The Christmas Moose

Week Seventy-One - St. Ignatius Loyola

3:00 afternoon mass, Christmas Eve, St. Ignatius.  Well, as they say, there's no place like home for the holidays, so once again, tradition prevailed - I was off the trail but with the whole gang at St. I's earliest - and busiest - Christmas Eve mass.  They were lining the walls, standing two deep in spots, for this one, an annual rite of liturgical chaos - all this in spite of a second three o'clock mass running concurrently in the gym.  I've never been to the Christmas Eve mass held in the gym, but every year, there are reassurances that it will be conducted in a "reverential atmosphere" . . . at center court. 

The trick to attending St. I's three o'clock Christmas Eve mass in the church is to arrive early, "early" meaning "no later than two o'clock" - and I'm not kidding.  If you can't make it by two, forget it or hire a seat saver who can be there by two.  Even with your seat saver, however, you want to arrive no later than 2:30 or things can get reeeeeally ugly, just like they did this year. 

Saving seats is a tricky thing.  My daughter and I are the family's official seat savers for the boys who mercifully arrive just fifteen or twenty minutes later. An elderly gentleman in the row behind us arrived shortly after two, however, and saved the whole pew for his family.  Even with grandpa's well-intentioned gesture, this was trouble a-brewin' from the get-go, but when his family didn't arrive until nearly 2:45 (inexcusable), his countless awkward denials to those looking for a seat progressed from exasperated sighs and shaken heads from those trolling the pews to a near fist-fight and an exchange of obscenities that really embodied the Christmas spirit.  I was dying.  There was no way I could look at my husband or I would have been on the floor in hysterics. 
 
Aside from that classic piece of drama, things flowed pretty smoothly.  Well, one of the readers, an adorable little girl, did misread "the bridegroom rejoices over his bride" as "the bridge-groom rejoices over his bridge," an interesting concept in itself, and  feedback from the sound system did bring the Nicene Creed to a screeching halt, but this really was St. I's at its finest.  All the big names were there.  All the big families were there.  It was a "Greatest Hits" mass if there ever was one.  

My Husband the Heathen, back at St. Ignatius for the first time since last Easter, couldn't help but compare St. I's to the many other churches he's visited with me.  His review wasn't exactly glowing.  Of course, there is no comparison in aesthetics when you're talking about The Barrel, but when you factor in that St. I's spirit,  that Wildcat pride . . . well, that's a whole 'nother story, a story the parish can be proud of.   

ATTENDANCE:  Fire code violation

DURATION:  A mind-boggling one hour and ten minutes

Brickhouse

Week Seventy - Saint Bartholomew

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Bartholomew.  It was an uneventful outing this week with a trip to Finneytown and St. Bart's.  Years ago, I attended weekend mass at St. Bart's fairly frequently, back when they still offered a Sunday evening liturgy.  Unfortunately, that Sunday night mass is no longer an option - there really are very few of them these days - so Saturday afternoon it was.

St. Bart's is basically a big shoebox, a tall, wide rectangle with seating arranged in a semi-circle around the altar.  It is a shoebox built of bricks, lots and lots and lots of bricks.  If nothing else, it's a sturdy church.  Decor is very minimal and basic . . . and fairly dated.  Nothing has probably changed here since the church was constructed in the 1960's.  It's not a bad look - it could be worse, but it definitely showcases the style of a certain time.  

As five o'clock approached, I began to wonder if I had the time of the mass right as there were so few people in the pews .  As usual, it was me and the seniors.  It was only minutes before five that more people began to arrive.  Most annoying, it was well after mass started that many more arrived.  One family came in during the gospel; one took a seat during the homily.  It was only these late-comers that really filled in the seats in the church.  Had it not been for them, the mass would have been nearly empty.  Well-intentioned?  Maybe.  Rude?  Hmmmm.  I did see rude taken to a whole new level when a woman got up during the homily, walked to the back of the church, and returned with a bulletin which she promptly began reading.  It was an assisting deacon delivering the homily at this mass, something I'm never entirely happy with myself. With all due respect to the deacons out there, when it comes to homilies, I'm sure that what they have to say - or in this case, read (grrrr) - is certainly as valid and insightful as what the presiding priest might offer, but there's something that just seems . . . awkward about it.  It's the understudy filling in for the lead.  It's like having your next-door neighbor preach to you . . . oh wait, it is your neighbor.  Nonetheless, this woman's actions were inexcusable and embarrassing.   

It was an interesting crowd at St. Bart's. Justin Bieber was there . . . or at least a boy who thought he was Justin Bieber.  He had the hair flip down.  I loved the twins who were there.  Not just any twins but two women clearly in their "senior" years.  They were identical as identical can be - same style of dress, same height, same hair, same glasses, same face.  Adorable.

I was disappointed in my trip to St. Bart's on one major point - the music.  It's not that the music was bad.  In fact, it was quite nice, nothing bad about it.  Twenty years ago, however, St. Bart's music director was the same man who provided the music for our wedding.  I loved hearing this gentleman sing, and I had hoped he would still be there.  No such luck - at least, not at this mass.  Rats.  I felt a little better though when I spotted a Charlie Brown Christmas tree - complete with one single red ornament - on top of the organ.  That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

ATTENDANCE:  About one-third

DURATION:  One hour

AMDG

Week Sixty-Nine - Saint Xavier

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Xavier.  What's not to love about the Jesuits?  With a Jesuit education in my own background and now that of my children as well, I have a certain fondness for the boys.  I have always found the Jesuits to be bright, dedicated, and likable - the "rock stars" of the priesthood, and so it was with great anticipation that I headed back downtown this weekend to St. Xavier Church.  I wasn't disappointed.

Founded in 1845, St. Xavier has the distinction of being Cincinnati's first Catholic church.  St. Xavier is also one of relatively few Jesuit parishes in the United States - it is technically part of the Chicago Jesuit province and not a part of the Archdiocese of Cincinnati.  What the ramifications of that are, I have no idea.  In reading over the history of the church on St. Xavier's website, my favorite part was this:  "A large mid-century influx of Irish immigrants challenged the sensibilities of Cincinnati's original German settlers.  In response, St. Louis Church . . . became the "German church" and St. Xavier the "Irish church.""  That's the Christian spirit.  Can you even imagine the things that were said?

Although it was several years ago, I had already been to St. Xavier.  Back in my working days, my coworkers and I would go to mass at St. X during our lunch hour on holydays.  I remember the interior being strikingly beautiful.  I also remember it being . . . blue, turquoise blue.  Well, it's still blue, and there's a lot of it.  Historically, the original church was all beige with a few hints of cherry red, but in 1987, the architect working on renovations to the church very purposefully chose bold colors to reflect the "medieval custom of enlivening great churches with strong colors."  I guess I can respect that, but I'm still not a fan of the color scheme. 

Even with its questionable color scheme, St. Xavier is an amazing space, what some consider the finest example of Gothic revival in Cincinnati.  Pointed arches, countless spires, gargoyles, several marble altars.  The checkered floor tiles will definitely catch your eye, and there's simply no ignoring the Jesuit presence here.  Two large stained glass windows behind the altar depict St. Ignatius and St. Francis Xavier, and a large painted mural features several of the most influential Jesuits.  There's definitely a lot to see here.  Even the lighting fixtures are cool art-deco - quite frankly, looking better suited to the Netherland Plaza than a church.  In 1882, fire (again with the fires!) gutted the interior of the church, destroying the roof and spire, but amazingly - and fortunately - all was repaired within the same year. 

There was a good number of people at this mass.  I ran into a friend there and asked her if it was always that way.  After we agreed that the forecast for snow was definitely a factor in this week's attendance, she also pointed out the popularity of St. Xavier's pastor, Father Eric Knapp, the presiding priest at this mass. "He really pulls 'em in," she said.  A video on St. X's website gave me the lowdown on Father Knapp.  Sent by the Chicago province just a few years ago to revive the parish, Father Knapp's efforts have already been incredibly successful.  Knapp has brought new life to St. X, with over 600 households registering in recent years.  126 different zip codes are now represented in the parish, and the number of younger parishioners continues to grow.  So influential is Father Knapp, not only in Catholic circles but in the revitalization of downtown, that he has received several awards for his work.  I too took an immediate liking to Father Knapp and can definitely see the draw.  He was, well . . .  peppy . . . and sharp.  He kept the mass going at a brisk pace.  He spoke loudly and clearly, and although his homily was a bit wordy, his words were intelligent and defined.  

In addition to the friend that I ran into at this mass, other friends have begun making the drive from West Chester just to go to church at St. Xavier.  A beautiful church, a charismatic pastor, and, of course, the Jesuits.  I'd say it's worth the trip.  
   

ATTENDANCE:  Two-thirds full

DURATION:  45 minutes

Et Petrus Quidem Servabatur in Carcere Vinctus Catenis

Week Sixty-Eight - Saint Peter in Chains Cathedral

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Peter in Chains.  Well, the first significant snowfall of the year moved in this weekend, "significant" meaning "anything more than a dusting."  Therefore, being the Cincinnati native that I am, it was with some hesitancy that I ventured out, unsure as to whether the mighty Honda Odyssey could meet the challenge, but venture out I did, and of course, the roads were fine. 

My destination this week?  Cincinnati's cathedral, St. Peter in Chains.  Truth be told, I probably could have stayed home and just as accurately written this entry.  I've been to the cathedral more than a few times - for weekend masses, for weddings, confirmations, baccalaureates, even concerts and art exhibits - but, in the spirit of the tour, I wanted to make the "official" visit. 

A Cincinnati police officer stood guard outside of the front door of the cathedral, something that both reassured and worried me.  Ahh, life in the big city.  Upon entering, the faithful were directed via signs to "Please take a seat at the front of the church."  The signs seemed redundant, as there really was no other option available - roughly two-thirds of the pews had been cordoned off.  Even with the seating significantly limited, however, the church remained mostly empty.  I counted no more than 60 or 70 in attendance.  Granted, it was a cold and snowy day, at the height of the holiday shopping season, no less.  Even more demanding, "Redsfest" was going on right down the street.  This annual homage to everything Reds had entirely slipped my mind until a nice middle-aged couple sat down in the pew in front of me.  Outfitted in parkas and hats, boots and gloves, and lugging their umbrellas and souvenir nylon Reds bags filled to the brim, these diehard Reds fans had obviously walked the few blocks from the convention center to the cathedral for mass.  There was also no questioning their team loyalty when the woman slipped off her coat to reveal her best Reds' jersey underneath.  It was the type of thing you break out only for the most special of occasions, and clearly, this had been one of them.  "VOTTO 19" stared at me for the rest of the mass.  

In terms of aesthetics, I've never been a big fan of the cathedral.  A lot of money has been poured into the construction, restoration, and enhancement of the church, including over five million dollars in the 1950's to bring the church back up to speed after it was abandoned and fell into disrepair when the cathedral's location became "less than fashionable."  According to the cathedral's website, "long-closed old quarries" were even reopened to provide the same limestone as that used in the original construction.  Yes, I suppose things like that would run up the bill.  

Still, the Grecian architecture, both inside and out, just doesn't do much for me.  Oh, all the design details are there, beautiful in their own way, but I've always found the cathedral rather somber and serious and, in some respects, creepy, especially the hieroglyphic murals on the side walls.  I will say that the huge mosaic behind the similarly huge altar is pretty cool though.  I don't know.  Maybe it's all part of an image the cathedral is trying to project, an image of dignity and class.  It would be interesting to know how many parishioners versus visitors attend mass there every weekend.  Assuming that the visitor count is fairly high, I suppose you would want to look your best when company's coming over.  Tours are offered to the public on the second Sunday of the month after the 11:00 mass.  I would like to take one sometime to gain a better appreciation and knowledge of the cathedral.   

The mass itself matched the seting - dignified and reverent with a formality that was maintained in every aspect of the liturgy, from the traditional organ accompaniment to the readings by the lectors.  Granted, it wasn't the most exciting liturgy I've ever been to, but it seemed setting-appropriate.  A contemporary mass would have seemed almost sacrilegious.

One last thing.  The web site of St. Peter in Chains claims that Cincinnatians have always referred to the cathedral as "The "White Angel."  Hold the phone.  Having lived in Cincinnati as a practicing Catholic for half a century now, let me just say I have never used or even heard that phrase before in my life, and I seriously doubt that anyone else has either . . . have they?    

ATTENDANCE:  Mostly empty

DURATION:  55 minutes

The Birds

Week Sixty-Seven - St. Ignatius Loyola, aka, Home Base

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ignatius.  The "tour" is becoming more complicated.  I've visited almost all of the churches within a reasonable distance from my home.  As a result, it's now taking more time, more planning, and more gas to visit those churches remaining on the list.  Troubling.  In the meantime, the holiday weekend was pulling me in a number of different directions.  Therefore, at the request of the fam, it was a quick one minute drive down the road to St. I's for Saturday afternoon mass.

The church was surprisingly full . . . who are these people?  Have things really changed that much in one year?  It was less than comforting to realize the only people I recognized were "the old fogies" - my friends' parents, my children's friends' parents.  Guess the next generation has moved in.

I have to say, with the exception of those beaten-beyond-recognition hymnals, St. I's wasn't looking half-bad this go-round.  Something was different.  The popular concensus was that the ceiling had been painted.  Odd, I know.  There was a new cabinet for the holy oils.  Wow . . . the things you notice in the church you've spent the last twenty years in. 

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  One hour

Deja Vu

Week Sixty-Six - Saint John Neumann (Fairfield)

11:00 Sunday morning mass, St. John Neumann.  I've been to St. John Neumann Church before.  No, actually, I haven't, but I sure felt like I had.  There it was:  the ceiling from Sacred Heart, the windows from St. Maximilian, the chairs from St. Ann (sans kneelers).  Even the exterior vaguely reminded me of St. Simon.  Have I seen it all?  Have I really exhausted all of the options on the Catholic church menu?  Or did my choice of church this week simply encompass all the highlights (and lowlights) of church design over the past few decades?  I'll wager a guess and go with the latter. 

St. John Neumann Church is plain.  Some might call it "simple," but I'll call it "plain."  You can include everything I mentioned above, but you can leave out the statues, the paintings, and the decor - because there are none.  The religious wasteland definitely seems to be showing up more and more among the newer churches.  I wonder - was the choice to take the barren route a financial decision or a pastoral one, or was it just "the style" at the time of construction?  Speaking of construction, it was more than a bit unnerving to feel the floor beneath my feet vibrate and shake with each passerby.  I had already tried out two others seats in a desperate attempt to avoid a cold draft (my children would have been mortified), but when the draft became unavoidable, I stopped wandering and resigned myself to the cold  . . . and apparently to the suspense of wondering if the floor might give way at any moment as well. 

St. John's was the first church I've been to where the congregation turned en masse to face the entrance procession at the beginning of the mass.  Yup, I was clearly the new kid, the only one facing front and center.  Awkward.  There was no crucifix at the altar until it was processed in, so maybe that's the reason behind such a show of respect.   A small, unimposing crucifix, it remained at the altar for the duration of mass, leaning awkwardly off-kilter in its holder.  I'll give SJN the benefit of the doubt and assume the crucifix does, in fact, reside at the altar during its off-hours.  You might have to look for it though.  Fun fact:  Did you know that a "crucifer" is the person who carries the processional cross at the beginning and end of the mass?  This was news to me.  I had to look up this ominous-sounding term when one of the candidates for St. John's pastoral council listed "crucifer" as one of his current activities.  Who knew? 

A four- or five-person guitar group was awkwardly positioned directly behind the altar, something I found very distracting.  Most of the songs I had never heard before.  The group sounded pleasant enough, but there was a certain twang that made me think they could just as easily have moseyed on up from a tent revival down yonder. 

The celebrating priest seemed like an amicable guy.  He smiled occasionally during mass which I thought was nice - after all, this is a celebration, right?  He had a great tactic for delivering his homily.  While speaking (without notes - awesome), he strolled the width and depth of the church, up and down the aisles from front to back.  Not only did the "visual" hold your attention, i.e. "Where's he going next?", but listening to a homily delivered from only a few feet away is so much better than listening to a static homily delivered from a lectern waaaay over there.  It was genius, I tell ya.

Saint John Neumann Church is located directly across from Smiley Cemetery.  The potential for comments on that fact alone is endless, so I'll just stop now.

ATTENDANCE:  Half-full

DURATION:  One hour

So much to do . . .

Week Sixty-Five - Much-Needed R and R

A brief hiatus this week.  Back on the trail next Sunday.

Oh By "Gollie"!

Week Sixty-Four - Saint Clement

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Clement.  I was hesitant to visit St. Clement.  The church sits right on Vine Street in Saint Bernard, and if memory served me correctly, there was no off-street parking.  However, with an errand to run in the neighborhood and my husband in the driver's seat, this was the week - time to throw caution to the wind!  Well, as it turned out, parking wasn't even remotely an issue, mainly because we arrived with time to spare.  We easily found a spot on "Church Street," the side street next to the church, in case you couldn't tell.  Had we arrived even a few minutes later, however, it might have been a different story, albeit a story that would have simply required more footwork.

With a history over 150 years old, you would expect St. Clement's to really be something; after all, the history itself is something.  When St. Clement's original church was rebuilt in the 1870's, 1,800 church societies took a special train to attend the laying of the cornerstone.  They were met by booming cannons and streets spanned by arches of flowers.  How cool is that?  An online parish history goes into incredible detail recounting the next 100+ years for the parish, including - and, sadly, this is where tragedy derails my expectations - a terrible fire in 1963.  The ornate altar, paintings, and stained glass windows were all lost.  The cost of restoring the church to its original splendor was prohibitive, but rebuilding began nonetheless.  The result was "functional" and "striking in its simplicity."  Yes, those words would be accurate, very accurate . . . just as "barren" and "plain" would also be accurate. 

There are no stained glass windows at St. Clement's church.  There are no paintings.  In fact, there is little, if any, decor at all.  Pews resembled pine wood bleachers.  I thought there was no crucifix until, when receiving communion, I spied a large crucifix off to the side.  Why it was off to the side is beyond me because it was beautiful, and what was above the altar was a big, shiny . . . plus sign.  The most striking feature - and possibly the one that "garnered praise from architects and design groups" - was the inclusion of exposed rafters.  These soaring wooden rafters, the original I presume, are really beautiful, a unique hallmark connecting the present to the past.  Kudos on that point.   

There were no kneelers at St. Clement.  Of course, the absence of kneelers may have been intentional.  My husband and I were by far among the youngest people there.  Everything moved at a senior pace, including the "helicopter" greeters who hovered to an extreme.  Sensible shoes were in abundance - as were a few pairs of sandals!  Ah, the Franciscans!  It was a delightful surprise to see them running the show, although, in retrospect, not altogether unexpected given the proximity of the church to Roger Bacon High School.

As my husband and I drove away from the church, I pointed out the home of an old college friend who I hadn't seen in almost twenty years . . . and who happened to be standing outside talking with neighbors!  After double-takes on both our parts, she jumped in the back seat so we could pull over and catch up for a while.  It was an amazing example of perfect timing and a hilarious - and completely random - way to reconnect our own past and present. 

Another "extra credit" opportunity presented itself on Sunday afternoon when my husband and I attended the annual "Empty Bowls" event, a fundraiser benefitting the Freestore Foodbank's Kids Cafe program.  The event itself was wonderful (I already have my calendar marked for next year), but the location, the Verdin Bell Event Centre, was a bonus.  This building in Over-the-Rhine is actually the former Saint Paul Catholic Church, dedicated in 1850.  Wikipedia tells me that St.  Paul's was a German-speaking parish organized to accomodate members of Old St. Mary's Church who lived east of Clay Street.  In 1899, a fire destroyed all but the church walls and stained glass windows (what is it with churches and fire?), but amazingly, the church was rebuilt and rededicated just one year later.  In 1974, the church was deconsecrated and the building named to the National Register of Historic Places.

A few years later, the Verdin Company invested a hefty sum to restore the building to its grandeur, and after two and a half years of work, to say the result is grand would be an understatement.  Decorated archways, vaulted, ornamented ceilings, marble walls, polished brass, mosaics, hand-painted murals - it's all here.  The stained glass windows are breath-taking, not only for their beauty and craftsmanship, but simply for their immense size.  Oh my goodness.  Now, this is something.   
 

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  50 minutes

Boo Who?

Week Sixty-Three - All Saints

5:30 Sunday afternoon mass, All Saints.  I love Halloween.  I really do, mainly because I'm a costume fanatic - making them more than wearing them, but trick-or-treating is also something I've always looked forward to, on either side of the front door.  That being said, our house isn't exactly prime real estate for little ghouls and goblins seeking treats on Halloween night.  Twenty years ago, I think we pulled in a record 22 trick-or-treaters.  For the past couple of years, however, we've seen exactly . . . zero.  Oh, I still buy the candy bars just in case, and I still turn on the porch light . . . just in case.  It was with some sadness then and little hope of dumping my entire bowl of candy into even a single trick-or-treater's pillowcase - as well as a weekend schedule that happened to make the timing just right - that I set out on Halloween night for All Saints Church in Montgomery.

No problem finding All Saints.  Go east to the very end of Cross County, take a right, and there it is, right next to Moeller High School.  I expected All Saints to be a big church, a big parish, so I was surprised when, after entering the front door, I found a much smaller worshipping space than what I anticipated.  My first impressions were also wrong, however - I later discovered that this was just the "main wing," built in 1951.  What I couldn't see was the "south wing, " built in 1961 and positioned to the left of the altar, and the "north wing," built in the 1970's and positioned to the right of the altar. The result is a T-shaped church.  Oh, no.  Flashback to St. Michael's and St. Vivian's.  I realize these add-ons are often the best option that expanding churches have, but I always find it odd when the celebrating priest addresses portions of the church that I can't even see - who is he talking to?  Personal fault.  

I have yet to come up with just the right word to describe All Saints.  "European" comes to mind, but I'm not sure that's right . . . or even what it exactly means.  A rustic simplicity dominates the church but in an attractive way.  Polished stone walls and low-hung stained glass windows create the sense of an intimate chapel more than of a suburban parish.  A large painting behind the altar depicts Jesus on a throne, encircled by angels.  Below him is a portrait of a large group of - we're goin' literal here, folks - all saints.  From my vantage point, I could make out Mary and Joseph, center stage, but beyond that, it was tough identifying anyone else.  Men and women, priests and nuns, one man in fairly contemporary clothing.  Hmmm.  I think I saw my girl, Saint Therese, in there, and a man in green may have been Saint Patrick.  It would have been fun to take a closer look. 

Of all things, I was impressed by the pews at All Saints.  Crafted from a stunning dark wood, the rows of pews were in excellent condition, each beautifully polished . . . and upholstered!  Cushioned seats with matching kneelers looked as if they might be fairly new.  Actually, the church as a whole appeared to be well kept and in excellent condition.  Nice.  

This was an odd mass.  In the main wing, I was able to take a head count of those in attendance - a whopping 36.  As I approached the altar to receive communion, a quick glance confirmed all of three people in the south wing and maybe twenty to thirty in the north wing.  Wow.  Is every 5:30 Sunday mass like this at All Saints, or did previously scheduled Halloween festivities take their toll on attendance?  No one seemed phased by the virtual absence of a congregation, so I don't know.  Even the eucharistic ministers and the music ministry were absent.  Weird. 

The celebrating priest seemed like the nicest man imaginable.  Kind and humble, he wasn't the best speaker when it came time for the homily.  He even started out by saying, "I'm going to try to give my homily now."  Referencing notes on a single folded sheet of paper, he stumbled and hesitated through it, but overall, it was really quite interesting.  He just seemed like such a nice man. 

I arrived back home at the height of our neighborhood's trick-or-treating hours.  Rather than entering through the back door that we usually use, I rang the front door bell and yelled "Trick or Treat" just to give the dog something to think about.  It was the highlight of her night.  2010 trick-or-treat count?  Zero. 

ATTENDANCE:  Nearly empty

DURATION:  50 minutes

Lost in Translation

Week Sixty-Two - Saint Maximilian Kolbe

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Maximilian Kolbe.  Is there really a difference between West Chester and Liberty Township?  I suppose to the people living in that general vicinity there is, but I surely don't know what the difference is.  I've seen St. Maximilian listed as being in both West Chester and Liberty Township.  Either way, it's a haul from the neighborhood I like to call home, so when My Husband the Heathen set out in that general direction and graciously offered to go the extra mile or two (or five or ten) to drop me off at a church in the area while he ran an errand, I couldn't say no. 

We passed new subdivision after new subdivision, new school after new school, finally arriving at - what else? - a new church. I did my homework and uncovered the following:  St. Maximilian's parish was established in 1989 to alleviate overcrowding at nearby Saint John the Evangelist parish, but for the next twelve years, masses were celebrated anywhere but in a church - in a school or in a newly built parish center (putting the proverbial cart before the horse on that one).  It wasn't until 1997 that the archdiocese finally gave approval to proceed with plans for construction of an actual church - their earlier argument against a new church, that there was "no guarantee for sustained growth" in the parish, now defeated by the very obvious and ubiquitous development in the region.  The new church was completed in 2001.  

Big.  Ridiculously big.  There's no other way to describe St. Max's.  The sanctuary is a vast space, wider than it is deep.  Although I took a seat off to one side towards the back (standard), I felt like I was miles away, not only from the altar but from those individuals seated waaaaayyy over on the other side of the church.  They looked so tiny, so far away.  If there was a charge to go to church here, I was definitely in the cheap seats.  The pews are arranged in a semi-circle around the altar, but everything else is sharp angles and crisp lines.  No surprise, it's a modern church.  Subdued floral upholstery on the kneelers was about as fancy as it got.  A huge stained glass window of Saint Maximilian was impressive, but the stained glass windows flanking the altar - three on either side - seemed kind of cheesy to me.  As best as I could tell, it was a depiction of the Last Supper, each window containing precisely two disciples, each of whom was "looking" towards the altar.  It was like a stained glass comic book.    

Big.  I watched in amazement as a continuous stream of people flowed into the church as 4:30 drew near.  The result was a near-capacity crowd.  Perhaps because the space was so big, however, like Saint Susanna's, any volume expressed by the congregation while speaking or singing was lost.  Hearing and understanding the priest and lectors were also difficult, most words dissolved or lost in a constant echo.  Ironically, as I later discovered, St. Max's big 15-page bulletin included an article about planned improvements to their sound system, upgrades that will include not only new audio equipment but acoustical improvements to the interior of the church.  Amen to that.

In addition to the above problems with sound, I was experiencing additional distortion courtesy of the elderly Asian gentleman next to me.  I didn't catch him singing or responding throughout most of the mass -  until it came time for the Creed.  With missalette in hand, reading along, he wholeheartedly joined in.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure his words were in English.  Each phrase started out in English - "We believe . . . " - but ended in anything but.  Was he misreading the words?  Was he simply mumbling through what he was having trouble with?  Was he translating into Japanese/Chinese on the fly?  There was no way I could participate with his own unique phraseology in my left ear and the echoes of the priest and congregation in my right.  I didn't really care - to be honest, this gentleman was adorable - but, for the moment, I was quite literally at a loss for words.

While reading up on the history of St. Maximilian parish, I clicked on the link to read about St. Max himself.  I strongly suggest you do the same.  A saint of modern times, the circumstances surrounding his death will horrify and haunt you, his actions will move you.  His martyrdom will leave you too at a loss for words.    
 

ATTENDANCE:  Two-thirds full

DURATION:  One hour

Old Money

Week Sixty-One - Saint Antoninus

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Antoninus.  Western Hills' finest.  There's no other way to put it.  Not the church.  The congregation.  It's true.  Just ask them, but they won't tell you.  They don't really have to, of course - it's that obvious.  These are the people who have lived and prospered, especially prospered, in Western Hills for most of their lives.  I'm sure their names read like a Who's Who list for the west side - if not all - of Cincinnati.  They exude confidence and comfort, wallowing in the knowledge that they own, often quite literally if not figuratively, the west side.  This particular mass included a huge majority of well-dressed senior couples, most arriving in Cadillacs or Lincolns.  The women, for the most part, wore crisp pantsuits and an incredible amount of bling.  And the men?  I haven't seen that many sport coats at a weekend mass since . . . well, I've never seen that many sport coats at a weekend mass.  Their after-mass plans clearly included dinner at "the club," i.e., Western Hills Country Club, where a jacket is mandatory and a polyester pantsuit is always in good taste.  Ah, the good life . . .   

The church at St. Antoninus is noticeably . . . ivory and a bit off-kilter.  A large crucifix is hung not directly behind the altar but set off to the side.  Recessed panels behind the altar are likewise unbalanced, with a door on just one side, opening to what appeared to be a smaller chapel.  There are several large windows, but only one stained glass window, a huge circular one.  It reminded me of a flower . . . or a lollipop.  Lighting was helter-skelter - there were canned lights, recessed lights, hung lights reflecting upward.  If there was a pattern, I couldn't find it.  Looking around at St. Antoninus's church, I could easily envision a wedding party there.  Not just the actual ceremony, mind you, but the whole event.  Take out the pews and you have a very attractive reception hall.  Unfortunately, once I made that connection, that's all I could see.  It's not a very "churchy" church.  

The celebrating priest was quite a character.  Stooped at a 45 degree angle, he commented that he had graduated from the seminary "59 years ago . . . no, wait . . . is that right? . . . 70! 69!"  He never really decided which anniversary it was, but either way, he was certainly up there in years himself.  Later, he commented in a casual aside that his teeth were loose.  Had the congregation nodded sympathetically, I wouldn't have been surprised.    

ATTENDANCE:  Half full

DURATION:  50 minutes

I Should Have Followed That Buick

Week Sixty - Saint Joseph (North Bend)

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Joseph.  I enjoyed my drive to North Bend this weekend.   A quiet, curving road leading down to the river on a beautiful, sunny day put me in a good mood.  Even a wrong turn at the last minute didn't throw me.  What did throw me, however, was St. Joseph's church.  I have to be honest - I have never seen the interior of a church like this one . . . and I'm not saying that as a good thing.  I'm completely, completely, baffled.  I had to come home and research the history of the church just to try to make sense of it all.  Was this, at some time, a gymnasium?  A multi-purpose room?  No, no, it was the "new" church (for a parish now 150 years old) built in 1961.  Honestly, I don't even know how to describe it.  I don't want to describe it.  Let's just move on. 

It was a full house at St. Joseph's Saturday afternoon mass, and a fairly sizable crowd it was.  I have to believe these were the "Aston" people, as in Aston Lake, Aston Woods, Aston Oaks, Aston View, the empty-nesters in their landominiums and the young couples living the good life on the edge of a golf course.  My suspicions were confirmed after mass when I followed several cars straight from the parking lot of the church to one of the many "Aston" streets where they, sure enough, turned off. 

I don't know who Aston is (or was), but he or she and his or her heirs have to be sitting pretty right about now.  One would expect St. Joseph's to be sitting pretty as well with the influx of so many new residents in the area.  Apparently, however, that part hasn't quite panned out.  Again, I was lucky enough to catch another "stewardship" homily this week which included this fun fact:  out of St. Joe's roughly 900 registered families, only a little over 200 use their weekly envelopes.  I'm not sure what that really means in terms of dollars received, but if the 700 families not using their envelopes aren't dropping their loose change in the basket, Houston, we've got a problem. Thus, this week, all registered parishioners will receive a letter asking for a "commitment."  If no reply is received, they will be sent "a series of follow-up letters" and their house will be foreclosed on.  Just kidding about that last part, but it looks like someone's going to be making some hard decisions over the next few days. Hmmm, jacuzzi in the master bath . . . or God?  I liked the byline on a printed "guideline for giving" that was placed on the chairs in the church (yes, they had chairs, not pews), "Not equal gifts, but equal sacrifice."  That's good. 

The mass itself was standard and unremarkable.  The music group sounded great, loud and clear, probably a result of those gymnasium acoustics.  There was one woman in the group who had a truly beautiful voice that stood out from the others.  I'm embarrassed to report that I found a considerable amount of humor in observing the people around me.  Two rows up sat a young family, including a little girl around four, "Big Sister Maria 09," according to her t-shirt, and the incriminating one-year old sister, a real-life Cindy Lou Who, aka "Little Princess," according to her own t-shirt.  I have to give it to Maria - this kid must have the patience of a saint because you know that somewhere in the back of her mind is the footnote to her graphic tee, "My mom and dad had another baby, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."  She was a well-behaved little girl, arranging and re-arranging the hymnals and missals, only breaking down into silent tears once for some unknown reason.  On the flip side, Little Princess was non-stop wiggles and gigggles that kept mom and dad non-stop busy.  It was as exhausting to watch as it was entertaining.  At one point, I had a bizarre thought that the parents could have made it easy on themselves and slipped Little Princess into the purse of the woman in front of me.  I swear it was the biggest purse I have ever seen in my life, and it was made of - get this - snakeskin.  Oh, it probably was fake, but had it been real, it would have taken a python or two to make a purse that size.  Some of the Aston folks, no doubt.  She with her snakeskin duffel bag and he in his Ralph Lauren jeans . . . in North Bend, Ohio.

I don't see myself returning to St. Joseph's anytime soon.  Yeah, it was a nice drive to get there, but next time, I think I'll just keep going. 
     

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  One hour

St. Francis is My Hero

Week Fifty-Nine - Saint Anthony Friary and Shrine

10:00 Sunday morning mass, St. Anthony Shrine.  In a brief lapse in sanity, I purposefully got up at an ungodly weekend hour this past Sunday morning to go to mass.  Not just any mass, but a mass on a specific weekend at a specific location that I had planned for some time now.  The location was St. Anthony's Friary, and the weekend was that preceding Saint Francis' feast day (October 4th).  Last year, I had heard that there was quite a celebration in connection with the feast day of the Franciscans' beloved patron, so although this year's October 4th wasn't actually on a Sunday, I thought I'd take my chances and see if "close enough" counted.  Well, as it turned out, "close enough" didn't count, and the festivities were planned for Monday, the actual feast day.  Complicating matters was the fact that this liturgical party was going down at St. Francis Seraph Church on Vine Street in Over-the-Rhine.   'Nuff said.  So, bottom line, I got up early for a party that wasn't happening, but I did get up early for a wonderful mass and a peaceful place to celebrate it in, and that made it all worthwhile.

St. Anthony's overlooks Colerain Avenue, directly across from the heart of Mt. Airy Forest.  Perched high on a hill, the grounds are wonderfully quiet and serene.  There's quite a bit to see here, and visitors are welcome to walk the grounds.  The indoor shrine, at the back of the chapel, holds a "first-class relic" of Saint Anthony, "first-class" indicating the relic is a part of the body or bone from the saint.  I didn't look closely, and, no, I'm not sure I want to know.  The chapel is truly the epitome of "a chapel" - small, attractive, and charming.  This fact was a bit of a catch-22 for me after reading that the chapel, built in 1889, originally featured an elaborate interior with "eight side altars and two large paintings over the high altar depicting scenes from the life of St. Anthony."  For some reason - and I can't imagine what - the chapel was redecorated in 1978 in a "more simple style," at which time, the paintings were covered.  While the current interior is certainly attractive in its "more simple style," I couldn't help but wonder what the original had looked like and whether a true piece of history had been lost.  With that said, everything is in pristine condition, a result, I assume, from minimal use as St. Anthony's is not an active parish and, with the exception of two additional novena masses on Tuesday, only one mass is celebrated each day. 

What's not to love about the Franciscans?  With a Franciscan priest among my relatives, maybe I have a certain innate affinity for them, but how can you not admire those brown robes, the knotted rope belt, and - if you're lucky - the sandals.  On this cool morning, I noticed one of the priests wore socks with his sandals.  I love that.  I've never seen any young man in Franciscan garb, and at this location, all nine of the priests in attendance were clearly in, or at least approaching, their senior years, so I have to wonder if the Franciscans are a dying breed.  I hope not.  The celebrant at this mass was a kind-looking man who frequently smiled throughout the mass which was a really nice thing to see.  His homily was clear and insightful and . . . full of hope.  I don't know how else to describe it.  Great job.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no spring chicken, but somehow I was still one of the youngest people at this mass.  Other than three teens (two of whom were with a family from St. Ignatius who sat in front of me - interesting) and one little girl, almost all of those in attendance were seniors.  That's not a bad thing, just an observation.  My other observation noted that this was a congregation who had made a conscious decision to be at this particular mass at St. Anthony's.  There was no parish boundary pulling these people in.  No rigid weekly routines.  No unspoken social conventions.  Rather, the only obligation was their "Sunday obligation."  They made a good choice.

ATTENDANCE:  Slightly less than full

DURATION:  55 minutes

Extra Credit

Week Fifty-Eight - Saint Clare

10:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Clare.  It's a feat just to make it in to St. Clare Church.  The front doors can only be reached via a somewhat imposing trio of concrete steps; the side doors are the same, although not quite as daunting.  The handicapped entrance is a rather utilitarian-looking ramp leading to an elevator straight out of a Hitchcock movie.  Of course, none of the above are really a hindrance to attending mass at St. Clare's, but you have to wonder why the church was built so significantly above street level.  It's not a huge church, but it's still not like you're going to miss it coming down the road.

St. Clare's is a church that probably hasn't changed in decades.  The interior offers very little to look at.  A rather creepy crucifix featuring a golden Jesus is flanked by depictions of Mary and Joseph. It all felt rather . . . Greek Orthodox to me.  Other than a few random banners of non-descript shapes and color, the crucifix behind the altar was, in fact, the only bit of decor in the church.  At least from my vantage point, I could find no statues.  Stained glass windows were notably present but dated in an awkward way.  The stations of the cross were definitely keeping a low profile.

The mass itself was a slow one.  The music group, while quite good, played each song at a coma-inducing tempo, but here's the interesting part:  everyone was singing.  Everywhere I looked, young, old, men, women, the priest, the servers, everyone was singing.  It was so . . . so . . . cool to see everyone with an open hymnal in their hands.  What a nice change.  A warm welcome from a woman greeting everyone as they entered the church as well as a personal welcome from the pastor to each individual in the pews before mass made we think that, of all the churches I've been to, if nothing else, St. Clare's is the most sincere.  Who knew?

Now to the extra credit - which was much more interesting.  After mass, My Husband the Heathen and I headed off to Mount Adams to the original Holy Cross Church. 

Holy Cross Church was built in the 1850's but was deconsecrated in the 1970's.  The abandoned church, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, appears sound on the outside, but the interior looks anything but.  Still, the exposed rafters, the peeling paint, and the vast shell of emptiness create a certain aura which I can only assume is what attracted artist,  Shinji Turner-Yamamoto, to choose this architectural space for his latest work.  Yamamoto's installation at Holy Cross, "Hanging Garden," is part of the Global Tree Project, an international art initiative that includes completed projects in India, Ireland, Japan, Washington, D. C., Mongolia, Finland, and now, Cincinnati.  The installation is both pretty and pretty cool - the roots of an upended dead tree, suspended vertically above the ground, meet the roots of an upright live tree suspended directly above it.  During our visit, a Japanese Buddhist monk had set up shop and was chanting.  Needless to say, the people there were as cool as the exhibit itself. 

The exhibit is open on weekends until October 17th.  Worth the trip?  Yes.  This was definitely something you don't see everyday.        
 
ATTENDANCE:  About half full

DURATION:  65 minutes

A Study in Contrasts

Week Fifty-Seven - St. Benedict (Covington)

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Benedict.  I like these churches in Northern Kentucky.  More specifically, I like these churches in Covington.  There's so much history in them.  They really make you feel like you're in a church.  This week's outing was to just such a church, St. Benedict's.

St. Benny's sits right on the street, 17th Street to be exact, in the middle of a residential neighborhood.  It always strikes me as funny to see these huge churches as, literally, someone's next door neighbor.  We easily found a parking spot on the street in front of the church, but a parking lot is also available behind the church, off of 16th.

I wasn't surprised to learn that St. Benedict's physical church is over 100 years old (the parish itself is celebrating its 125th anniversary this year - big celebration next week), but I was surprised by its outstanding condition.  I'm not sure how much of the church is original anymore, but I loved it.  The color scheme is gorgeous.  Earth tones of brown, beige, gold, and ivory with just a few touches of green are complemented by marble and beautifully gilded sculptures and adornments.  Nothing strays from these colors - not the stained glass windows, not the painted details, not the wooden or carpeted flooring, not even the tablecloth on the altar.   FINALLY, SOMEONE GOT IT RIGHT, and the result is elegant.  Clean, crisp lines and classy moderation make everything about St. Benedict's simply beautiful.

On the flip side, the mass itself wasn't anything to write home about.  Standard.  Oh, good - another sermon on stewardship, a point stressed so heavily that forms and pencils were distributed before the end of mass for everyone to indicate which activities they would like to participate (or "continue to participate") in at the parish.  Hmmm.  Kind of heavy-handed there, don't you think?  I found the high-pressure sales tactics a bit awkward.  When a little girl collected the still-blank forms from me and My Husband the Heathen, I could see the look of confusion on her face.  Her brief hesitation confirmed what I knew she was thinking: "They didn't fill it out.  What should I do?  Should I tell them?" With my own selfish sigh of relief, she continued on, bless her heart. 

A huge pipe organ loomed in the balcony.  It was used sparingly during mass which was a shame since the woman playing it was much more adept at the organ than she was at the rather rinky-dink piano.  I never understand why, when churches have these amazing instruments at their disposal, they so reluctantly use them.  I don't get it.  Just once I want to hear somebody really let loose and wail on one of these things. 

All in all, it was a pleasant visit on a beautiful day although the ride home wasn't without its share of drama.  I had managed to get us to St. Benedict's with no problem via the main drag, i.e., Madison Avenue.  Mr. Wonderful, on the other hand, managed to take us through the "sketchier" parts of Covington on the way home.  "Uh, honey? . . . Where are we?"  I swear he does it on purpose.      

ATTENDANCE:  One-fourth full

DURATION:  55 minutes

Family Ties

Week Fifty-Six - St. Martin of Tours

11:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Martin. So, I'm in a funk. A church funk. They're all starting to look the same, sound the same, smell the same. Frankly, I'm not sure what to look for anymore, and I sure as hell don't know what to write. Have I seen it all? Have I said it all? To quote Peggy Lee, "Is that all there is?"

Truth be told, I have a sneaking suspicion that this week's visit was a hump that I just needed to get over. No offense, St. Martin's, but I just wasn't looking forward to visiting your church. I feel bad saying that. After all, my parents were married there over 50 years ago. My mother attended St. Martin's grade school, and I have vivid memories of going to mass there with both her and my grandmother when I was a child. Unfortunately, I think that last one is where the problem lies. Those memories recall long, boring masses in a church so big there wasn't even a remote possibility for any warmth in or connection to the liturgy. I don't know. Maybe that was just the way things were back then, especially for a ten-year old. Nonetheless, here I was, 40 years later, dreading that same feeling of distance I had felt so long ago, a feeling of invisibility - and boredom - in a church so large I might as well be a fly on the wall. Wait. Hold on. Shouldn't I be looking forward to the very type of mass I was now actually dreading? Anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis knows by now that I clearly value my personal space and privacy at mass. Nothing better than having a whole pew to yourself, right? It's a fine line. I like my space, but I still want to feel like I'm both contributing something and receiving something back - in my own private way, of course. I want to be part of the choir . . . just in the back row . . . in a "company role."

Anyways, with no better time than a quiet Sunday morning to get over the hump, I was off to downtown Cheviot to take care of business. Things got off to a rocky start when I arrived for the much-published 11:00 mass, only to find out the correct mass time was 11:30. Shoot. Had I checked the parish website, I would have gotten it right, but The List had been compiled using an alternate source of info . . . and I didn't check. My early arrival turned out to actually be a good thing, however. My first entrance into the church quickly revealed how bitterly cold it was in there. Noooo problem. Pleeeeenty of time to go back to the car to get a sweater . . . and a photograph which I was unable to snag on the first drive-by . . . and a better parking spot. I spent a few more minutes in the car reading the bulletin . . . and warming up.

Second attempt. I just don't know what it is about St. Martin's. It's a big, beautiful church (even after controversial renovations several years ago). There are statues and arches and columns. You can find the entire Apostles' Creed on the ceiling above the altar. Beautiful stained glass windows depict the beatitudes. Impressive. I should like this church, I really should, but echoing my closing sentiments of last week, I think I'm beginning to move beyond the physical. After all these years, something is still remiss at St. Martin's. The music group was doing their best, playing quite well, in fact, but very, very few people in the crowd were singing. I saw only a handful even pick up a hymnal. The run-of-the-mill mass was celebrated by a priest who couldn't quite hold - or capture - my attention. Compounding the problem this week was an additional stewardship appeal. What luck.

St. Martin's strikes me as a cold church - literally and figuratively - and beyond a new thermostat, I'm not sure what the fix is. My memories are probably still clouding my vision, but this week, mass was merely a spectator sport.

ATTENDANCE: Slightly less than half

DURATION: One hour

The Scene of the Crime

Week Fifty-Five - Saint Cecilia

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Cecilia. A big church? Yes. A pretty church? Not so sure. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine remarked to me how "beautiful" St. Cecilia's church was, how I should include St. Cecilia on my short list. Naturally, I had high hopes . . . maybe too high, and maybe that was the problem.

Possibly the tallest church I've been to, St. Cecilia seemed to have all the right stuff. All the pieces were there, but for some reason, it just wasn't clicking. The woodwork behind the altar and a gleaming golden tabernacle were certainly striking, but the dark gray interior (limestone? concrete?), the fairly new (and faux?) wood flooring, and discomfortingly ugly stations of the cross were anything but. Stained glass windows, depicting monotonous patterns, were too small and disproportionate to the size of the church. An odd-looking fully-clothed Jesus with outstretched arms glared out from behind the altar. Was this the crucifix? Thankfully, no, but it was a while before I spotted the actual crucifix suspended from the very high ceiling. Four paintings on either side of Fully-Clothed Jesus were brilliant in color - good, making them oddly out of sync with the rest of the church - bad. I would like to say that the abundance of minute, painted details on the ceiling had some redeeming value, but the choice of colors - baby blue, salmon pink, and ivory - again didn't sit well with me. There was something almost panhellenic . . . or Mayan . . . or harlequin-esque here. There was so much potential within St. Cecilia that the reality of what I was seeing left me disappointed and a little bit sad.

With that said, there were still a few positives at St. Cecilia. Situated in the balcony at the back of the church, I have no doubt that St. Cecilia's huge pipe organ is phenomenal. Even at this particular mass, it was pretty darn good. Also pretty darn good was the celebrating priest. An affable, easy-going guy, it was obvious that he was well-liked. His homily began with the story of his encounter that very morning with copper thieves outside of his window. As featured on the local news just a few days ago, thieves were once again at work, brazenly stealing copper downspouts from the church. He proudly displayed one of the salvaged downspouts which was met with much applause from the congregation. Sadly, however, he and the police were unable to save all of the church's copper fixtures. Other churches on the east side continue to battle the same - and very frustrating - problem.

In spite of its aesthetics - or lack thereof, my visit to St. Cecilia was a good one. It's not exactly convenient for me to attend mass there, but I wouldn't hesitate to visit again, and I think that says a lot about the parish . . . and maybe even about me. Am I finally learning to look beyond the physical?

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 50 minutes

What Happened To My Weekend?

Week Fifty-Four

So, I kind of thought that being with the fam was most important this weekend. Hence, the tour is on hiatus for a week . . . and hoping to resume next week.

Southbound

Week Fifty-Three - Mother of God (Covington)

11:30 Sunday morning mass, Mother of God. Located in Covington, Kentucky, Mother of God is almost 160 years old, so immediately, you know you're headed for great things. The exterior is grandiose, certainly making its presence known in a neighborhood of less intimidating row houses. A parking lot across the street included a statue of a head (yes, a head) on its perimeter, gazing up at the church. Neither my husband nor my son nor myself could determine exactly what kind of head it was - angel? lion? dementor? - but it was both delightfully amusing albeit a bit disturbing at the same time.

Opening the doors to Mother of God reminded me of the doors at the Cincinnati Art Museum - they're huge, and what's behind them was amazing. Mother of God is without a doubt the most ornate church I've been in to date (or, at least, tied with St. Monica-St. George). Everywhere you look - and I mean everywhere - is another meticulous detail. There's Latin. There's gold. There's columns. There's an abundance of trompe l'oeil. There's tiled floors. There's painting after painting after painting. And the stained glass windows? Oh, the windows. By far, the best I've seen. The size and detail is truly amazing. They're beautiful.

In spite of all the history and classic elegance, Mother of God was still oddly contemporary. A casual crowd strolled in on this particular Sunday morning. They were a chatty and neighborly bunch, raising the conversation volume considerably, so much so that during the call to worship, the lector invited everyone to pause for a moment in silence to prepare for the liturgy. The music was also contemporary and quite good. The occasional inclusion of trumpets should be employed more often. Their sound resonated in the church beautifully.

Sign language interpreters stationed at the front of the church served what appeared to be a number of hearing-impaired parishioners in the pews. It was a joy to see those parishioners "singing" along with their hands. It was even more touching to see quite a large number of other parishioners, including the priest, deacon, and music group, occasionally join in with the signing.

It looks like Mother of God has taken good care of itself and is continuing to do so. When we visited, a section of pews had been replaced with folding chairs. This must be the norm recently as the section we were in included beautifully restored (or new?) pews, new upholstery on the seats, and new carpeting under our feet. However, again, there was an odd oxymoron here as there were no kneelers. I'll just keep my fingers crossed that too many contemporary trends never detract from the grandeur and stateliness of this historic gem.

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: 1 hour, 10 minutes

One Year Later

Week Fifty-Two - Back to St. Ignatius

7:30 Sunday evening mass, St. Ignatius. Pressure from the family forced me back to the campsite this week. I've been to this mass a million times, and I still like it. Contemporary, young, casual. It's like the perfect fashion line in a eucharistic celebration.

Technically, the first anniversary of this whole church tour thing will be next week, but since I have very little to report about St. Ignatius - same priest, same music, same vapid decor - it seems the perfect opportunity to do a little reflecting on the past 52 weeks.

First, a few statistics for the year: 40 different churches attended, 26 Saturday afternoon/evening masses, 7 Sunday morning masses, 7 Sunday non-morning masses (who's definitely not a morning person?), 27 "Saint" churches (28 if you count St. Monica-St. George as two), 4 "Our Lady" churches, 3 sets of 2 churches with the same name, 1 church with a jumbotron. All of the churches have been in Ohio, but I definitely look forward to expanding across statelines.

My favorite church? It's hard to pick just one. I'm attracted to several of the churches I've been to just by virtue of their aesthetics. They are simply beautiful. Others have a certain intangible "vibe" about them, a positivity that leaves me happy and satisfied. My least favorite? Oh, yes. There have been a few churches that have certainly tried my patience, whether in the physical aspects of the church or the celebration of the mass. A few churches made me question the character of their parishioners. My opinions are no secret. They're all out there in the blog for anyone to read, but to now name those specific churches that fall into my discard pile? Sorry. In this entry, I plead the fifth.

Best part of the tour? Seeing a new church for the first time. Opening the doors to a new church for the first time. Walking into a new church for the first time. It's like opening a present. You just never know what you're going to find. Forrest Gump would reference a box of chocolates. Worst part? Not knowing where to park . . . and trying to snap a quick photo without drawing too many stares, especially the ones from my kids.

Have I learned anything? Well, it's become glaringly evident how very Catholic Cincinnati is. Last August, although I had no doubts about the strong Catholic heritage of Cincinnati, I really had no idea how many Catholic churches there are here. Suffice it to say that I completely underestimated. I love finding churches that I've never heard of, churches that I didn't even know existed. Now, as I extend my list into Northern Kentucky, I again have to admit, I had no idea how many Catholic churches there really are here. This "little" project could go on for quite a while yet.

But have I really learned anything? Uncovered some deep insight, some life-changing epiphany? Umm . . . no. I don't feel any different. My faith and my level of devotion haven't changed. I suppose the only thing that continues to strike me over and over is the universality of the Catholic church. No matter what physical church you're in or what mass you attend, we Catholics pray the same prayers, sing the same songs, and believe the same beliefs. Around the world - THE WORLD - the exact same mass is being celebrated in the exact same way by millions of people. It is an appreciation of that fact that has become more and more evident to me and made me feel like I am a part of something much bigger than I realized, a part of something great.

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: One hour

Filibuster

Week Fifty-One - Saint Michael

11:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Michael. Everything about this week's visit to St. Michael's Church in Sharonville was so unremarkable that I nearly forgot about making this blog entry. It was just that - forgettable. Not to fear, however. I've come to my senses and realized that I do have a few comments to share.

For whatever reason, stupid me expected St. Michael's to be a big, modern church. The reality was quite the opposite. Landlocked in the heart of downtown Sharonville, St. Michael's is a fairly large church, although large only as a result of the classic - and very obvious - "expansion" that happened at some point in the church's history - the ol' "Let's knock out part of a wall and add on a room" syndrome. They added on a room alright. Set at a 90 degree angle to the original church, its headache-inducing bright, white walls and skylight created such a sharp contrast to the rest of the church that the room virtually glowed.

Other than that, it seemed pretty obvious that very little has changed at St. Michael's over the years. Decor is dated . . . and somewhat unusual. A towering pyramid of nine large milk crate-like panels stands between the tabernacle and the altar and congregation. Not exactly a privacy fence - you can look right through it. Hardly a security measure - you can walk around it. What the heck? Not only did I not understand the rationale behind it, I found it incredibly distracting.

A small guitar group/choir provided the music. I felt bad for them, not because they were bad - on the contrary, I thought they were quite good - but because it was very difficult to hear them. Maybe it was a poor sound system or maybe it was just the way they were facing but I only heard a fraction of what seemed to be rather pleasant harmonies. The din of numerous whining and crying toddlers and children didn't help, but it was good to see so many young families at mass.

Mass at St. Michael's would have been tolerably bland except for one truly notable downfall. Hands down, the celebrating priest's homily takes the cake as the longest one I've heard so far. It went on and on and on foreeeevvveeerrr. Given his loud, clear voice, I initially was being good, paying attention, trying to digest what he was saying, but after what seemed like an eternity, I had no other choice but to begin contemplating what I was going to cook for dinner this week. The content of the homily was actually interesting, but the delivery was ridiculously repetitive. To make matters worse, he had a particular way of speaking that made every sentence sound like it was his last. As a result, his marathon homily continually led to the following thought sequence: "Oh, good, he's wrapping up. No, wait, there's more . . . Oh, good. NOW he's wrapping up . . . no, no, not yet." It really was cruel and unusual punishment. Ironically, this same priest later flew through the eucharistic prayer at record speed. Guess you have to make concessions somewhere. I'm just not convinced he was making concessions at the right spot.

The ennui of St. Michael's was offset by a tasty treat on the way home - the same one that we were denied after our Saint Susanna outing. A gallon of homemade root beer always make everything seem better.

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: 65 minutes

Bap-tholics

Week Fifty - Good Shepherd

4:00 Sunday afternoon mass, Good Shepherd. With the kids gone for the day and nothing on the agenda, this past Sunday presented a perfect opportunity to take the time to hit one of the churches a bit farther away. I was surprised to find a 4:00 Sunday afternoon mass at Good Shepherd, so Mr. Wonderful and I put the pedal to the metal and headed to Montgomery. Touted as a "contemporary" mass, I never doubted for a minute that what I was going to find at Good Shepherd would be anything less than contemporary. I completely underestimated.

Good Shepherd is a huge parish. Lots of acreage, a sprawling physical campus, and an extremely large worship space - it has to be to accomodate the 11,000+ parishioners (4000+ households). When all of these parishioners actually attend mass, however, remains unclear. Granted, our visit was made on a pleasant Sunday summer afternoon, but attendance was noticeably low. I can only assume the remaining five weekend masses pick up the slack, but still, last week's collection as indicated in the bulletin doesn't seem in sync with the census numbers. With almost twice the number of households as St. Ignatius and, more than likely, a higher average income bracket, shouldn't the collection basket yield at least double the income? Apparently not. Interesting.

Everything at Good Shepherd is set at sharp, crisp right angles and not in a particularly attractive way, at least for my tastes. My husband and I passed through a pagoda-like entrance into a foyer that was more like the lobby of a movie theater. If there had been a concession stand, I wouldn't have looked twice. When we finally found the sanctuary, there was a pause, a brief moment of genuine disbelief. "What is this?" my husband asked. "I would say this is where Catholicism meets Protestantism," I replied.

I truly couldn't believe what I was seeing. In a room the shape of a right triangle, rows and rows and rows of what I call "waiting room chairs" faced the altar. There were no kneelers, of course, but here's the best part: high above the altar and on either side of the altar were - wait for it - The Big Screens, three of them to be exact. I fully expected to see Robert Schuller to come walking out. My husband later revealed that he was expecting Joel Osteen. I felt nauseous. I felt uneasy. Mass hadn't even started, and I wanted to leave. This was something I wasn't expecting at all, just as I wasn't expecting the slideshow of ever-so-meaningful pictures during mass or the jumbotron display of words to the songs. It was just so . . . so . . . tacky. Even My Husband the Heathen agreed, arguing that their efforts made everything so cheap, so theatrical - but without the theater. (For a brief moment, I almost countered with the argument that there really is no better theater than a man changing bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, but this really wasn't the time.)

According to Good Shepherd's website, this particular mass is meant to "spread the word to those who have left the Church in order to find a more upbeat contemporary worship service elsewhere." Hmm. Like The Vineyard? I think they have upbeat "worship services." Last time I checked, I was still attending masses. "At Good Shepherd, you can clap or wave your hands to the music . . . in a lively worship space." Okay, I saw a few people clapping their hands but only one hand waver. Frankly, there just wasn't much at all that I would call lively. A clearly un-lively dimming of the lights for a musical reflection after communion came off as . . . well . . . hokey.

Unfortunately, I think the music group was a large part of the problem. I've heard wonderful contemporary performances time and time again by a group of high school and college students that far surpasses what I heard at Good Shepherd. There was something grating in their peformance. I'm not sure what the specific problem might have been - vocals? accompaniment? - but whatever it was was also compounded by a poor sound system. Overall, this "vibrant worship experience" was just trying too hard to be something it wasn't. This was not the Hour of Power.

Ironically, my husband and I had planned on stopping for dinner on the way home after mass. If we had been smart, we could have saved a few dollars had we taken advantage of Good Shepherd's monthly "Fellowship in the Front Foyer" held on the day we visited. This month, the event had a colorful "beach" theme. Dedicated parishioners were serving sloppy joes, fruit kabobs, salt water taffy, and drinks to anyone ready to eat. A craft project that involved decorating flip-flops was offered to the kids. My Husband the Heathen snagged a large cookie on the way out. I didn't have the heart to tell him he had missed the Coronas chilling in a large tub of ice . . . and what surely would have been another moment of disbelief.

ATTENDANCE: Less than half full

DURATION: One hour