You Don’t Know What You Got

“Most English-speaking people ... will admit that Cellar Door is ‘beautiful’, especially if dissociated from its sense and from its spelling”
-J.R.R. Tolkien

A good Monday morning to all of you Toads and Toadettes,

Just so you that you don’t think I’ve gone barking mad instead of just barking, I have absolutely no idea as to the meaning of the foregoing quote from J.R.R. Tolkien. I am reliably informed that Tolkien of blessed memory noted that the English compound “cellar door” in his essay English and Welsh (1955) and found that its sound is intrinsically beautiful. Further insights into why Tolkien found the term cellar-door aesthetically pleasing can be found in considering texts in his constructed language of Quenya. The poem Namárië opens with the words:

Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lissë-miruvóreva.

Or, perhaps the old boy was just looking for a new name for a character in one of his epics. After all, Tolkien also once used the phrase to illustrate a point about his writing process during an interview:

"Supposing you say some quite ordinary words to me - 'cellar door', say. From that, I might think of a name, 'Selador', and from that a character, a situation begins to grow."
I get the same feeling when anyone mentions “mortgage note”.

Interesting though all of this may be, I was just looking for something to say about a comment received yesterday from a continuing Anglican priest about saying the Mass in the oratory he has in his cellar. I think we’ve all been there at some point, and maybe many of you still are.
For those of you growing comfy in your buildings, take heed: a cellar could be in your future for any number of reasons. However, after reading the following, I think Lord Byron was right when he said, “The very best of vineyards is the cellar.”

Yr. Obed. Serv.

R. Toad, DD, LSMFT

The Cellar Door

Today I said Mass in the cellar. Not a crypt chapel, but the cellar of my house. In truth, it is a fairly comfortable basement with a nice carpet and divided variously into guest quarters (many wandering clergy have slept there), a play area for the teenager who replaced my little girl, and a small oratory dedicated to St. Cyprian (a/k/a “the bishop who had a pair and wasn’t afraid to use ‘em.”). In fact, we have a first class relic of the saint there along with some others obtained from our friend the “Bone Collector”.

The oratory exists because, until recently, I had a downtown parish and couldn’t just pop in to say the offices or to get the Sacrament for emergencies. Funny how those needing Communion of the Sick so frequently are not in extremis on sunny days in June, but in the dark hours of rainy winter nights. So, I built St. Cyprian’s Oratory after obtaining a permission to reserve the Sacrament and to say the occasional Mass here when necessary. Little did I know how vital this little patch of “church” would become to me as a priest.

You see, I left “civilian” life some seven years ago, giving up secular income at the insistence of my archbishop who felt that I needed to devote full time and attention to the ministry. I already had done so as a deacon and priest serving missions, but he wanted to make sure I understood that I was to serve the people of his “cathedral” church with no means of support other than a not-too-sumptuous stipend and, of course, the salary and benefits of my wife’s job. (Sound familiar?)

And try to serve my people I did. Even with the struggles of an inadequate facility, no room for children, no parking and a neighborhood utterly hostile to a traditional Christian message (my favorites were the lesbian couple who regularly would wheel their “acquired” child past the doors declaiming against us), we managed to bring Word and Sacraments to a city in need. With the aid of dedicated folks and some great clergy, we founded a mission some two hours away, a mission that is getting ready to move forward. I suppose I took for granted the building that housed the parish, a locus to pray with others in the Mystical Body of Christ, and to gather in that Body for the celebration of the Eucharist.

Yet, in January of this year, the “front office” determined to “reassign” me full time to the mission. My family lost its local parish church (departed clergy and their kin can’t hang about)-the only parish my daughter had ever known. Gone were the feast days and weekday Masses, as my parish is now hours away and unreachable through the weekday traffic. And so, the cellar, to pray for those committed to my care and cure, and to say the Mass, to do that which is highest and best. (I note here that I thank God daily for the wonderful parish family the mission, who have, as a Baptist colleague says. “loved us up”—it is a singular honor to serve them.)

Today, Sunday made this more poignant. With my wife away and unable to travel to my parish (and thanks to the good father who looked after the flock!), I said Mass in the cellar on the Sabbath Day.

The congregation: my daughter and I were there, and the dog (while we love him, we don’t really include him in the average Sunday attendance and Communion as do some others).
With candles lit and the altar set, we joined in the celebration of the Eucharist on this Eighth Sunday in Trinity. The cellar fades away in the Mass. It is the same in any setting: a parish church, a house, the tailgate of a 2 ½ ton truck, a portable altar and soldiers on a hillside. It is timeless and boundless; it is immersion in the Body of Christ. Perhaps life as a mission priest and chaplain has changed things for me. I just think it is the reality of Christ present in the Sacrament. It might as well be a cathedral. He is there always, particularly wherever His Mass is celebrated.

At times like this, we may miss community, those whom we love and serve and delight in sharing this most sacred of aspects of our Christian life. We may also want a hymn or a chant or some “extras”, perhaps even a church no matter how humble. But, wherever the Mass is said and in whatever circumstances, it is a moment of precious reality, a reality of life united with Christ Jesus in His church.

So, this day, rejoice in community, enjoy those surroundings you have built to the honor and glory of God. But know this: you have that which can never be taken away unless you alone permit it. Know that “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” (Matthew 18:19).

Even in the cellar.