5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Al's on the Ohio . . . Ohio River, that is, and yes, that is Kentucky over there. How weird it is to go to a church a fairly significant distance from your home and still see five or six people that you know - none of whom belong to that church either. That's exactly what happend at St. Al's this week. Doesn't anyone go to their own parish anymore? I'm fairly certain that no one else is in the midst of a I'm Trying-To-Go-To-Every-Church-In-Cincinnati project, so it seems that attending Sunday mass has become a personal commitment strongly determined by convenience. Not necessarily a bad thing . . . and certainly a good thing when compared to not going at all. Just an observation. Attending mass at St. Al's made me feel like I was in a scene out of "The Waltons." Although I strongly suspect that a Catholic church on Walton's Mountain was never really an option, the opening song, "How Great Thou Art," took me back to the mountain right away. St. Al's church is very small, small enough that the servers actually extended a sign of peace to everyone sitting at the end of every pew. St. Al's is also fairly simple - four votive candles on the altar, one on the lectern, and one on either side of the tabernacle. Except for a carpeted center aisle, the floors were concrete, and the pews reminded me of . . . park benches. Large stained glass windows on both sides of the church were not particularly attractive given their majority of plain green glass. (Green is just not a good church color.) However, beautiful stained glass windows ringing the top of the dome over the altar more than compensated, each depicting one of four saints and/or popes, I wasn't sure which. The front of the actual altar showcased the last supper. I couldn't tell if it was a flat painting or something more, so I was disappointed when I didn't get a closer look when we were directed to the back of the church to receive communion. Notably, I really liked the priest, an older man with a great, easy-going presence. His homily, although a bit long, was excellent.
There was also an abundance of shiny, painted, pastel statues. The one taking center stage above the tabernacle, what appeared to be a large altar boy, really threw me. I didn't get it. An altar boy? Who is this so-called "altar boy"? A quick search on the internet enlightened me. Shocker - it's Saint Aloysius. Okay, I feel stupid. I really have to do my research before I go to these places. On Altar Boy Al's right were two smaller matching statues of the same person, and on his left were two other smaller matching statues of another person. Large shiny, ceramic angels flanked the altar. One had orange hair. The whole effect was like being in a Jewish grandmother's house filled with big ceramic tchotchkes.
The highlight of the visit was the expression on the faces of my children when one of their grade school teachers innocently took a seat in the pew in front of them. A curmudgeonly, older man, his teaching style and legendary classroom quotes have lovingly earned him his own fan page on Facebook. Somehow, the kids were spared the awkwardness of any interaction with him, but the whole situation added a certain element of . . . suspense to the time we spent at St. Al's. Priceless.
ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full
DURATION: 55 minutes
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