As Tintin and I walked towards St. Mary's Church last Saturday, I remarked, "Kailan kaya ako makakakita ng ibang lahi rito? Puro kasi Pinoy at Indian ang mga nagsisimba eh!" ("When will I find other nationalities here? I only see Filipinos and Indians going to church."). The answer to this question came soon enough. Upon reaching the church entrance, the usher said that the next Mass would be in French.
Before I proceed with my story, allow me to digress a bit. As we all know, Dubai is a city with a predominantly Muslim population. Thus, Friday is considered a day of rest. Depending on the kind of job that you have, your workweek can be from Sun-Thurs or Sat-Thurs. In Dubai, other religious denominations are tolerated. St. Mary's Church is the home for Catholics in Dubai. It stands right next to a beautiful mosque in Oud Metha. Owing to the differences in the days off, most people go to Mass on a Friday. However, Masses are held daily to cater to everyone. There are even Masses held in other languages, perhaps for those who have large populations in the city. We have a Tagalog Mass here but I have yet to check the schedule. It is upon these circumstances that we found ourselves going to church on a Saturday (it was my friend's day off), arriving just in time for the next Mass in French.
We were a little hesitant to go inside and be in an unfamiliar territory. The man encouraged us to still go in (we have come this far anyway), as the Mass would still be essentially the same.
Inside, the church was filled with Filipinos and Indians (perhaps they too were not aware of the schedules). I began to wonder how everything will work out. It would be odd to celebrate Mass in a language that is not known to the majority of the participants. As I have not tried hearing Mass in a different language, I figured it would be an interesting experience. I suggested that we sit in the third row in the middle so we can clearly see everything.
Soon, the French started coming in trickles. Most came with their families (and they had a lot of kids too), dressed casually (summer na summer ang porma, naka-shorts pa si daddy.) Some ladies were wearing sleeveless blouses with a shawl absent-mindedly (but still stylishly) thrown in to show modesty. The little kids were cute in their casual Sunday best. Blond curls were bobbing and framing their round faces. The teenagers of course, were trying to dress like the grownups. One even looked like Britney Spears with all the makeup, only she was about fourteen years old (but still very pretty). The French were a beautiful bunch to look at: tall and slender, fair/olive-skinned, blond/dark brown straight/curly hair and great eyes and noses. Eye candy, all right.
And then there were the other French-speaking nationalities from Africa: still tall but heavily built and their skin tones are of a rich, dark color. One lady even came in a traditional costume, a full blue dress with big yellow prints and a matching turban to boot.
Finally, it was time to start the Mass. The priest and the altar boys weren't too bad-looking either. There was only one singer who lead everyone in singing the hymns. She was great, singing with gusto and smiling from time to time (perhaps she was also finding this absurd). Her hand was raised, moving softly with each beat. Her beautiful, strong voice echoed across the church, moving everyone to sing with her. The French-speakers may have been outnumbered in attendance, but their voices rang clear and strong each time they responded or sang. The language of course, was pleasant to the ears. It sounded very romantic, hehe. For the rest of the Mass, I reveled in the strange language and in the novelty of being around people of different nationalities. My brows were knitted in deep concentration, trying to figure out which part of the Mass we were currently in. Luckily, there were key words: hallelujah, gloria in excelsis deo, kyrie, etc. I mumbled my responses in English. Sadly, they did not sing during the Our Father. They did not hold hands like we do back home. However, they were warmer during the giving of the sign of peace. Instead of the usual smile and greet that we do, they went a step further and extended both hands for a handshake. It was a beautiful and heart-warming moment. This is how it feels to be one with a very diverse community.
I went home feeling a strange glow inside me (partly perhaps from seeing all these beautiful people...hehehe). I wonder which Mass I'll attend next week. ;)
Before I proceed with my story, allow me to digress a bit. As we all know, Dubai is a city with a predominantly Muslim population. Thus, Friday is considered a day of rest. Depending on the kind of job that you have, your workweek can be from Sun-Thurs or Sat-Thurs. In Dubai, other religious denominations are tolerated. St. Mary's Church is the home for Catholics in Dubai. It stands right next to a beautiful mosque in Oud Metha. Owing to the differences in the days off, most people go to Mass on a Friday. However, Masses are held daily to cater to everyone. There are even Masses held in other languages, perhaps for those who have large populations in the city. We have a Tagalog Mass here but I have yet to check the schedule. It is upon these circumstances that we found ourselves going to church on a Saturday (it was my friend's day off), arriving just in time for the next Mass in French.
We were a little hesitant to go inside and be in an unfamiliar territory. The man encouraged us to still go in (we have come this far anyway), as the Mass would still be essentially the same.
Inside, the church was filled with Filipinos and Indians (perhaps they too were not aware of the schedules). I began to wonder how everything will work out. It would be odd to celebrate Mass in a language that is not known to the majority of the participants. As I have not tried hearing Mass in a different language, I figured it would be an interesting experience. I suggested that we sit in the third row in the middle so we can clearly see everything.
Soon, the French started coming in trickles. Most came with their families (and they had a lot of kids too), dressed casually (summer na summer ang porma, naka-shorts pa si daddy.) Some ladies were wearing sleeveless blouses with a shawl absent-mindedly (but still stylishly) thrown in to show modesty. The little kids were cute in their casual Sunday best. Blond curls were bobbing and framing their round faces. The teenagers of course, were trying to dress like the grownups. One even looked like Britney Spears with all the makeup, only she was about fourteen years old (but still very pretty). The French were a beautiful bunch to look at: tall and slender, fair/olive-skinned, blond/dark brown straight/curly hair and great eyes and noses. Eye candy, all right.
And then there were the other French-speaking nationalities from Africa: still tall but heavily built and their skin tones are of a rich, dark color. One lady even came in a traditional costume, a full blue dress with big yellow prints and a matching turban to boot.
Finally, it was time to start the Mass. The priest and the altar boys weren't too bad-looking either. There was only one singer who lead everyone in singing the hymns. She was great, singing with gusto and smiling from time to time (perhaps she was also finding this absurd). Her hand was raised, moving softly with each beat. Her beautiful, strong voice echoed across the church, moving everyone to sing with her. The French-speakers may have been outnumbered in attendance, but their voices rang clear and strong each time they responded or sang. The language of course, was pleasant to the ears. It sounded very romantic, hehe. For the rest of the Mass, I reveled in the strange language and in the novelty of being around people of different nationalities. My brows were knitted in deep concentration, trying to figure out which part of the Mass we were currently in. Luckily, there were key words: hallelujah, gloria in excelsis deo, kyrie, etc. I mumbled my responses in English. Sadly, they did not sing during the Our Father. They did not hold hands like we do back home. However, they were warmer during the giving of the sign of peace. Instead of the usual smile and greet that we do, they went a step further and extended both hands for a handshake. It was a beautiful and heart-warming moment. This is how it feels to be one with a very diverse community.
I went home feeling a strange glow inside me (partly perhaps from seeing all these beautiful people...hehehe). I wonder which Mass I'll attend next week. ;)
