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.
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