The Treble Wore Trouble (The Liturgical Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

holding the mountain passes of Deep Gap and Watauga Gap for General George Stoneman as he marched through North Carolina in March of 1865. Although Kirk's men were Union sympathizers from the area, both they and Stoneman's soldiers had little regard for the locals and engaged in stealing, general destruction of property, killing animals, burning buildings, and destroying all courthouse records. The church building was spared for another thirty-four years.
    In January, 1899, the first of our legendary miracles occurred when the church caught fire. The miracle wasn't that the church didn't burn to the ground. It did. The miracle wasn't that no one was hurt, although no one was. The miracle (verified by a photograph!) was that when the congregation showed up on the lawn on that frigid Sunday morning after the Saturday night fire, their despair changed to wonder as they gathered around the altar of St. Barnabas — a six hundred pound oaken altar with a marble top that should have been destroyed in the flames, but was instead sitting outside in the snow, across the street in the park, the communion elements all in their place. The episode was credited to the work of angels.
    It was this altar that became the centerpiece of the new church building this time made of stone and mortar instead of pine clapboard, and based on the familiar American design.
    The church was in the shape of a cross. The main part of the church, or the nave, was filled with pews on either side of a center aisle. The transepts formed the arms of the cross and contained pews as well, these facing inward. The altar was in the front. Over the years it had moved from where it stood against the front wall in the days when the priests celebrated with their backs to the congregation, to a few yards beyond the chancel steps, as the church rethought its liturgy and the priests offered the Great Thanksgiving facing their flocks. The choir loft was in the back balcony, accessible by steps found in the narthex, known by other denominations (and motels) as "the foyer." Two hidden doors in the front paneling offered access to the sacristy — the room where the clergy put on their vestments and where communion was prepared. The pews could accommodate about two hundred fifty worshippers.
    It was a lovely church.
    It burned to the ground on Thanksgiving weekend four years ago.
    The fire began during a Thanksgiving Pageant and again, a miracle occurred. Two miracles, actually. The first was thanks to the St. Germaine Volunteer Fire Department. This time it truly was a miracle that no one was hurt, since the church was packed with people. Against all odds, the volunteers made sure everyone was out of the building and contained the fire to the church building itself, even though there were many other structures in the immediate vicinity. Most of the congregation — in fact, the entire town — watched in horror and deep sadness as the building was consumed and fell inward in a conflagration of flames, sparks and smoke.
    Rising out of this chaotic scene was the second miracle of the night, the one that the town still talks about and the one that made all the papers. On the morning after the fire it was discovered that while everyone was occupied with the bedlam that was the town square, the altar of St. Barnabas — the same holy table that had been part of the church since the beginning — had once again been moved from the burning building into the park across the street. When the congregation gathered the next morning, intent on having a service of thanksgiving, they found the altar amongst the fallen leaves, the communion bread and the wine right where they were expected to be.
    The rebuilding of St. Barnabas took a little over a year and a half. The new building was a copy of the old, even down to the stone that had been ordered from the same quarry as the turn-of-the-century structure. The grounds were expanded to include a meditation garden in the back and, although