Sweatin' to the Oldies

Week Forty-Nine - Saint Lawrence

7:00 Sunday evening mass, St. Lawrence. Location, location, location. This particular location being on Warsaw Avenue in Price Hill, deep in the heart of Price Hill. So much so that, being the wimp that I am, I recruited My Husband the Heathen to accompany me. Let's be honest here, people. Price Hill just ain't what it used to be. Granted, upon arrival, we discovered a nice, big parking lot adjacent to the church; plus, had I been aware of the sizable crowd that attended this mass, I might have sucked it up and taken this one on my own, but I still can't help but think that some of my suspicions were confirmed. The first thing we noticed upon arrival was a Cincinnati policeman walking the beat around the church . . . and the church parking lot . . . where the cruiser was very conspicuously parked. Oh sure, he helped direct traffic after mass, but he was definitely making a statement before mass as well.

St. Lawrence is an imposing church. It's big, it's hulking, and once you're in Price Hill, it's unavoidable. With that being said, I expected something truly magnificent on the inside, and yes, it was all there - the soaring ceiling, the arches, the stained glass windows, the coolest stations of the cross to date. A gorgeous copper ceiling in the entryway was a showstopper, but something was still amiss here, and the only thing I could put my finger on was the choice of colors. Who in their right mind paints a church, this church, any church, yellow and dark pink? Seriously. There's so much potential there. Someone call Artworks and let them go crazy with a mural or something because this church deserves better than mustard and catsup.

Moving on . . . to the most prominent point of discussion for the week: the heat. Temperatures consistently in the 90's have combined with high humidity to create a sweltering summer sauna of crazy-hot days and just-as-hot nights. Air-conditioning is a must, and as we all know, all churches are air-conditioned these days, right? Wrong. After first noticing Cincinnati's finest on patrol, the second thing my husband and I noticed when pulling up to St. Lawrence was the front doors of the church - wide open. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn't. That's right, kids. We're doing this one old school. Open up those windows and bring out the fans because air-conditioning isn't on the menu tonight.

Was it hot? Was it hot. Hotter than hell. You would think a place that big with ceilings that high would maintain some sense of decency when it comes to temperature but apparently not. I didn't know they still made six-foot oscillating fans, but there they were, strategically placed in each of the four corners of the church in a desperate attempt to cool this baby down. With each fan blowing at full power, it was only natural - and fairly amusing - to watch the congregation congregate more densely in each of those corners than anywhere else in the church.

How was the priest going to celebrate mass in this heat, I wondered. Those vestments have to be hot at any time of year, but this seemed downright dangerous. At the altar, the flames of the candles were still. Translation: no benefit of fans up there. After a lovely tolling of the bells to signal both the call to mass as well as the time of day, mass began. There was no music, no singing, and certainly no hesitation on the part of the priest. For the first time, I can include an entire homily in my entry: "The first reading was about perseverence. Let us persevere. Winter will be here soon. Please stand for the creed." Most of us hadn't even hit the pew before being asked to stand. Priceless.

On one of the hottest weeks of the year, this large sweltering church had pulled in a full house. Older couples, large families, teens. The whole Catholic spectrum was there. Certainly the majority of these folks knew about the lack of air-conditioning at St. Lawrence just as they certainly knew how high the mercury had risen this past week. So what gives? Why voluntarily subject yourself to the heat? Was it the convenience of the time of the mass? Or was it a trade-off between withstanding the discomfort for half an hour for squeezing in the fastest mass in town? I'm not convinced of a strong showing by strictly registered parishioners at this particular mass since I spotted our previous next-door neighbors there, old friends who now reside in Harrison. Hmmm. Is this mass always so efficient? Is that the draw? There were so many variables here that a do-over might be in order.

Nonetheless, within 30 minutes, mass was over, and we were out of there. On the way home, we came within minutes of Resurrection and drove directly past St. Theresa of Avila both of whom offer a 7:30 Sunday evening mass. It was all I could do not to stop at either of them and make this a two-for-one weekend. Now that would have been something to write about.

ATTENDANCE: Full

DURATION: 30 minutes

If You're Happy and You Know It . . .

Week Forty-Eight - Our Lady of the Rosary

11:30 Sunday morning mass, Our Lady of the Rosary. That's right. Stop the presses. I was up early on a Sunday morning and headed to mass, this week at Our Lady of the Rosary in Greenhills. It wasn't exactly "over the river and through the woods." It was more like, "over the lake and through the woods." Winton Woods, that is.

I tend to have certain churches that I'm not particularly looking forward to visiting. Usually, I imagine those churches being of a certain baby-boomer model with few, if any, updates. I envision the stereotypical Catholics, middle-aged suburbanites, slowly filing in for mass with minimal interest or enthusiasm for being there, catatonic if you will. They've done this same thing for the past 50 years - why change now. My image of Our Lady of the Rosary definitely fell into that category, but hey, "it was on the list," and now was as good a time as any to "get it over with" and cross it off the list. Well, this humble reporter is happily surprised to tell you that her preconceptions about Our Lady of the Rosary were wrong, very wrong. In fact, as I lick the crow off my fingers, I have to admit that I liked it enough that, yes, I would even go back.

On the outside, the smallish OLR was well-kept. I would even call it attractive, cute. Of course, inside, it still really wasn't anything to write home about - cinder block never is, but it was better than what I had expected. It reminded me of Little Flower Church on a smaller (and less Mayan) scale. I was troubled by my inability to find any statues, including statues of Mary and Joseph. A sacred snub. Can they do that? It was a quiet church what with wall-to-wall carpeting, padded kneelers, padded pews (seats and backs), padded hymnal racks. If they can rally the financial troops, I would definitely recommend new windows; the current ones were clearly showing their age.

Most notably and without a doubt, however, Our Lady of the Rosary takes the prize for friendliest parish. Not only friendly, but the people actually seemed excited about being there. As I sat in my pew, waiting for mass to start, a voice greeted me from behind and a hand was extended in my direction. It was the pastor, going up and down the aisles, shaking hands and saying hello to everyone in the church. Normally, I would have found this kind of thing unnecessary, if not annoying, but he seemed genuinely welcoming . . . and he had a kind face . . . or maybe I was just in a tolerant mood. Whatever. An introductory a capella song performed by three young girls was met with applause when they finished. Not sure about the applause, but it was a nice gesture, albeit a little out of place. When a young boy, only about 12 years old or so, sang the responsorial psalm solo while standing at the lectern, I held my breath waiting for another round of applause. Thankfully, it didn't come although I wouldn't have minded if it had - that kid had guts.

I was literally startled by the lector when he began the mass with a rousing "WEL-come to Our LAAAA-dy of the RO-sary Church!!!" I'm not sure how to translate to print the actual manner in which he said those words, but think "major league baseball announcer." Put the emphasis on certain syllables, drag them out in the appropriate places, vary your pitch, and add a lot of volume. You get the idea. It was almost comical, but like I said, these folks were excited to be there, this guy most of all apparently. "Take a moment to greet those around you." Oh no, not the Meet n' Greet. I'm not kidding - it went on for a good three or four minutes. This was a virtual liturgical happy hour. People were greeting people five or six rows away. They were greeting people on the other side of the church. I was greeted by people just passing by in the aisle as they took their seats. "Our celebrant this morning is our pastor! FA-ther HELM-lingerrrrrrrr." Play ball.

Don't even get me started on the love fest that took place at the Our Father. Suffice it to say that these were happy people, definitely happy people, and that made Our Lady of the Rosary a happy place. My Sunday morning efforts were well-rewarded. Plaudits, OLR. Plaudits.

ATTENDANCE: Half full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Perfect Timing

Week Forty-Seven - Saint Vincent de Paul

3:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Vincent de Paul. When I asked My Husband the Heathen if he wanted to go to St. Vincent de Paul with me, his response was a look of confusion. "The store?" he asked. Honest mistake since I had never heard of St. Vincent de Paul, the church, either, but there it was, plain as day, on my list of churches in the St. Lawrence Deanery. Any church next to the river on a beautiful summer's day was tempting enough on its own, but St. Vincent de Paul's 3:00 Saturday afternoon mass cinched the deal.

I took my time getting to SVDP - after all, if I didn't know about this church, surely not many others would either, right? As I turned onto River Road, however, I quickly realized my blatant faux pas when I spied a line of cars waiting to turn into the church's parking lot - still well ahead of the 3:00 starting time. I should have learned from my St. Louis experience - in a Catholic weekend filled with a plethora of masses, the earliest possible Saturday afternoon mass is always the place to be. Honestly. Why don't more churches do this? The people have spoken. Give us what we want, finish your day early, and as a bonus, (let's be honest here) recognize this time slot as the real moneymaker it has the potential to be. How hard can it be?

I snagged a parking spot, albeit an awkard one, parallel to the river but on a 45 degree slant. After a ridiculous struggle just to get out of the car without killing myself or taking out the car next to me, my daughter and I started in among the throngs of the faithful - just as one of her friends pulled in. She and I laughed over the hilarious coincidence of running into him at the most random of places while he frantically advised us to hurry in so we would get a seat. Oh great - this whole outing was turning into a three-ring circus at warp speed.

Thankfully, we did get a seat, but it was, in fact, one of the few remaining. Our seat was in a pew, there were the stations of the cross on the walls, and somewhere towards the front of the church, I could see a tabernacle, but beyond those few items, there was nothing churchlike here. The external appearance of SVDP was completely out of sync with what was on the inside. A dropped ceiling and fluorescent lights immediately left you with the feeling that you were in a meeting hall, not a church. In short, this was definitely the bargain basement of churches, and I have a sneaking suspicion that yelling "Bingo!" here would not be entirely out of line.

With pillars and people and the placement of every aspect of the church on the same level, neither my daughter nor myself, nor I assume most of the people there, could even see the altar. The presiding priest, who did not process in, was a mere voice coming through the sound system. I did manage to spot him once, but my daughter never caught a glimpse of him at all. One woman, two rows in front of us, was directly behind a pillar, and I mean, directly behind a pillar. When she knelt, the pillar was literally inches from her face. Speaking of kneeling, something was out of proportion at SVDP - either the backs of the pews were too tall or the kneelers were too low, but the possibility of resting your elbows/forearms on the pew in front of you while kneeling was, well, an impossibility. My arms were so far up in the air when trying to do so the blood started to drain from my hands. My shoulders were up around my ears. I thought that maybe it was just me, but then I caught a glimpse of a few others in the crowd who were noticeably in the same predicament. Just an observation. Anyhoo, at the distribution of communion, I finally got a chance to see what was up front only to realize that there was really nothing worth looking for - an altar, a lectern, and the requisite statues of Mary and Joseph. "Plain" would be an understatement.

And yet, there was something about SVDP that I liked. Missalettes in large print? Yes, that was something. The music was nice - two younger women, singing quite beautifully to their own keyboard accompaniment, and any 35 minute mass always gets brownie points in my book, but there was still something more. In retrospect, I truly think it was a certain cameraderie among the congregation. I felt like I had stumbled upon a west-side secret. Here was this little inconspicuous church . . . nothing fancy . . . nothing pretentious . . . doesn't even have a website, and yet it was . . . cool. I'm in on the secret . . . and I like it.

ATTENDANCE: Standing room only

DURATION: 35 minutes

Memory Lane

Week Forty-Six - Saint Ann (Groesbeck)

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ann. I was baptized at St. Ann's. I attended grade school at St. Ann's. I made my First Communion at St. Ann's. Both of my parents' funerals were at St. Ann's. History? I'd say so. Long story short - I grew up at St. Ann's. Then why does it feel so foreign to me?

The best answer to that question is this: my fondest memories of St. Ann's are of a church radically different from the current church - both physically and spiritually. I remember communion rails and a long center aisle between rows of light-colored pews. I remember Father Lunn, the founding pastor, notorious for stepping on the altar boys' toes if they weren't serving properly. I remember chapel veils and a lack of air-conditioning - and the accompanying huge fans used in the summer to try to cool the church down. I remember little Sister John Michael playing the organ off on the side. The list goes on and on.

In 1980, a few years after my prime time at St. Ann's, a completely renovated church was dedicated. It took several minutes to convince my daughter that the chairs we were sitting in were actually located in what used to be the school cafeteria. The church, which had been situated north-south, was reoriented to lie east-west and was designed in a contemporary style, including, most notably, individual chairs surrounding a simple, unadorned altar. The mere revelation of the plans for the new church caused an upheaval among the faithful which ultimately led to more than a few parishioners breaking away from St. Ann's. I recall that, among so many other disagreements, for some reason, there was a big to-do about the proposed lights - lights which have ironically been replaced again since then, just as the church itself has been renovated again since then.

Currently, St. Ann's is still a contemporary church, and frankly, there's really not much to it. Individual chairs, individual kneelers. A very plain, if not ugly, altar - possibly the ugliest I've seen to date. Off to the side is one single statue of the holy family, including grandma, St. Ann. Look to where the choir might be seated and you will see where the church's original altar used to be. Two token stained glass windows behind the altar were placed in an unfortunate west-side location for summer afternoon masses. The sun shone brightly through the windows creating silhouettes of those presiding over the mass as well as pinpointing them in the baking sunlight. They had to be hot since the church on a whole was none too cool on this hot Saturday afternoon. Oh! Maybe that's why half of the congregation left immediately after communion. Ouch.

Bottom line: I barely recognize this church anymore, and yet there are still a few familiarities - mainly in the faces. I see parents of a few of my grade school classmates - classmates who I haven't seen since grade school. Neighbors from the street I grew up on are there - although they usually attend St. Ignatius Church these days. Hmmm. Oh, look - there's another family that we're friends with - who belong to St. James' parish. And the presiding priest . . . is from St. Ignatius. The lines are getting a little blurry here, folks.

ATTENDANCE: Mostly full

DURATION: One hour