A Hymn and My Happy Place

I think of myself as a fussy, quick-to-compare-and-criticize person, as do most who know me, and I truly am.

That is why it is such a marvelous state of affairs that a tiny and welcome surprise can make me happy all day - please join in a hymn of thanksgiving, number 34 in the missallette.

I think I would willingly and joyfully sing the words of a washing machine owner's manual to PICARDY.
Add to that tune the glorious translation of Gerard Moultrie of the ancient words from the Liturgy of St. James, and I am transported.

Let all mortal flesh keep silence, And with fear and trembling stand; Ponder nothing earthly minded, For with blessing in His hand ,Christ our God to earth descendeth Comes our homage to demand. 

King of kings, yet born of Mary, As of old on earth He stood, Lord of lords, in human vesture, In the body and the blood; He will give to all the faithful His own self for heavenly food. 

Rank on rank the host of heaven Spreads its vanguard on the way, As the Light of light descendeth From the realms of endless day, Comes the powers of hell to vanquishAs the darkness clears away. 

At His feet the six winged seraph, Cherubim with sleepless eye, Veil their faces to the presence, As with ceaseless voice they cry: Alleluia, Alleluia Alleluia, Lord Most High!

It is a shame that those who pursue, perhaps favor, a liturgical minimalism are unaware that the most minimal of embellishment, the tiniest extra effort, lengthening the Mass by mere seconds, is often enough to lift it, and the spirits of the congregants into an entirely new realm.