At Christmas 1976, I was a junior Navy officer serving aboard an aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. The ship was about halfway through an eight-month overseas deployment to the Western Pacific. This was during the Cold War; doubtless remembering Pearl Harbor, the Navy kept one WestPac carrier at sea over Christmas in case someone tried to start something. That year, we were the duty carrier, and we knew we'd be the ones to spend Christmas at sea.
A shipmate and I, both former choir directors, thought it'd be nice to have a choral midnight Mass. The Catholic chaplain agreed enthusiastically. The ship had a crew of over 5,000. We figured there had to be at least a few former choir singers aboard. In November we wrote home to get choral sheet music.
A week or so before Christmas, we published a call for choristers in the Plan of the Day. At the first rehearsal time, some two dozen sailors showed up in the foc'sle, a big enclosed space at the bow of the ship where services were held. Everyone left their ranks at the door; we all called each other by our first names, officers and enlisted alike, just as if we were civilians in church back home.
The sheet music was the usual SATB, soprano, alto, tenor, bass, but in those days of all-male crews, we had neither sopranos nor altos. No problem: We divided the tenori into two groups and segregated the baritones from the true basses. I don't remember how we allocated the SATB parts among ourselves, just that the four-part harmonies sounded wonderful.
On Christmas Eve, the ship's usual bustle slowed. Flight operations ceased. People just kept doing the thousand and one things that had to be done to keep the ship running.
Midnight drew near. Off-watch sailors started filling up the foc'sle. Our pick-up choir, in freshly-starched white uniforms, led the congregation in pre-Mass Christmas carols.
The chaplain, fully vested, entered the foc'sle. To my surprise, the "altar boy" was the ship's executive officer, or XO, the second in command. (The XO was one hell of a leader, a decorated combat aviator whom I would have followed anywhere. Years later, he ended up with four stars and command of the entire Pacific Fleet.)
All hands began robustly singing O Come, All Ye Faithful. The chaplain and XO processed to the portable altar. The chaplain started saying the Mass, with the XO humbly doing all the things acolytes do.
It was a good thing the choir had rehearsed several Communion hymns: so many sailors came up to receive that we had to sing them all.
It was a glorious celebration. Our embarked admiral’s chief of staff later told the chaplain he’d never seen anything like it in all the years he’d been at sea. Nearly 30 years later, that Christmas remains a treasured memory.
As you attend services this Christmas, say a prayer for our sailors and other troops serving far from home. Merry Christmas to all!
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