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
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