I'll Be Home for Christmas

Liturgical Chaos

Although not an official stop on the church caravan, I feel compelled to comment on this past week's attendance at Christmas mass (actually, Christmas Eve mass) at "home base", Saint Ignatius.

Because our family is small, every year, we very purposefully attend the 3:00 Christmas Eve afternoon mass, better known in our house as "Liturgical Chaos." It's the 3:00 mass, but you have to arrive by 2:00 to get a seat. By 2:30, the church is full, and by three, it's standing room only, if you can find a place to stand. To add to the parking lot chaos, there is a second mass running simultaneously at 3:00 in the parish gym. I've never been to that mass, but since it includes a number of children's choirs, I can only assume that it's just as full as the church given the guaranteed large number of parents and grandparents in attendance.

Liturgical chaos is perfect for us. For a brief few hours, we get to live vicariously through the many extended families all that their holiday entails but without the stress or aggravation. Then, it's out to dinner and back home. Ah, a true "silent night." While I'm somewhat envious of those who enjoy a Christmas in a house filled with countless cousins and ear-splitting noise levels, I've grown up at the other end of the spectrum, and it's what I'm accustomed to - for now. Maybe, some day in the future, grandchildren will change all that! I hope so.

Going "back home" to St. Ignatius for the first time in over four months was interesting. I took a look around and what I saw was a large, cavernous behemoth desperately in need of an interior decorator. I can't say I missed it. A few of the regulars may have slightly changed in appearance, but overall, things haven't changed much. I anticipate my next return visit to be on Easter Sunday.

Now, where was I? . . .

King Me

Week Nineteen - Our Lord Christ the King

5:00 mass, Sunday afternoon, Christ the King. A relatively uneventful mass that left me feeling uncomfortably perplexed in more ways than one. First, the basics, aka, parking. Is there a parking lot to go with Christ the King? If so, I missed it and ended up parking on the street - which, it appeared, most of the parishioners also did. It wasn't really a problem. Having arrived early, I secured possibly the closest possible spot to the front doors from the street, but the narrow side street and a snowy night would have made anything else less than pleasant.

The interior of the church presents a few notable issues. I attended a funeral at Christ the King several years ago. I remember it being fairly large, but this particular evening, it struck me as not so large, although maybe, after visiting so many different churches, I'm losing my perspective. It's a tall church, definitely tall, but not very spacious. An altar full of poinsettias and lit Christmas trees, although beautiful, appeared starved for space. But it was an imposing second-story wall (facade?) on the left side of the church that confused - and bothered - me the most. Hovering over half the width of the pews on the left, I wasn't sure why it was there the way it was. A few - very few - awkwardly placed stained glass windows at the front of The Wall further perplexed me. Why just a few? The right side was completely dominated by stained glass windows, complete with donors' names displayed, so what happened on the left? Did funds fall short to complete the installation of stained glass on this side? It was definitely weird and aesthetically unpleasant; sitting on the right side of the church, The Wall created something of an optical illusion, making it seem like there was just a single row of pews down the right half of the church. Weird.

The theme of "Christ the King" is carried out ad nauseum. Crown-shaped lighting fixtures. Crowns on the wall behind the altar. A large gold "crown-like" fixture above the altar. Okay, people, we get it. Meanwhile, other features struck me as a little bizarre. A phone booth containing the lectern. Oh, of course it's not a phone booth. It's a ticket booth. No, no, it's not a ticket booth either. Maybe it's a giant crown. I don't know. A huge mosaic of Christ (the King . . . with crown) behind the altar. Interesting, but all I kept seeing was Jesus wearing Dearfoam slippers while flashing some sort of gang symbol.

The congregation was a mixed gathering. Several families with young children as well as others with older teens. There were single individuals and older couples. I didn't like the fact that so many of those in attendance came in after the mass had started. I didn't like the cell phones going off, and I didn't like the fact that there was a considerable amount of milling around, both before and during the mass. I couldn't help but notice that when the collection was taken up, very few people made a donation. This too confused me. Clearly, this Mount Lookout crowd was a well-educated and financially secure bunch, so why weren't they dropping anything at all into the basket? I was further intrigued that no mention was made in the bulletin of the traditional "Last Week's Collection." Is it a secret . . . or an embarrassment? Participation was minimal - little singing and garbled prayer. Assuming these people were registered parishioners with Christ the King, they showed no attachment to their church. They were, in a word, disconnected. Word on the street is that the parishioners of Christ the King feel their church is privileged to have them as members of their worship community. Riiiiiight, and that explains it all.
                    

ATTENDANCE: Half-full
                     

DURATION: 55 minutes

And Now For Something Completely Different

Week Eighteen - Saint John (Dry Ridge)

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. John. The last time I was in St. John's church was for a wedding a good 25 years ago, if not more. At that time, it was a very small, "country" church, nothing fancy, so as I set out for St. John's this weekend, I naturally expected the same. Doh! What a difference 25 years makes! I immediately realized that things were looking somewhat different, but the cornerstone on the front of the church engraved with "1997" should have really tipped me off. Entering the expansive - and beautiful - gathering place, I almost had to stop and ask someone, "Am I in the right place?" This is no country bumpkin church anymore. Clearly, the explosion of new subdivisions in and around the Dry Ridge area had an impact on St. John's parish, making expansion, not only a possibility, but a necessity - the church itself is by far one of the bigger churches I've visited so far. This is a big place. Obviously new and fairly simple in design, the church itself has still managed to maintain some of its "country" atmosphere courtesy of numerous dark wooden beams and accents. Not too shabby. As far as the more "modern" churches go, I liked it.

The physical church wasn't the only thing that surprised me at St. John's. Things there work a little differently. Several minutes before mass began, the priest (who kept reminding me of the actor, Brian Dennehy) parked himself in his chair on the altar and stayed there, gathering his thoughts, I suppose, preparing to celebrate mass. There was no entrance procession. Things started off with the priest stepping forward and asking those celebrating a birthday or anniversary in the upcoming week to stand for a blessing. I thought it was awkward, but a few individuals quickly and casually rose to their feet like it was no big deal - apparently this happens every week. Whatever. The priest then stepped to the side of the altar where he put on his vestments which he had laid out earlier. It was an act that I found somewhat odd - shouldn't this be a private, reflective moment for the celebrant? - but also somewhat meaningful - how cool that this moment is shared with the entire congregation. A vague opening song seemed to signal the start of the actual mass, a mass primarily sung by the priest, complete with musical accompaniment. Yes, almost all of the prayers, all of the responses, the complete eucharistic prayer, sung.

Father Brian Dennehy had a nice voice and didn't hit any wrong notes, so it was all good. Although borderline tedious at times, this was a refreshing change. A short homily (delivered from the center aisle - nice) balanced out any increase in duration as a result of the large amount of singing. Is this the way all of St. John's masses are? I'm curious.

I'd like to say that all was well and good in my time at St. John's, but no such luck. A few late arrivals bustled into the pew behind me. There was a considerable amount of commotion, lots of shifting and shuffling, but that was nothing compared to their constant - and I do mean, constant - chatter. This wasn't a rowdy bunch of teen-agers behind me. It was a family, complete with children, teens, and adults, adults who should have known better. It was hard not to ignore their discussions of coupons, purses, and "Katie". Even better, the Obnoxious Family wasn't just chatty, they were sick! A virtual symphony of coughing, hacking, sniffling, nose blowing, and requests for Kleenex easily convinced me early on that there was no way I was going to exchange the Sign of Peace with anyone in the row behind me. There was no peace there now, and there would be none later. This was war, and I wasn't about to lose to the Obnoxious Family and their common cold. Sigh.

St. John's gets two thumbs up from me for their Saturday afternoon mass. Their parishioners, however, need to learn to exercise a little common sense.

ATTENDANCE: Slightly more than half (a significant number of people given the size of the church)

DURATION: 50 minutes

Big Weed

Week Seventeen - Saint Therese Little Flower

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, Little Flower. I've been to Little Flower Church many times over the years, and for some reason, I've never really cared for it. Although it had been several years since I had last been there, after this weekend, I can now say (drum roll, please), "I still don't care for it." (Big moan of disappointment) There's truly nothing specific that I can put my finger on to account for my dislike, and given a certain affinity for Saint Therese in our family, I feel like I should have some sort of special connection to her namesake parish . . . but I don't. Sigh.

I think part of the problem is the interior - it is incredibly boring. There's nothing to look at. It also doesn't help that it always reminds me of a Mayan temple. A dim, golden hue emanates from recessed lighting. Trapezoidal openings behind the altar lead to the sacristy. A stark altar is accented by dark, earthen vessels, and clay bowls are used to hold the communion.

Anyhoo, the cantor at this mass was very good. I was pleasantly surprised by an a capella Latin chant he sang before mass began. Very nice. Organ accompaniment throughout the mass was also a nice surprise. Sadly, however, either the organ or the sound system was too weak to do the music justice, and it didn't help that almost no one in the congregation sang. (I wasn't sure if it was a slight "dig" when, at the end of mass, the priest thanked the congregation for "trying so hard to participate". Ouch.) Oh, and again - responses sung to the tune of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel". Did it come down from some church music authority that every Advent response has to be sung this particular way? I don't remember it in years past. Why is everyone suddenly jumping on the "O Come Emmanuel" bandwagon?

I knew we were in for the long haul before mass even started when the presiding priest walked to the back of church. I'm sure he's a great guy, and he looked just as great in his rose-colored "gaudate" vestments, but he was elderly . . . very elderly . . . and yes, very slow. Truth be told, I thought we'd never get out of there. The tolling of the church bells every 15 minutes didn't help but remind me of the time passing ever. so. slowly. I was bothered by a number of people in the congregation who, in my opinion, were far too casual - the gentleman in front of me chomping on gum the whole time, the lady a few rows up who just had to put her elbows up on the back of the pew. Come on, people. Would it kill you to make an effort for just one hour a week? Then again, maybe they knew ahead of time that they were going to be there for a while . . . and were just getting comfortable.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: One hour

Gaslight District

Week Sixteen - Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass at Annunciation. I had never been to Annunciation before, and I'm happy to report that I liked it - the mass, that is. What I didn't like was the way the actual church looked, inside or out. The exterior wasn't bad, I suppose, just rather gray and boring, even with some rather large imposing columns at the entrance. I can't say it really looked like a church - more like a library. Inside, I felt like the architect had really been striving for something grand and ornate but, unfortunately, never quite got there. Large columns, lots of them, too many of them, line either side of the church - they're big on columns here - and there's a lot of . . . well . . . yellow, which just didn't work for me. The church itself was too rectangular, too narrow, and too tall, think "cathedral-in-a-box." With a 100-year anniversary for the church coming up next year, it seemed to lack a certain 100-year old atmosphere. I'm wondering if some misguided renovations at the mid-century mark took away whatever sense of grandeur Annunciation might have once had.

I did enjoy looking at the paintings on the ceiling surrounding the altar. A beautifully detailed and gilded painting of the annunciation of Mary along with similar paintings of the twelve apostles and various other saints were impressive. They give the congregation a lot to look at and think about: How many of the apostles can I name? Is that the angel Gabriel? Why is St. Matthew holding an ax? Why is Saint Agnes holding a lamb? Why is Saint Thaddeus holding a turkey leg? Oh, sorry. My mistake - it's a club. (?) I particularly liked the painting of a band of angels, and I do mean A BAND of angels. Two angels playing trumpets, one playing a flute, one playing a harp, one - a violin, another - a cello, and one - a lyre. It was definitely a lyre and most definitely not a guitar. The ultimate gig - heaven.

I liked the priest. He seemed kind and intelligent. He had a great "priestly" voice, too. I was actually looking forward to his homily, so I was disappointed when a guest speaker from the Sisters of Charity made an appeal for the archdiocese's retirement fund. Yawn. Music was supplied by two women, one of whom also played an upright piano. They were both very good but an excess of sung responses really slowed things down. Sung petitions? Unnecessary. Singing way too many of the responses to the tune of "O Come O Come Emmanuel"? Hokey. And it was all I could do to keep a straight face when the gospel acclamation turned "Hallelujah" into "Ha-ha-llelujah". Ha-ha. Can you hear it? I think it was a liturgical test of my powers of composure. I passed, but of course, there was no way I would have been able to look at my daughter at that point.

I expected a good-sized crowd of eclectic, intellectual Cliftonites at Annunciation, so I was beyond surprise to be able to literally count the number of individuals in the congregation and come up with a number of less than fifty. I had the whole pew to myself as well as the four or five in front of me, the three behind me, and a significant number across from me. On a personal level, I can't complain - I like a personal worshipping space all to myself without the distractions presented by a large crowd, but really - how do these churches do it? Unless I'm just going to the "wrong" masses, my little church-going project has definitely opened my eyes to what appears to be the most pressing problem of the church - dwindling congregations. This is troubling - and sad.

ATTENDANCE: Empty

DURATION: One hour

A Historic Landmark

Week Fifteen - Holy Cross - Immaculata

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, Holy Cross-Immaculata. First, a little history. Archbishop Purcell, the first Archbishop of Cincinnati, was caught in a terrible storm at sea. He prayed to the Blessed Virgin Mary, promising that, if he survived, he would build a shrine to Mary on the city's highest hill. That shrine is now Holy Cross-Immaculata Church. Wow. You usually only get that in novels and movies.

Before entering Immaculata, it is imperative that you stop and take in the view. Bring a camera - almost everyone there this particular day had one. Situated at the edge of Mt. Adams, the view really is spectacular - from downtown Cincinnati to the Ohio River to Kentucky and beyond. On a clear day, it might well be possible to see Tennessee. Not really, of course, but there's a lot to look at, including the new set of steps waiting to accomodate Good Friday visitors.

The only thing more impressive than the outside view is the inside view - your first glimpse of the interior of the church upon entering the front doors. It almost takes your breath away. Large, beautiful paintings, multiple altars, ornate spires and ceiling arches. 150 years worth of Catholic decor at its finest. (Although, I have to question the bland wooden main altar and pulpit. Clearly not the original furnishings, why, why, WHY are they here?) I noticed the life-sized statue of St. Patrick immediately. Yes, this is the infamous statue "stolen" every year by the fun-loving Ancient Order of Hibernians for their St. Patrick's Day parade. Oh, those wacky Irishmen.

A polite, upper-class crowd of less than 100 mainly well-dressed older couples comprised the congregation. Most of them seemed to know each other. I doubt if they live in Mt. Adams, so I'm curious as to what brings them to Immaculata. Ease of parking can't be it. After all, this is Mt. Adams.

Music was pleasant - a female soloist self-accompanied by acoustic guitar. Her clear voice echoed beautifully in the church, although for the first Sunday in Advent, her tempo and tone were a bit somber. I always thought of Lent as somber, not Advent. Still, she was very good.

Overall, after visiting Immaculata, a piece of Cincinnati's history, I felt like I had really accomplished something - one of those "100 places to see in Cincinnati before you die." A bit of advice though - if you're sightseeing in the winter, bring a sweater. . . . bring an overcoat. Heat wasn't an option 150 years ago, and apparently, it's not an option now either.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Strike Two

Week Fourteen - Dang It

My reality keeps getting in the way of my religion.

Fall From Greatness

Week Thirteen - Saint James the Greater (White Oak)

Sunday noon mass at St. James. A few years ago, St. James was one of the larger parishes in Cincinnati, if not the largest, and their parish school had the highest enrollment for schools in the archdiocese, but then, something happened. A new pastor arrived, and things changed. That's nothing new, really. In fact, it's almost to be expected, but apparently, things really changed. The stories were endless. Who will ever forget the "There will not be a nativity display at Christmas" fiasco? Controversies swirled over decisions handed down, and spirits were dampened. Parishioners left in droves, students were transferred to other schools, and employees resigned. Yes, something had gone terribly awry, and sadly, today, the effects continue to be felt - current parishioners will freely admit that "it's not a happy place." I had been to St. James many times over the years, but none in the past several, so I was somewhat curious to see what things would be like. Would I be able to detect some underlying sense of discontent, or had a new generation moved in with a fresh, unbiased approach to things?

Well, the physical church hadn't changed. St. James is an odd church, one of sharp angles and rough, almost primitive stained glass windows. Approximately one-third of the seating area is perpendicular to the altar on the left, while the remaining two-thirds is perpendicular to the altar on the right . . . with stadium seating. That's right, stadium seating. The larger side can be "curtained" off to create a more intimate setting for smaller services. Clearly, whoever designed this church was out of their spiritual mind.

The music was pleasant, except for the honky-tonk piano which sounded as if it belonged in a saloon more than it ever belonged in a church. With St. James' reputation for deep pockets, you'd think somebody would kick in for a new baby grand.

I didn't know who the presiding priest was, an older man who appeared kind and intelligent. He had a great voice for radio, loud and crisp, and showed a real enthusiasm for singing. Hmm, could this be the man behind all the controversy? I don't know. What I do know is that he was SLOW. Slower than molasses. Like-a-turtle slow. His homily - which was actually quite good, but which he literally announced might reach 17 or 18 minutes - included three-second pauses after EVERY sentence. Three seconds. I counted. The eucharistic prayer was a marathon of prayers I had never heard before in addition to the ubiquitous pauses. And did he really have to rinse and dry every cup used for the distribution of wine right then and there? If nothing else, the man was reverent, I'll give him that, but there was a definite stiffness about him and the whole mass at St. James. The servers moved with military precision - no doubt a contributing cause to what I hear is their low number of youth servers. Apparently, they were also under strict orders to have a songbook open to each and every hymn as well. It was quite noticeable.

An absence of handshakes at the Sign of Peace was also noticeable. I'm not a big fan of The Handshake anytime of the year, much less cold and flu season, but there I was with my right hand partially extended . . . and getting shot down three times in a row. I recovered quickly but was baffled seeing many of the same people who had passed on the handshake later drinking from the same cup of wine that the ten or twenty people ahead of them had shared.

Saint James is still a large parish, and so I was confused by the lack of attendance at this noon mass. With only four weekend masses, I expected the church to be full, but saying that it was even half-full is a stretch. Where was everyone? According to the bulletin, today was Donut Sunday after the 8:00 and 10:00 masses. Maybe that was it. No. I have to believe that, more than likely, they were down the street - at St. Ignatius.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Bless Me, Father . . .

Week Twelve - For I Have Sinned

Too much to do this week. Way too much to do. God's just gonna have to be patient.

Strictly Business

Week Eleven - Saint Louis

3:00 Saturday afternoon mass at St. Louis. Apparently, you don't need restaurants, bars, or shopping to draw people downtown - all you need is a Catholic church with an early Saturday afternoon mass. Exhibit A: St. Louis Church. My husband, who had accompanied me, questioned our early arrival - 2:35 or so - but quickly discovered the answer. I could say it was "standing room only," but that would be an understatement. This place was packed. Not a seat was left unfilled as, by the time mass began, people not only lined the walls of the chapel but stood in the aisles. Being the good, native Cincinnatian that I am, I naturally looked for the exits . . . just in case.

Those in attendance clearly represented a wide span of Greater Cincinnati's neighborhoods and population. I saw spiritwear from St. Mary's Hyde Park, Covington Catholic High School, Bishop Brossart, and Immaculate Heart of Mary. There were families, couples, and individual adults. Although my husband and I easily found a free parking spot in the Archdiocese of Cincinnati lot across the street, spaces were limited. St. Louis is downtown, and clearly, these people had made an effort to be here. What's the draw? I can only guess that it has to be the no-nonsense approach at this mass. There is no music. None. The priest promptly walked out of the sacristy at 3:00, everyone rose to their feet, and he began the mass. At 3:35, it was, "The mass is ended. Go in peace," and everyone turned and left. In between, it was a brisk pace as well. The congregation's prayers and physical change in positions were quick and purposeful. Get 'r done. Given the number of people in attendance, the distribution of communion contributed the most time to the 35 minutes duration. Otherwise, we might have been in and out in under twenty.

As mentioned, the Saturday afternoon mass is in the downstairs "shrine chapel" of St. Louis Church. It's fairly spacious but somewhat claustrophobic. A simple room of concrete block walls, dim lighting, and a low ceiling, it's functional but not fancy. Entertainment came in the form of a curly haired two or three-year old boy sitting in the pew in front of us. He kicked off his shoes and took out his trucks long before mass even started, so by the time 3:00 came, he was all giggles and wiggles. I got a kick out of him. Unfortunately, the lady in front of him didn't share my opinion of Junior's antics and shot him more than a few glares.

A man on the street with a paper cup panhandling for change and a man in the parking lot looking to clean anyone's windshield for a buck both made everyone look fairly hypocritical as good church-goers who, for the most part, walked past them with a blind eye. I was as blind as the rest of them, but I personally found it awkward and troubling. I'm not sure if my response would or should change the next time, but I will return to St. Louis. Having seen their chapel, I want to attend mass in the actual church. Therefore, this chapter is . . . TO BE CONTINUED.

ATTENDANCE: Packed

DURATION: 35 minutes

Melancholy

Week Ten - Saint Boniface

Sunday noon mass at St. Boniface. Now, this is a church. Situated in the heart of Northside, I can't help but think of St. Boniface as a miniature cathedral. It's big. It's tall. It's ornate. Consider the stations of the cross - each one a tiled mosaic. Same with the columns, huge columns - again, tiled mosaic. Two stories of beautifully detailed stained glass windows. A golden dome over the altar. A virtual staircase to reach the top of the lectern. Kneelers the length of a football field. And the bells. Oh, the bells. They're loud, and they're awesome.

St. Boniface truly is a big, spacious church, so even though I broke my tradition and sat towards the middle of the church, in actuality, seeing that the few people in attendance were still seated in front of me, I was, in theory, again sitting towards the back. I liked the "Dymo" labels someone had carefully affixed to the back of each pew above the hymnal racks: "CELL PHONE OFF?", and while I had hoped to hear the St. Boniface pipe organ in action, a single male guitarist and a single female soloist were quite good. She, in particular, had a beautiful voice that carried through the church perfectly. There were very few people here - less than 100 (I counted) and among those, only four were children. Attendance was so sparse that the priest was able to acknowledge everyone, including me, as he processed down the center aisle - I felt special. So as I sat there before mass started, my first thought was this - how do you keep a place like this going? It was nothing less than irony as the priest began his homily.

Apparently, it was his first sermon on finances in five years. As he explained, in his 18 years as pastor of St. Boniface, the parish had previously only finished its fiscal year in the red once. Five years ago, the church was $5,000 in debt, but unsurprisingly, the red resurfaced again last year . . . with a whopping $59,000 of debt. He made his appeal to those in attendance, as I'm sure he did at all masses this weekend, for an increase in financial support. I was struck not by awe or pity but by the factual ramifications of his own pledge that he was giving half of his annual salary back to the church. I had to wonder - what does a priest make per year? It can't be much.

I liked this priest. An older man, he seemed kind and sincere. Unfortunately, however, I couldn't help but question what the response to his plea for increased donations will be. From the residents of Northside, those responses will certainly be slow in materializing - if they ever do. However, I like to think there may be a glimmer of hope. According to the pastor, 18 years ago, 75 to 80 percent of the St. Boniface parishioners were from the immediate Northside neighborhood. Today, 75 to 80 percent of the parishioners are from outside of the Northside neighborhood. I'm not sure what neighborhoods they're exactly from, but with that statistic in mind, maybe today's parishioners will be more able to provide the means to save this gem. I hope so. It might be my new favorite church.

ATTENDANCE: Sparse

DURATION: 55 minutes

A Bye

Week Nine - Prior Commitment

I'm off the trail this week, attending a private mass at a private chapel. Suffice it to say, this mass is part of a great tradition in a great place.

We Are Marching . . .

Week Eight - Our Lady of Lourdes


4:00 Saturday afternoon mass at Our Lady of Lourdes. Situated in the heart of Western Hills, these are my people, and if it weren't for the fact that most of my elderly relatives have already passed away, several of them would have been in attendance.

Our Lady of Lourdes is a big church and, I presume, a big parish. A beautiful gathering space prefaces the semicircular church - Our Lady of Lourdes, The Church of Sensory Overload. There's a lot going on here, with little order. A definite (but not disagreeable) scent of incense is immediately evident. Half of the seating is pews; half is chairs. There's a lovely peach-colored, arched ceiling over the altar, a ceiling enhanced by lighting and adorned with angels and a bible verse. There are flowers and candles - red candles and blue candles and white candles. The tabernacle is framed by a drape of sheer white cloth, and there are several statues beyond the requisite Mary and Joseph - St. Francis, St. Therese, and what I presume is Our Lady of Lourdes. After being in business for 82 years (the church anniversary being celebrated this particular weekend), I guess you tend to accumulate these things. Still, I couldn't help feeling like I was in an open-air marketplace, a virtual Moroccan bazaar.

The Call to Worship included instructions to "take a moment to greet those around you." No. Stop. Just stop.

Other than that moment of awkwardness, there was only one other issue, and it was a big one - the music. A children's choir of roughly a dozen students was sweet, but the woman leading the congregation in song? Oh, boy. I'm no Celine Dion, so who am I to be critical, but seriously - nails on a chalkboard. It was painful. I'll just leave it at that.

There was a large clock on a side wall. I had mixed feelings about this clock. I didn't see it at first and was sitting through what I felt was an interminable mass - surely, I had been there for hours - but after spotting the clock and seeing that it was only 4:45, I felt better. Maybe this mass wasn't as torturous as I had thought. Unfortunately, I may have been breathing easier, but now I couldn't take my eyes off the darn thing. Personal fault.

The few deficits that Our Lady of Lourdes had were more than made up for in comfort - super comfortable padded seating and coordinating upholstered kneelers - and, of all things, hygiene. Before the eucharistic ministers took their places at the altar, each helped him or herself to a generous squirt of hand sanitizer. Brownie points.

At this point, I can't ignore the fact that, when attending Saturday afternoon masses, I'm generally not getting a full picture of a parish. The physical church obviously doesn't change between Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, but the character and abilities of the parish definitely do. Saturday masses never showcase the best musical offerings of a parish; they never include the full range of talent in residence. What they do do, however, is draw the seniors, and they do it well. At this mass, in particular, walkers, canes, and wheelchairs were plentiful. Only about half of the congregation could kneel at the appropriate times. I didn't care. I had no doubt that, among the many senior citizens in attendance, more than a few were original parishioners . . . from 82 years ago. Impressive.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 60 minutes

I'm Confused

Week Seven - Saint Vivian

11:00 Sunday mass at St. Vivian. Let me just put this all down as it happened, and my confusion should be evident.

I always assumed St. Vivian's was a fairly large parish, but upon entering the front door of the church, I was truly taken aback by how small the church was. I was even more surprised by the low attendance. By 10:45, there were only seven people in the pews, and at eleven, I counted less than ten children in the church. I'm confused.

Mass begins with an entrance procession that includes a sizable number of people bearing placards representing areas of activity at St. Vivian - lectors, Friday church cleaners (I mean really - how dirty can a church this size get? Do they really need to clean it every Friday?), one called the "Lord's Friendly Bunch" which I'm dying to learn more about, etc. There's a good number of people represented here, so there must be parishioners somewhere. I'm confused.

The music group was trying hard but definitely sounded better on some songs than others. Their "Gloria" was unfamiliar to me and struck me as having a style that suited it more to a Broadway musical. It was weird. The "Alleluia" before the gospel had a . . . well, gospel sound to it . . . appropriately enough, I suppose. It was weird. But what was really weird was the number of hymns sung with familiar melodies but unfamiliar lyrics. I'm confused.

I'm completely caught off-guard when the congregation files out of their seats to receive communion FROM THE BACK OF THE CHURCH FORWARD. Haven't seen that one since grade school, Viv. From my standard seat in the back of the church, I usually have plenty of time to scope out the flow, but not this time. I kick into lemming mode and follow the few individuals who had taken seats even farther back than mine.

It was at this point, as I walked to the front of the church, that I glanced to my right to see that what I sensed was a "small alcove of seating" was actually an additional area of the church equivalent in size to the one I was sitting in! Good Lord, there's a whole 'nother congregation over here! With kids! Theory: Years ago, small St. Vivian parish outgrows current building. Parish knocks a hole in the wall to build an addition onto the church. Problem: Years later, parish membership declines, and now church is only half full at any given time. Ah, the circle of life.

I make it back to my seat, but the revelation of St. Vivian being a church set at a right angle has me thrown. I just find the whole set-up uncomfortable. I don't like knowing there's another piece of the congregation that I can't even remotely see. If I were the presiding priest, I don't think I would care for it either. It was evident on this day that the priest was making a conscious effort to address both halves of the church equally. He may have succeeded in addressing us equally, but from my perspective, he also succeeded in snubbing the two halves equally. Awkward.

It was a slow mass. No one in a hurry here, that's for sure. Oh, is it time for the first reading? Let's make sure everyone's seated and comfortable first. Okay, now the lector may approach the sanctuary. (Five minutes later) Ah, she's made it to the lectern. Hold on, let's find the book. Hold on, let's find the reading. That reading's here somewhere . . . probably should have marked it earlier. Patience is a virtue.

It seems that St. Vivian is stuck in a bit of a time warp. The whole communion thing was sooo 1960's, but so is the church itself. I didn't get a good look at the "new" part of the church, so I can only speak to what I assume was the "original". Let's just say that the people of St. Vivian's parish must have a faith far deeper than mine because there is certainly no inspiration to be found in their physical church. I'll be nice and call it "retro". The brick walls, the blue drapery behind the altar, the lighting - all scream for an update. A ceiling beam emblazoned with the motto, "JESUS CHRIST MY LORD I TRUST IN THEE" or something like that, is . . . well, embarrassing. I'm sure their intentions were good, but this brick box is in desperate need of help.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 65 minutes

A Golden Anniversary

Week Six - Saint Catharine

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass at St. Catharine in Westwood. Let me start by clarifying that the above photo is a side view of the church. Some minor construction at the main entrance to the church blocked what would have otherwise been a very nice photograph.

Wow. It's all about the details, and the interior of St. Catharine has a LOT of them. From the tile and hardwood floors to the ridiculously detailed stained glass windows (depicting the eight beatitudes), there's a lot to look at here. I can't say that I particularly liked the ceiling, but it certainly was impressive - an arched ceiling with arched wooden beams. I had to smile when I realized the altar was supported by two carved wooden angels. On the wall behind the altar was perhaps the most intriguing artwork in the church. Being in my usual spot towards the rear of the church, it was difficult to determine exactly what I was looking at. Clearly, a display, floor to ceiling, of 13 carved wooden - I think wooden - statues. A larger statue at the center top was flanked by three smaller statues aligned horizontally on either side. Six additional statues, three on each side, were aligned vertically below the seven mentioned above. And so the thought processes begin. Who are these people? First thought - 13? Jesus and the 12 disciples. No, no. Although the center figure is, in fact, larger, the six arranged vertically are of that same larger size. I don't recall anything special about six of the 12 that would qualify them for an increase in wooden stature. Wait. One of those is definitely a woman . . . and one looks like a robed, hooded character from Star Wars. Approaching the altar later to receive communion, I was doing everything I could to see around the incredibly tall gentleman in front of me. Upon closer examination, I realized that the top center statue was also a woman. I'll take a wild guess and assume it's Saint Catharine, but as for the rest of them, your guess is as good as mine.

St. Catharine is a fairly large church, and this particular evening it was only about half full, and a good portion of that half was the family and friends of a couple celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. I expected their attendance to extend the mass considerably, but a quick blessing over the happy couple was the extent of it, and it was quite nice at that.

Although a loud, traditional organ accompanied all of the music for the mass, I was somewhat disappointed not to recognize one hymn or one sung response. I was also caught off-guard when, after sitting down for the offertory hymn, I suddenly realized that after the first verse, everyone was standing again. What the . . . ? With just musical accompaniment, the offertory gifts were brought to the altar, at which time, everyone sat back down and continued with the hymn. Huh. My first liturgical variation!

The priest read a rather long, tedious homily. Maybe I'm spoiled by the years of homilies at St. Ignatius where the priests almost always "speak from the heart" without even the use of notes, but I definitely look for that extemporaneity. While I'm sure their homilies have been written out and rehearsed, they just seem more . . . real. A homily read to the congregation, although probably more organized and even more eloquent, always seems to be just a little too perfect and, as a result, a little too boring. I'm just sayin'.

I find it interesting to note that, after six weeks, I've only been to one church where I didn't recognize at least one person. At St. Catharine's, I was surprised to see two people that I know! That's either a commentary on how Catholic my lifestyle really is or how Catholic Cincinnati is.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 60 minutes

Simon Says

Week Five - Saint Simon


7:30 Saturday evening mass at St. Simon. St. Simon's church and parish are both small and unpretentious, which is exactly why St. Simon is my favorite place to attend mass. Situated in a remote corner of Delhi, going to St. Simon is like going to a little church in the country. It's quiet and simple. I love the timing of this mass, the only Saturday evening mass I'm aware of at this point. It gives you time to enjoy a leisurely Saturday dinner but still squeeze in a Saturday mass and have time left over before it's too late to do anything else. This particular evening, the crowd was smaller than usual, no doubt a result of the shorter days and earlier nights. Navigating the winding hills of Delhi can be tricky even during the day, so I'm thinking many of the regulars adjust their church-going around this time of year and might not return to the evening mass until next spring. Rather than pews, St. Simon uses interlocking chairs. The pros? They're padded. They give a nice sense of personal space. Cons? They're chairs. Guess I'm old school, but I like pews.

The music on Saturday evenings is provided by a small group consisting of two older men and three older women - nothing fancy, but I love them to death because you know these are people who simply like to sing. I'm particularly fond of the woman who has taken to using a booklight clipped on to the top of her hymnal. I find the group's flurry of activity before mass, using Post-It flags to mark the evening's selections, just as endearing . The gentlemen playing piano accompaniment is phenomenal - I could listen to him play all night.

The pastor of St. Simon is an elderly man whose health always seems rather precarious. Over the past few years, he has almost always had to rely on a cane or the use of someone's arm for support. Occasionally, he would be seated while reading the gospel, delivering his homily, and even saying the Eucharistic Prayer. This week, I was happy to see him strong and without the need of any assistance in what appeared to be better-than-ever health! It is sometimes difficult to hear him, but when you can, his to-the-point homilies are always quite interesting. Listen to enough of his homilies and you'll also find him to be quite well-traveled. He makes a point to always use a visual aid in his homilies, usually something unusual, making his talks educational as well as inspirational. This week, the visual aid was three different spoons from his kitchen drawer . . . well, it's usually something unusual.
I like the people at St. Simon. Some might call them "true west-siders." I always joke that going to mass at St. Simon is like going to a Dillard's fashion show. Sometime in July, St. Simon holds their annual parish festival. It seems to get smaller and smaller every year, but the corn makes it all worthwhile. The grilled corn on the cob, grown locally, is possibly the best you'll ever taste. Go to the 7:30 mass on the Saturday evening of their festival weekend and then head straight to the corn booth. At $1 an ear, it's a little taste of heaven.

ATTENDANCE: Less than full

DURATION: 40 minutes

Saint Barnyard

Week Four - Saint Bernard

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass at Saint Bernard. Note that it is NOT "Saint Ber-NARD", like the dog. Put the accent on the first syllable and make the "nard" sound like "nerd". "BER-nerd". To be completely accurate, it's "Saint Bernard of Clairveaux."

St Bernard's is charming - from the old world exterior and well-kept grounds to the dark wood of the pews and beamed ceiling to the rather medieval chandeliers over the center aisle. Everything is good . . . until you get to the altar where a disastrous clash of styles occurs. Charming meets contemporary, and it's not pretty. I unfortunately used a good portion of my thought processes during mass trying to unravel the mystery of three truly distracting images on the wall behind the altar. The third image was clearly a dove, i.e., the Holy Spirit. Duh, that must mean the first is the Father and the second, the Son! Then why does the first look like a volcano? And the second was a four-legged animal, possibly a horse or a lamb, the latter of which would make sense, but whatever it was carried a banner. Maybe this is a reference to some story about St. Bernard I don't know about. Troubling. And while I can understand the electric bulbs in the chandeliers, electric bulbs in the candle sconces on either side of the altar? Really? Really?

St. Bernard's is what I would consider a small parish, and the size of the church seemed to agree. Therefore, I was surprised by the number in attendance. The mass was very crowded, almost to the point of being claustrophobic. Between me and the women on my left and right, there was a lot of "purse-bumping" going on. I liked the elderly woman in front of me who had her hymnal open and ready to go from the moment she sat down, a good 20 minutes early. She quietly sang every song, from the "classics" (nice organ accompaniment) to the more recent (not-as-nice-but-adequate piano accompaniment). I think I saw Colonel Sanders there.

It struck me as I sat at St. Bernard's this week. Isn't it funny? Anyone, anywhere, can walk into any church for any mass and sit down and enjoy the show. You don't need a ticket; you don't need a reservation. You don't have to be a member; you don't have to show an ID. You get your pick of the seats (they're all in the same price range - free), and you'll be treated the same as the senior citizen next to you who was baptized there. Huh. Pretty cool.

ATTENDANCE: Full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Body of Christ

Week Three - Corpus Christi

10:30 Sunday mass at Corpus Christi (New Burlington). The eastern side of Corpus Christi, facing Hamilton Avenue, gives the appearance of a large, somewhat imposing church. The western side, however, where the entrance and parking lot are situated, gives a far more accurate depiction of the church. Corpus Christi turned out to be surprisingly small - as the sign on the wall next to me stated, "Maximum Occupancy 482", which, I assume, included the small amount of balcony seating above me. Corpus Christi's church was also - and I hate to say this - drab and, quite frankly, pretty darn ugly, but the good news, as discussed at the end of mass, is that a renovation project is apparently ready to begin. With only a few formalities that still need to take place before "building" gets under way, plans are being made to move all services "downstairs." I feel rather lucky to have seen the "before" church; guess I'll have to return in a few months to check out the "after."

Once I got past the decor, I found a nice Sunday mass. The music group consisted of a dozen men and women, including a mandolin player which added a nice touch. They sounded quite nice. The Call to Worship included a reminder to turn off all cell phones and pagers as well as an "invitation" to remain until the end of the recessional song. I liked that last part, especially the subtlety of it, but I still saw a few rebels slip out early. I got a kick out of the announcement for the upcoming "Blacktop Social" (I liked the name) and the accompanying comment about an abundance of "goose droppings" in the parking lot. Sure enough, when leaving, I never spotted a single goose, but it was more than evident that a huge flock of them had been there.

I will forever remember this mass as "The Cane Mass." Among those attending, I have never seen so many people with canes at one time - even the priest had a cane! The canes didn't bother me in the least. On the contrary, I found it charming, but one small annoyance did. I had taken a seat in a pew towards the rear of the church. I wasn't sitting at the end of the pew but had scooted in enough to leave a "person-width" or two on the end. Let me preface the rest of this by saying, I don't mind changing my first choice of seats when I go to church. Hearing the usual, polite "Is this seat taken?" or "Do you mind if I sit here?" or even the "Can we climb over you?", I'm happy enough to slide left or right to accomodate those looking for a seat. Today, I looked up from my spot to see a young woman, followed by her husband and toddler, glaring at me. No formalities, no smile, nothing. She was just standing there, waiting, looking at me with an angry, blank stare. Translation? "MOVE." Maybe she had a rough night with Junior. Maybe I was in "their" seat (always a hazard as a visitor to a regular Sunday mass). I don't know, but I moved down. Before the end of the opening song, they had left for the cry room.

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: 50 minutes

In the Round

Week Two - Saint Aloysius Gonzaga

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass at Saint Aloysius Gonzaga - a whole 2.5 miles from my house. I attended a wedding at St. Al's once, but since said wedding was over 40 years ago, I'm going to count this one as a new experience. Ironically, as I was getting out of my car in the parking lot, a neighborhood friend - and fellow St. Ignatius parishioner - was getting out of hers. Small world. She immediately warned me that St. Al's is notoriously cold inside, and sure enough, all of the regulars came equipped with sweaters and jackets. Of course, 90% of those regulars were senior citizens, so they probably take sweaters and jackets just about everywhere, cold or no cold.

In spite of its fairly contemporary appearance, upon entering the church, it was impossible to ignore the huge organ pipes. Unfortunately, no luck hearing the organ - piano accompaniment was the order for the day. The altar at St. Al's is situated in the center of the church with the majority of the seating surrounding it. A few seats are directly behind the priest which means that most of the congregation is not only looking at the priest and the altar but, unavoidably, at those people who choose to sit in those back seats. I thought this would be awkward for them, but apparently I was wrong. I couldn't help but notice that the few people who came in late, after mass started, took those very seats, unfazed, and then during the consecration, because they didn't have kneelers, sat there like a bunch of lazy heathens taking in a movie. They probably left right after communion too.

Given the recent uproar over the N1H1 flu, during the sign of peace, I couldn't help but wonder what would soon happen to The Handshake. Sure enough, before mass ended, the priest addressed the issue in vague terms - don't shake hands if you don't feel well or don't want to, etc., etc. At that same moment, one of the servers managed to both cough into the crook of his arm while wiping his nose on the sleeve of his alb. Priceless. BUT my new BFF was there! An elderly, white-haired gentleman dressed in his very best black suit, white dress shirt . . . and A BOW TIE. You just don't see that much. The whole experience was actually nice. On my 10-cross scale, I give St. Al's 7 crosses, but I'm still wondering - is it GON-za-ga or gon-ZA-ga?

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: 45 minutes

And . . . We're Off!

So many churches . . .

So, I've decided to attend mass at a different church each week.

Why?

I've been a practicing Roman Catholic for my entire life, but I'm not having a crisis of faith or "looking for God" or anything profound like that. I'm content as a member of my own parish, so I'm not looking to switch allegiances. Hmm. I guess I'm just, well, bored (not from a religious standpoint, just bored in general), and since Cincinnati has SO MANY Catholic churches, the answer to "Why?" seems obvious - WHY NOT?!!

Week One - Home Base - Saint Ignatius

Ah, my own parish of Saint Ignatius of Loyola in Monfort Heights. As far as my little project goes, I'm not even really sure if this week should count. As a member of St. Ignatius for the past 19 years, I've only been to about a million masses there. With almost 3,000 families in the parish directory and six masses offered each weekend, it's definitely a large community - and a nice one. Having attended every possible mass option over the years, oddly enough, this weekend offered a bit of novelty in terms of masses. With the annual parish festival taking place, the starting time of 4:00 for Saturday's festivities prompted a rescheduling of the normal 4:30 mass to 3:00. I was there. Knowing that the majority of the people in attendance would be heading straight to the festival before the last song even ended (whether to hawk raffle tickets and/or to "drop their envelope in" via the Big Six booth), I expected a lot of t-shirts and shorts in the congregation . . . and I was pretty much right. Wait a minute - no homily?! and (par for the course) the priest forgot the creed. Guess even he was anxious to get out there!

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: An unusually short 50 minutes