At last Sunday's Mass at St. John the Baptist, 54 children dressed in white princess gowns and freshly pressed white shirts genuflected, turned to face the overflowing pews and sang sweetly, "Thank you, God, for simple gifts ..."

They had just received their First Holy Communion.

During their liturgical dance, their hands circled overhead, then came down pressed together in prayer. They looked as if they just walked off a wedding cake.

As their parents watched, happy tears were flowing.

To the right of the altar sat Janelle Fiesta in her electric wheelchair, her arms not quite reaching the wingspan of others, joining in at the chorus with the soft soprano of an 8-year-old, "I want to thank you, God."

The children, their families and friends were marking a point on a spiritual journey for these public- and Catholic-school students who had completed their required two years of religious education. Glance around the overflowing room and it's easy to see that this was also a moment of communion for one of Hawai'i's most diverse communities, and a metaphor for what happens when the new immigrants of Kalihi are welcomed to the table.

Some liken First Holy Communion, one of the seven Catholic sacraments, to being invited to sit at the grownups' table. Here in Hawai'i, where Catholicism is the largest faith organization, children are able to join their family and friends at the appointed time when they file up to the altar to receive a flat wafer of unleavened bread and (sometimes, depending on the parish) a brief sip of wine that has been consecrated as the body and blood of Jesus.

Britney Maglaya, 13, of Kalihi, prays during the First Holy Communion service.

Opening up to a new culture

This church serves as a place where O'ahu's new immigrants can find footing in a new culture. The church door bears a notice of "Misa Ilocano" and there's a weekly Mass in Spanish.

The schoolchildren here could be a Benetton commercial: Samoan, Tongan, Portuguese, African American, Panamanian, Latino, Hawaiian, Caucasian, Puerto Rican, Japanese, Chinese or, more likely, Filipino. The second-grade teacher, Estrella Domondon, herself speaks three languages fluently — English, Tagalog and Ilocano — as well as some Spanish. It helps that she can understand what parents are telling their children.

The children, ranging in age from 7 to 13, were, to a one, coiffed and starched, buffed and as glinting as an SUV coming out of McKinley Car Wash.

"They look like angels," said Monsignor Edgar Brillantes, who presided over the service and is called "father" by the 600 households in his parish.

St. John the Baptist sits inside a maze of Kalihi streets, a stone's throw from the Middle Street off-ramp of H-1. It's one of three parishes in the area, arguably the highest concentration of Catholicism in the state.

He points out that the church is the introduction for many immigrants into American culture.

"It's a landing ground for Filipinos," explained Brillantes, who comes from the Philippines himself. "Relatives take in the newly arrived. After they've progressed, they move to newer subdivisions."

Filipinos make up about half of the state's nearly quarter-million Catholics, and First Holy Communion is an important rite for them.

"It's the beginning of their fuller celebration," said Monsignor Brillantes. "They don't just attend Mass anymore. Now they can read (from the scriptures during services) and act as altar servers."

Children form friendships

Second-grade teacher Domondon and religious ed teacher Balatico stand beaming as the children carry up the offertory gifts to the altar: flowers, candles, a Bible.

Domondon teaches the second-graders from the 185-student St. John the Baptist School. Balatico taught the kids from the neighborhood, who attend public school but went to Sunday school at the parish.

The children meld well together, whether they are wearing the khaki-and-white uniform or the street clothes for the public-schoolers. Both groups of kids yammer and laugh with each other when the nuns and teachers are not looking.

In rehearsals, principal Sister Marylou Superio kept a half-frown on her face and was very no-nonsense, making sure the children sat only three to a pew to keep down the horseplay. During the actual ceremony, however, the Dominican nun was smiling as they behaved like little gentlemen and ladies.

A step into tomorrow

Mark Gonzales, of Kahalu'u, puts sunglasses on his son, Tyler Gatutala, 7, before the communion service.

"It's a group of many cultures, a combination of many, but we are all one. It's like one whole family." — Estrella Domondon, Teacher

Rialynn Isagawa, 7, sings the "Our Father" at St. John the Baptist Church.

"This is a very special event in their life," said Sister Marylou afterward. "We are praying parents will continue bringing them to church."

She notes that there's often a drop in church attendance after this.

Some will fail to receive their next sacrament, confirmation, which happens when they are in high school — especially those who don't continue on in Catholic school.

"We might have 54 going to communion, 30 going to confirmation," Balatico said. "We're not going to get all of them, for various reasons."

The news for Catholic children who go on to Catholic high schools is better, said Carmen Himenes, superintendent of Hawai'i Catholic Schools.

"Catholic education makes a difference on parish communities," she said, citing a national study done in 1992 that included data from Hawai'i.

While measurements of faith are hard to assess, 24 percent of adults who had some of their education in Catholic schools were more likely to attend Mass weekly, receive communion at least several times a month and pray daily. And the more Catholic education, the higher the figures: 37 percent for those who had their entire education in Catholic schools, 24 percent who had some Catholic education and 14 percent for those who had none. (These figures were part of an earlier study, mentioned in the 1992 research.)

After a fashion

While they had a choice of what they could wear, all chose to wear white, with satin, tulle, lace and silk in abundance. Some of the older girls had white hair ornaments that seem an architectural marvel with netting and pipe. Balatico ordered $6 or $12 veils for those children who requested them.

Brillantes explained in his sermon how the veil symbolizes "the presence of God over our heads."

It wasn't about the clothes, though the children were very careful with theirs: A girl reached around occasionally to smooth her veil, and boys tucked in stray shirttails. The cameras flashed from all sides.

Corinne Meyer wore a photogenic smile.

She and her mother came early to help set up the church and save seats. Her daddy is in Iraq, she explained. Mother Marie Meyer wanted to make sure she had a good vantage point to take pictures so he can be part of the experience.

Corinne, a second-grader at the school, is 7; her big sister Cassidy had her communion just two years ago. Corinne said she tasted a communion wafer before it was blessed, to practice.

"It kinda tastes like foam."

On this day, she walked up to the altar, received the wafer (called the "host") in her hand, stepped to the side, put it in her mouth and crossed herself.

She smiled at her teacher as she rounded the bend to return to her seat, getting a genuinely beatific grin in return.

"I was happy and proud," Corinne said. "Happy I was receiving communion today. Proud because my whole family is happy."

Mother Marie Meyer was watching the clock. She had 30 people meeting her at Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate, and the usually hourlong Mass was now nearing the 110-minute mark.

After the Mass ends, and all "go in peace," as the priest ritualistically commands, Janelle Fiesta glided by in her wheelchair, her hand guiding the motorized controls. Her mother smiled and waves, then turned her attention to the 10 members of her family gathered by the parish hall.

Janelle beamed as the lei piled up and she received the accompanying kisses. Dad took time off from his Halekulani Hotel job so he could be part of the day.

Forming 'ohana

Monsignor Brillantes looked pleased.

"It was very uplifting," he said. "We're trying to create an 'ohana, and welcome everyone."

Teacher Domondon smiled for pictures with students, and others were posing with the monsignor, principal, nuns, friends and family.

"It's a group of many cultures," she said, "a combination of many, but we are all one. It's like one whole family."