Take Me to the River

Week Thirty-Two - Saint Rose

7:00 Saturday evening mass, St. Rose. I'll say it straight out - I can't wait to go back to St. Rose. This week's outing was near perfect in every way. The history, the view, the aesthetics of the church, the efficiency of the mass. Oh, where to start . . .

St. Rose, located on the river in the East End, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. While the exterior isn't much to see (except for the flood marker on the back of the church - see photo below), the interior ranks right up there with the best of them. There's a lot to look at inside of the not-so-very-big St. Rose Church. A few of the impressively oversized stations of the cross are inaccessible simply due to the high volume of . . . stuff. I counted almost twenty statues at one point (with the girls in a narrow lead in the statue battle of the sexes). Gargoyle-like angels kept watch over everyone, set between tall stained glass windows, one of which, according to My Husband the Heathen, included a profile pic of "Jesus on a t-shirt". Sigh.

At the front of the center aisle, the hardwood floor included an inlaid wooden picture of a rose. Nice. The dome above the altar mimicked a starry night. Very cool. There was also a painting above the altar of a thimble with two needles and thread, symbols of Saint Rose. I didn't know that, of course, until I got home and looked into it. That bit of research led to further reading about Saint Rose that left me a bit disturbed - I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say, she was . . . umm . . . extreme. Yikes.

Okay, so here we have a historic church, built in 1867, embodying anything and everything of a traditional Catholic church. Would someone then please explain to me the marquee lights outlining each and every arch over each and every altar? There were lights outlining crosses. There were lights around the tabernacle. There were even lights outlining the halo on the statue of Mary. There were so many lights. Clearly a feature unique to St. Rose, I can't say I disliked them though. On the contrary, I actually liked them. Tacky? Maybe, but they were pretty. I had read about the lights at St. Rose and knew they were coming, but, as a St. Rose newcomer, they still catch you off-guard and grab your attention when they're first turned on.

Had it not been for the gospel reading of the Passion (Palm Sunday), this mass would have been over fairly quickly. With organ accompaniment, only an opening and closing song were sung. Efficiency in everything was obvious. Perhaps that's part of the draw to St. Rose because this mass was very crowded and left several individuals standing when the pews had filled. On the other hand, I also sensed a certain "cool factor" being at St. Rose. The only locals here were the locals from the pricey new riverside condos down the street. The yuppies, the preppies, the Burberry - they were all here. It was a nice crowd though and a mixed one really - families, seniors, the whole gamut.

Bottom line - St. Rose is now my new favorite church. Hmm, wonder if I can convince the family to hit up the Easter Vigil at St. Rose next Saturday?

ATTENDANCE: Crowded

DURATION: 55 minutes (with a lengthy gospel)

Double-Crossed Forever

Week Thirty-One - A Brief Hiatus

I'm taking a quick detour this weekend for a private mass at my son's school. Very nice.

In the Spotlight

Week Thirty - Saint Jude

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Jude. The interior of St. Jude kind of has a Sacred Heart (Fairfield) feel to it, only on a much bigger, wider, taller scale. Aesthetically, it's much more appealing as well. So, in summary, it's kind of the same, only different. Sigh. Nevermind.

First impression? Wow, this place is big. An almost-semi-circle, it is much more wide than it is deep. The decor really is aesthetically pleasing. Dark wood, dark brick, subdued lighting, and just the right amount and placement of stained glass. For a more contemporary church, it's quite pretty. Unfortunately, my daughter pointed out the numerous theater spotlights trained on the altar as well as on the crucifix behind the altar. Their now-obvious presence was suddenly distracting, not only to the eye but to the mood. My earthen-toned sanctuary had become a stage, and a theme had been launched that would, in fact, be carried out over the next hour.

Basically, there was quite a bit to see at St. Jude. For one, the woman a few rows up wearing a coat emblazoned with large black and white panda bears. Wow. You don't see that much. Stationed slightly off-center from the altar was a sign-language interpreter. I was fascinated. Call me shallow, call me sheltered, but when the woman's head in front of me wasn't in the way, I couldn't look away. Programs for the weekend's masses were placed at the end of each pew. (See?! Programs!) The cantor was a young girl all of twelve years old. Seriously. And she was good! When I got a closer look at her while waiting in line to receive communion, I decided that she may have teetered dangerously on the brink of "precocious," but I have to hand it to her. There has to be very few children who can stand at the lectern before a full house and lead them in song - complete with the "it's-your-turn-to-sing" hand motion and a few Latin items. I got the feeling that the organist was her dad. They had a couple of nice duets worked out.

Unfortunately, in spite of the music ministry's best efforts, it was weird - virtually no one in the congregation sang. Not the songs, not the responses, nothing. It was eerily quiet in the bulk of the church as the dad-daughter duo and two other individuals tried their hardest to rally the troops . . . to no avail. Maybe it was the "stage effect" again - "Oh, there's audience participation? I thought we were just here for the matinee." Yeah, there was a definite disconnect with the . . . well . . . audience that could be improved on.

I felt another disconnect while receiving communion. I stepped up to the distributor, and the host was in my hand. No "Body of Christ". Nothing. I think I gave an awkward "Amen" although I'm not sure to what. I definitely didn't get my slight head bow in, my one uninhibited gesture of reverence. It all happened so fast.

Nonetheless, I kind of liked it at St. Jude. There were a lot of people at the mass, including a few in the balcony and a few standing. There were families and children and seniors. The priest didn't waste time on a lot of things but kept the show, I mean mass moving. A large statue of St. Therese didn't hurt either. I just might go back.

ATTENDANCE: Full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Vanilla

Week Twenty-Nine - Saint Margaret Mary

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Margaret Mary. I wasn't particularly looking forward to attending mass at St. Margaret Mary. I had already been there several times, both for weekend masses and for a wedding, although all of the above were several years ago. Still, I knew what was coming, and it wasn't something I could get very excited about. I envisioned St. Margaret Mary's church not only unchanged from when I had last been there, but unchanged from when it had been built in the late 1950's/early 1960's . . . and I was right.

Present-day St. Margaret Mary brings back memories of my childhood - way back when, sitting in a church that looked very similar. Yes, it's that dated. Something of a large cavernous arena, I'm sure it was a beautiful church upon completion, one to be proud of at the time, and there's still nothing really wrong with it - except for the aesthetics. Everything is liturgical retro, circa 1960. If you put a positive spin on it, I suppose you could call it "contemporary." Lots of plain wood in minimalist designs. The requisite stained glass windows are there, several of them, in fact, but they depict nothing more than misshapen squares and rectangles. The stations of the cross are pretty cool, each individually lit by a lamp that might be found only in the most trendy of home decor shops today. Maybe at St. Margaret Mary, they're just going on the adage that "if you keep anything long enough, it will come back in style."

Dominating the church is the crucifix behind the altar. This baby is HUGE. Jesus is beyond life-size. Seriously. He must be ten feet tall. I came into the church via a door at the front of the sanctuary (awkward - all eyes on me), so the first thing I saw was this mammoth cross. Sweet Jesus, that is one. big. crucifix.

I was amused by the placement of the hymnals in the book racks on the backs of the pews. Glancing across the sea of pews (there were a lot of them), I noticed a definite pattern that was never broken - the "Gather" hymnal was always placed horizontally in the rack, the "Breaking Bread" hymnal was always placed vertically. Whoa. Was this some sort of St. Margaret Mary secret code? A clue as to which hymnal was which without ever having to read the title on the spine? Hmmm, pretty shrewd bunch, those North College Hillians. Even craftier was singing the closing song before the closing prayers, a sly move on St. Margaret Mary's part that kept the serial early-leavers in church just a few minutes longer than normal.

It was mostly the senior set in attendance. I spotted only one child, and oddly, I believe I may have gone to high school with his mother, but of course, after some 30+ years, one never can be sure about these things. There was a nice older couple directly in front of me. She sang every word to every song and prayed every word of every prayer. She followed along with the mass via her own little black prayer book. When it was time for the Our Father, she took her husband's hand in one of hers and turned back to me to take my hand as well. I wasn't sure if she did so because there was no one else in her pew to reach to or if she felt sorry for me, seeing that I was by myself. I didn't have a problem with her gesture, but I have a feeling that, given her firm grasp on my hand, there would have been no room for discussion on the matter even if I had.

ATTENDANCE: More empty than full. About one-third full.

DURATION: 55 minutes