Prayer and Remembrance in Washington D.C.

One of the most discordant things about this week has been the weather. After one last blast of hot, Washington summer humidity, this week brought sparkling-clear days, high clouds, warm sun, breezes carrying a kiss of Fall.

But today, it seemed, the weather fell in step with the mood of the city as we came together to pray.

I left my office building just before noon, skirting the Capitol grounds on the way to St. Joseph's, a church a few blocks away. As I left the building, a chill wind whipped my suit jacket open, tugged at the umbrella I carried against the mist falling from the sky.

The carillon near the Capitol played "Yankee Doodle," but then a siren on a passing police car drowned it out. It seemed a fitting soundtrack with the miserable weather.

But then, at noon, I heard one long, mournful train whistle. Then another. Then two more. Then, it seemed, there were 10 or 20 train whistles, calling out more and more loudly in a cacophony—it was their noon tribute to the victims, lifting from Union Station out over the city.

The Mass I attended was very full—people stood clustered in the back and every seat was taken. Usually, this Mass, even on holy days of obligation, does not even use music. It's a quick, lunchtime Mass, more utilitarian than celebratory. But today, the organist played, the priest gave a longer homily, and everyone's voices lifted in song, even those who could not see a hymnal.

There's a particular hymn that has hit me in the gut at various times in my life, and it is most well known as "Be Thou My Vision." There are several different sets of lyrics that are sung to that tune, and one of my favorite sets is "Lord of all Hopefulness." I am almost never able to sing it because it makes me cry, and today was no different.

But it was not until the end of the Mass, when the organist began the opening strains of "America the Beautiful" that the whole congregation was reduced to tears. "Oh yes!" gasped a woman in front of me. A few people clapped.

And everyone sang, even if their lips quivered hard enough to make forming the words difficult, and if their tears flowed strongly enough to make the hymnals blur. We all knew the words, and we all felt moved by the spirit of the day.

For more vigils, church services and other events in memory of the victims and in solidarity with their families, or to raise money for the relief and rescue effort, follow these links:

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