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