Brickhouse

Week Seventy - Saint Bartholomew

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Bartholomew.  It was an uneventful outing this week with a trip to Finneytown and St. Bart's.  Years ago, I attended weekend mass at St. Bart's fairly frequently, back when they still offered a Sunday evening liturgy.  Unfortunately, that Sunday night mass is no longer an option - there really are very few of them these days - so Saturday afternoon it was.

St. Bart's is basically a big shoebox, a tall, wide rectangle with seating arranged in a semi-circle around the altar.  It is a shoebox built of bricks, lots and lots and lots of bricks.  If nothing else, it's a sturdy church.  Decor is very minimal and basic . . . and fairly dated.  Nothing has probably changed here since the church was constructed in the 1960's.  It's not a bad look - it could be worse, but it definitely showcases the style of a certain time.  

As five o'clock approached, I began to wonder if I had the time of the mass right as there were so few people in the pews .  As usual, it was me and the seniors.  It was only minutes before five that more people began to arrive.  Most annoying, it was well after mass started that many more arrived.  One family came in during the gospel; one took a seat during the homily.  It was only these late-comers that really filled in the seats in the church.  Had it not been for them, the mass would have been nearly empty.  Well-intentioned?  Maybe.  Rude?  Hmmmm.  I did see rude taken to a whole new level when a woman got up during the homily, walked to the back of the church, and returned with a bulletin which she promptly began reading.  It was an assisting deacon delivering the homily at this mass, something I'm never entirely happy with myself. With all due respect to the deacons out there, when it comes to homilies, I'm sure that what they have to say - or in this case, read (grrrr) - is certainly as valid and insightful as what the presiding priest might offer, but there's something that just seems . . . awkward about it.  It's the understudy filling in for the lead.  It's like having your next-door neighbor preach to you . . . oh wait, it is your neighbor.  Nonetheless, this woman's actions were inexcusable and embarrassing.   

It was an interesting crowd at St. Bart's. Justin Bieber was there . . . or at least a boy who thought he was Justin Bieber.  He had the hair flip down.  I loved the twins who were there.  Not just any twins but two women clearly in their "senior" years.  They were identical as identical can be - same style of dress, same height, same hair, same glasses, same face.  Adorable.

I was disappointed in my trip to St. Bart's on one major point - the music.  It's not that the music was bad.  In fact, it was quite nice, nothing bad about it.  Twenty years ago, however, St. Bart's music director was the same man who provided the music for our wedding.  I loved hearing this gentleman sing, and I had hoped he would still be there.  No such luck - at least, not at this mass.  Rats.  I felt a little better though when I spotted a Charlie Brown Christmas tree - complete with one single red ornament - on top of the organ.  That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

ATTENDANCE:  About one-third

DURATION:  One hour