It's the time of year when youngsters walk church processionals and place flowers on the head of the "Queen of the Angels."
“Oh, Mary! We crown thee….”
The closing of so many Catholic churches in the Baltimore area, where I lived for 60 years, and the turning of the calendar to May triggers memories of my childhood when Catholic families were preparing their children for their First Holy Communion and the May Procession to honor Mary, the earthly mother of Jesus Christ, and who is known to Catholics as the Blessed Mother.
I was in second grade at St. Andrew School at Monument and Washington Streets in East Baltimore (one of the many Catholic schools and churches closed in my city in the 1960s and ’70s). The crowning of the Blessed Mother would be the finale of the annual May procession on the afternoon of the day on which we made our First Holy Communion. I was an excited little girl that day as my white dress and veil made me feel like a bride and three of my classmates were my “attendants.”
The procession began in the space between the rectory and the church. Meticulously maintained grounds that included various types and colors of roses as well as other spring flowers were in full bloom throughout the garden, where the statue of Mary in her blue and white gown with arms outstretched was the focal point. Parents and families of the second graders as well as other parishioners and residents of the neighborhood filled the area between the garden and the church where the procession would carry the statue of Mary for her crowning.
My classmates followed behind the statue. I devoutly kept my hands folded and eyes lowered as I led the members of my court to the church. We had practiced this many times, and I knew that after we passed by, everyone would enter the church behind us. We would wait in the back of the church to walk up the aisle.
The pews filled quickly and the priest completed his welcoming address to a church with no empty seats. Latecomers lined the side aisles as the organist began playing the first of several hymns honoring Mary. Our teacher signaled that we should start our slow procession up the long center aisle. The statue of Mary, which was brought in from outside, had been placed on a table to the left of the altar inside the sanctuary. Flowers surrounded the table and a wooden step ladder was placed behind it.
All eyes were on our second-grade class of First Communicants as we slowly walked up the aisle with folded hands and smiling faces. The front pews were reserved for our classmates, but my three attendants and I slowly proceeded through the sanctuary gate and took our places to the front and sides of the table holding the statue. Two men from the Holy Name Society stood on either side of the ladder to assist me up the ladder.
We had practiced the crowning procedure many times in the days and weeks before this day, and I was prepared for the duty. My teacher told me, “As soon as the organist begins the hymn, ‘Bring Flowers of The Rarest,’ proceed up the ladder.” The Holy Name man on each side of the ladder took my hand and assisted in the climb.
The deep sound of the organ and the voices loudly singing that beautiful song was my cue to take the crown of flowers offered to me and wait for the moment in the song where the words are, “Oh Mary! We crown thee with blossoms today, Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May.” I stood at the top of the ladder and looked out over a full church of people singing at the top of their voices. Every eye was focused on me. I listened for the words and slowly placed the crown of flowers on the Blessed Mother’s head. A flood of flash bulbs followed and the moment was captured forever by the proud parents and family members of the second-grade First Communicants.
I will never forget that moment. It is a snapshot in my brain that is brought forth every year in May, as the second graders in all Catholic schools make their First Holy Communion. That hymn still brings tears to my eyes when I hear it and for an instant, I am again that little girl who crowned the Blessed Mother.
— Barbara Pallas, Baltimore
The writer is is a member of the Memoir Seminar at the Johns Hopkins University Osher Institute.
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