the little vestibule, then climb a narrow stairway to take their seats at the hagioscope (nuns’ “squint”), a half-moon aperture made in the left-hand wall of the apse, where they could conveniently observe and participate. Only Sister Nicodema, with her assistants, Sisters Vianney and Rose Vera, was downstairs, waiting with the children who would walk in the procession.
The choir, numbering more than fifty, was ready; the choir loft was a busy beehive, perfumed and stylish. Many individual members had fine voices and performed solo parts with distinction. The choir director, Mr. Jankus, seated himself at the console and pushed a few buttons; the mighty organ took its first breath of the day.
Going to Sunrise Mass was somewhat like attending a concert.The world’s classical composers during previous centuries wrote beautiful music for the Mass, and a good selection of that was in this choir’s repertoire. In those days, the Mass was said in Latin, with the celebrant facing the altar and his back to the congregation. Since the pastor, Father Norbert Pakalnis, was not fond of long Masses, the choir would often sing shortened versions of the Gloria and Credo on regular Sundays. But for the holiday Mass, the choir sang both Gloria and Credo in their complete meaningful text, while the congregation sat back to listen or follow along in their missals. Shubert’s Mass in G, a beautiful, melodic piece, a great favorite with the choir members and most parishioners, was sung during Easter Sunrise Mass.
A grand solemn procession was a feature of the celebration, including many of the children who studied in the parish’s grade
school; acolytes and priests, including the pastor and numerous visiting priests; and members of the parish’s many religious societies.
This solemn procession was an old, old custom that Lithuanian immigrants brought with them from the Old Country. In Lithuania, the procession usually wound its way outside, in the churchyard and around the church, circling it three times. Since this was not practical
on Brooklyn’s streets, Annunciation’s procession wended its way three times around the aisles of the church. Leading was the senior acolyte, the crucifer, carrying the cross on a tall staff. Others swung thurifers, as clouds of incense rose and swirled around, leaving its sharp fragrance everywhere. Still others carried red lanterns, and some continuously twirled the Sanctus bells, all raising “a joyful noise unto the Lord”. The pastor, swathed in gold vestments, carried the monstrance, which held the Blessed Sacrament, while the parish’s other priests walked beside him lending assistance, and acolytes held the baldachin over them. All the visiting clergy followed, and members of church societies carrying their standards -- beautiful, impressive embroidered banners depicting patron saints or religious scenes. Golden knotted fringe and long streamers of silken ribbons hung from the banners, swaying softly as they passed down the aisles. And above all, wth the organ and choir in full volume, sounded the celebratory Easter hymn, “Linksma Diena”.
A joyful day for us has dawned;
Long have we all thirsted for it.
Christ is risen; Death has fallen.
ALLELUJAH.
Sister Nicodema moved quickly to marshall her troops: the schoolchildren were about to join the procession. Some lined up at the top of the aisles, waiting for the others to come up the side aisle. “Sister Nicky” picked a girl at random -- and my goodness, by chance it was our Helen -- and whispered her instructions. “Stand at the head of your group at the top of the middle aisle, and wait for the group being led by Eleanor, to approach from the side aisle. Eleanor’s group will turn and march first, down the middle aisle, and you and your group will follow them.”
Well, is there any reason to wonder at what happened instead? Perhaps our Helen, in her excitement, misunderstood those instructions ……. or, who can say, perhaps she saw no reason why Eleanor should be first, and not she herself? But Helen, cool as a little cucumber, turned first down the middle aisle and walked straight down, intent on joining the rest of the procession. Sister’s frantic gestures and hhssstt!’s aimed her way had no effect and made no dent in her composure. But alas! -- soon Sister had stopped her progress and restored order. Helen’s moment of prominence was short, but she appeared to be satisfied, having bested the older Eleanor even for just a moment. Everyone smiled tolerantly at the little girl’s “mistake”, and she herself never ever admitted that it had been deliberate. Of course not.
When the procession was over, the children were allowed to rest, seated on the steps at the Communion rail. Some of the older girls were grouped at one of the side altars, and no one noticed that they were too close to the heart-shaped candle stand, on which all the red votives were burning. Those were the days before electric votives. Anna Balčiūnas’s Communion veil caught fire. Midst a good deal of screaming, Sisters Vianney and Rose Vera pulled the veil away and beat out the flames with their cloaks and bare hands, and Anna was escorted outside to her waiting family.
The pastor was soon busy with concluding ceremonies at the altar: the Mass was drawing to a close. Soon was heard:
Ite, Missa est - Allelujah!
Go, the Mass is ended - Allelujah!
The groups of marchers re-formed for the recessional, the organ booming and the choir singing, “Kristus Prisikėlė“ (Christ has risen) and again over all, “Linksma Diena”. The congregation followed slowly, all exiting through the great main portal.
Sunrise Mass at Easter usually followed an established routine, despite all its significance and pomp. Just as the congregation spills out onto the street when Mass is finshed every Sunday, they did the same at Easter. Outside the church, groups formed and changed, constantly intermingling, as friends and families wished each other “Linksmų Velykų”, discussing plans for the rest of the day. Helen and her parents met some friends and accepted their suggestion to join them at a nearby restaurant for breakfast. Marijona’s brother, Juozas, Helen’s beloved Uncle Joe, a bachelor, would be one of their dinner guests, along with Jonas and Elzbieta Berušaitis, distant cousins and recent immigrants.
Dinner would be an amalgam of Lithuanian and American favorites - roast turkey, skilandis, kugelis, sweet potatoes, creamed corn, cranberry sauce, apple pie. This mixed menu was only one small hint of the ongoing and inescapable process of absorption that would eventually convert these Lithuanian families and their descendants to what is now known as Lithuanian-American.
This Šventos Velykos would be a long day, and most guestswould eventually head for home soon after dark. Tomorrow was, after all, a working-day.
© Gloria O’Brien February 2010
This article was first printed in BRIDGES, April, 2010