Family Ties

Week Fifty-Six - St. Martin of Tours

11:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Martin. So, I'm in a funk. A church funk. They're all starting to look the same, sound the same, smell the same. Frankly, I'm not sure what to look for anymore, and I sure as hell don't know what to write. Have I seen it all? Have I said it all? To quote Peggy Lee, "Is that all there is?"

Truth be told, I have a sneaking suspicion that this week's visit was a hump that I just needed to get over. No offense, St. Martin's, but I just wasn't looking forward to visiting your church. I feel bad saying that. After all, my parents were married there over 50 years ago. My mother attended St. Martin's grade school, and I have vivid memories of going to mass there with both her and my grandmother when I was a child. Unfortunately, I think that last one is where the problem lies. Those memories recall long, boring masses in a church so big there wasn't even a remote possibility for any warmth in or connection to the liturgy. I don't know. Maybe that was just the way things were back then, especially for a ten-year old. Nonetheless, here I was, 40 years later, dreading that same feeling of distance I had felt so long ago, a feeling of invisibility - and boredom - in a church so large I might as well be a fly on the wall. Wait. Hold on. Shouldn't I be looking forward to the very type of mass I was now actually dreading? Anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis knows by now that I clearly value my personal space and privacy at mass. Nothing better than having a whole pew to yourself, right? It's a fine line. I like my space, but I still want to feel like I'm both contributing something and receiving something back - in my own private way, of course. I want to be part of the choir . . . just in the back row . . . in a "company role."

Anyways, with no better time than a quiet Sunday morning to get over the hump, I was off to downtown Cheviot to take care of business. Things got off to a rocky start when I arrived for the much-published 11:00 mass, only to find out the correct mass time was 11:30. Shoot. Had I checked the parish website, I would have gotten it right, but The List had been compiled using an alternate source of info . . . and I didn't check. My early arrival turned out to actually be a good thing, however. My first entrance into the church quickly revealed how bitterly cold it was in there. Noooo problem. Pleeeeenty of time to go back to the car to get a sweater . . . and a photograph which I was unable to snag on the first drive-by . . . and a better parking spot. I spent a few more minutes in the car reading the bulletin . . . and warming up.

Second attempt. I just don't know what it is about St. Martin's. It's a big, beautiful church (even after controversial renovations several years ago). There are statues and arches and columns. You can find the entire Apostles' Creed on the ceiling above the altar. Beautiful stained glass windows depict the beatitudes. Impressive. I should like this church, I really should, but echoing my closing sentiments of last week, I think I'm beginning to move beyond the physical. After all these years, something is still remiss at St. Martin's. The music group was doing their best, playing quite well, in fact, but very, very few people in the crowd were singing. I saw only a handful even pick up a hymnal. The run-of-the-mill mass was celebrated by a priest who couldn't quite hold - or capture - my attention. Compounding the problem this week was an additional stewardship appeal. What luck.

St. Martin's strikes me as a cold church - literally and figuratively - and beyond a new thermostat, I'm not sure what the fix is. My memories are probably still clouding my vision, but this week, mass was merely a spectator sport.

ATTENDANCE: Slightly less than half

DURATION: One hour