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Mourning is tough in house of preyer

To some in this devastated town, even their church has been desecrated.

I wish these good people could grieve in peace.

For the large crowd of mourners who gathered at St. Rose of Lima Catholic Church yesterday to say goodbye to 6-year-old James Radley Mattioli, pain was all mixed up with anger.

This humble house of worship is where the funerals for James and seven other little victims of gunman Adam Lanza will be held. It also was the place where Lanza and his mom, Nancy, once worshiped.

“It’s just horrible,’’ said a 20-something mourner named Stephanie. “I couldn’t stop thinking of [Lanza] sitting here. I just want to think of the kids.’’

Stephanie’s mom agreed. “Just awful that the families have to be put through this again. I wish they could build another church.’’

But to do so would be wrong, countered Alan Zimmerman, who moved from the area several years ago.

“This is [the children’s] church,’’ too, he said.

Even mentioning the beast Lanza’s name in the same breath as the name of a gentle soul like James makes me feel ill.

Little James was a gifted swimmer. He loved bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches, doing math, playing teacher and pupil with his big sister, Anna, helping his dad with household projects and cuddling on the sofa with his mom.

He was perfect.

He was “our little prince’’ to his parents, Mark and Cindy. Always helpful. Always kind. He had big, brown eyes that could break a hard heart to pieces, and the innate ability to move in the water like a fish.

And this is how I want to remember the child, who will be forever 6 years old.

For in his short life, James brought love and joy to so many people. If he had been allowed to grow into adulthood, he might have been an Olympic swimmer or a basketball legend. A man.

Lanza is nothing.

Monsignor Robert Weiss seemed to read people’s minds as he rose to the pulpit to honor James. The boy lay before him in a closed pure white casket, with a rough-hewn wooden cross on top.

“We’ve been changed forever,’’ Weiss said. “Certainly, anger is part of this day.”

But the priest added, “What are we going to do with that anger? Allow it to tear us apart?

“There must be change.”

He never said what had to change, but it was clear he was talking about a culture of too many guns, too much fury, that nearly destroyed this formerly bucolic town of Sandy Hook, where 20 first-graders and six educators were slaughtered Friday.

James’ mom would rather speak about her darling boy, whom she called “the perfect blend of good and mischief.’’

She feared she might lose him the day he was born, four weeks and a day early. “We were worried,’’ she said.

“I was worried again for you to talk,’’ she said of him. “There was a lot you were preparing to say.’’

James loved using his voice. “You were a singer at heart,’’ said his mom. “Sometimes loud. Sometimes in the shower. And sometimes softly singing yourself to sleep.’’

James was a gift, stolen too soon.

“Thank you for being Anna’s best playmate and confidant. Thank you for always asking me to cuddle on the couch with you and talk about what we did today and what tomorrow will hold.”

There is much anger ahead for this suffering town. Today we remember lost, perfect children like James.