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