A Wagon Wheel Christmas

Week One Hundred and Twenty-Three - St. Ignatius of Loyola

3:00 Christmas Eve mass, St. Ignatius.  Well, here goes nothing . . .

'Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was stirring, except for the mouse (because the cat had killed the mouse two nights earlier - true story).
The girls were still primping, while the boys tied their ties.
It was nearly one-thirty!  Time for three o'clock mass at St. I's!

Down the road they did travel, just a mile or so,
Looking forward to the chaos of the matinee show.
The Odyssey purred as they pulled in the lot
'Til Dad squealed the tires to nab the last spot.

The church was a vision in Christmas-toned hues,
While the visitors sprinted and haggled and wrestled for pews:
"That's my seat!" "I want it!" "Why can't we all fit?"
"Where's Grandma?" "Where's Grandpa?" "There's nowhere to sit!"
Several rows had been saved for the religiously late,
But our gang got a seat! - It was Christmas Eve fate!

The children were lined up at quarter past two
For their "piano recital" which started on cue.
They tickled the ivories . . . some more than others,
Temporarily blinded by their photo-snapping mothers.

'Twas a sigh of relief when the bells tolled at three
For the entrance procession led by Father Saint G.
He led with "MY FRIENDS . . " and then started to pray,
Desperately trying to put Christ back into this Christmas Day,
But the crowd was distracted; they lined the church walls.
The children kept busy with trucks, books, and dolls.
The doors were propped open to let in a breeze,
When the temp in the church reached one hundred degrees.
A lost lectionary caused an awkward delay,
And a few screaming children drew looks of dismay.
"And also with you" could be heard loud and clear,
From the "faithful" who make it to church once a year.

After that, things went well through the final "Amen."
Joy to the world!  It was only four-ten.
As one mass let out and another poured in,
The annual Monfort Heights gridlock kicked in.
Nothing says Christmas like honking your horn,
There would be no silence here on the night He was born.

Truth is, it was perfect, making memories so dear,
(And so, I'll just end this ridiculous nonsense and say . . . )

Happy holidays to all, and I'll see you next year.
 

ATTENDANCE:  Do you have to ask?

 

DURATION:  One hour, ten minutes

Secrets

Week One Hundred and Twenty-Two - Holy Family (Price Hill)

 

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, Holy Family.  Until I started this little project, I had never even heard of Holy Family Church, but this weekend, I pointed the mighty Honda Odyssey towards Price Hill and was delighted to discover a real treasure.  This is a church truly unlike any other I've been in. 

You won't find Holy Family Church on any of the main drags in Price Hill, that is, not on Glenway or Warsaw Avenues.  The church, the parish school, the rectory, and the gym encompass an entire block bordered by Hawthorne, West Eighth, Price, and Grand in a fairly residential neighborhood.  The original Holy Family Church was dedicated in 1884.  The current church, however, was built in 1916 at a cost of $175,000.  You won't believe what 175 grand got you a hundred years ago.  The building itself is impressive, but the artwork within is beyond comparison. 

In the dome above the altar, four stained glass windows represent the "four great sacrifices of the Old Testament" - Abel, Noah, Isaac by Abraham, and Melchizedek (I didn't know either) .  Additional windows in the church depict the five joyful mysteries of the rosary as well as other events in the life of the holy family.  Artwork completed eight years later, in 1924, includes an incredible series of paintings and trompe l'oeil - almost all of it on the huge dome above the main body of the church.  It was amazing just to sit beneath the dome.  Paintings of the twelve apostles along with the Apostles' Creed surround Christ the King at the center.  Between the center dome's columns, the eight beatitudes are included above portraits of eight additional saints.  Beautiful. 

I couldn't help but admire just about everything here.  The marble columns are adorned with gilded cherub faces looking down on the congregation.  There are symbols and references to countless doctrines and practices of the church everywhere you look.  The online history of Holy Family describes several things that I missed - the four cardinal virtues depicted at the corners of the center dome, the seven sacraments over the sanctuary dome, and paintings of the crucifixion, resurrection and ascension around the altar.  Two paintings at the front of the church have me stumped, however - one of a ship and one of what looked like . . . well . . . Alcatraz.  Curious.  The altar itself, although beautiful with its traditional white spires, was almost dwarfed by the magnificence of the rest of the church. 

The crowd at Holy Family was a mixed bunch as was the "choir."  One young girl, a few older women, a middle-aged man or two, and a white-haired senior gentleman provided adequate leadership for the hymns but a more notable amount of enthusiasm.  Judging by her animated singing, for one of the choir ladies, this was clearly the highlight of her week.  When the organist added her own personal touch to the closing song, "making it her own," it was both funny enough to make my daughter and me laugh but charming enough to keep us smiling.  We kept reenacting it for the rest of the night.
 
I couldn't be more sincere when I say, if you have a chance to visit Holy Family, do so because it really is something.  My Husband the Heathen hesitated about joining me for mass this weekend, but I promised him that it would most likely be "an oldie and a goodie."  We weren't disappointed.
    

ATTENDANCE:  One-fourth full

DURATION:  50 minutes

Make It Work

Week One Hundred and Twenty-One - Saint Ann (Hamilton)
 

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ann. For some reason, everytime I think I know where I'm headed for mass, my plans change at the last minute. Exhibit A: This Weekend. With every intention of heading to Kentucky, I somehow ended up in Hamilton.  I know, I know.  Cue the jokes.  Anyhoo . . .  
     

My husband and I found St. Ann Church with little difficulty as it, like every other establishment of any worth in Hamilton(!), lies on Pleasant Avenue.  The few times I've been to Hamilton have always been via the same route - north on Hamilton/Pleasant Avenue. It's a drive that cracks me up everytime, mainly because of its countless small businesses. It's so much fun just to read their names aloud, and seeing that the "DOG KENNEL" I had passed on other trips was, in fact, actively selling Christmas trees this time really made the trip.  
     
St. Ann's parish was organized in 1909 to serve a growing population in Lindenwald, just south of Hamilton.  The current church, the second for the parish, was consecrated in 1938, and it really is beautiful.  The rich, warm interior colors of the church are possibly the best I've seen.  Indiana limestone dominates the structure, but even more impressive woodwork can be found everywhere - the back of the altar (the "reredos" - who knew?), the organ screens, the side chapels.  The tall, narrow stained glass windows at St. Ann really aren't my style, but these particular windows are striking in the predominance of blues, greens, and grays.  The stations of the cross are carved into one-inch slabs of limestone and blend in beautifully with the walls to which they are affixed.  An incredible amount of detail can be found on the ceiling.  Only after reading the online history of the church did I find out that this detail is, in fact, the Apostles' Creed.  As I approached the altar to receive communion, I was struck by the beauty of the sanctuary - a black and white tiled floor, ornate carpeting, and, oh-that-woodwork.  It's . . . well . . . breathtaking. 

Fortunately, the beauty of the church wasn't dampened by a ho-hum mass.  I had high hopes for a big, bad organ in the balcony of St. Ann, but no such luck.  At this mass, it was a standard upright and hymns I had never heard of.  Apparently, no one else had heard of them either as there was very little participation during the mass from the congregation.  A rosary being prayed before mass got a bigger response. 
  
The celebrating priest bore an uncanny likeness to Tim Gunn, a likeness I couldn't ignore for the duration of the mass.  I adore Tim Gunn, but thankfully, this priest's mannerisms only mimicked Tim when it came to adjusting his wire glasses.  How odd, however, to hear a voice other than Tim's coming out of a body that so closely resembled his.  

"This worries me . . . "

ATTENDANCE: Two-thirds full 

DURATION:  55 minutes

Tour Detour

Week One Hundred and Twenty - The Spirit of Christmas

Off The Tour this week, which isn't to say that I didn't go to church.  On the contrary, I did go to church - several of them, in fact.  I was lucky enough this week to win two tickets to The Spirit of Christmas Tour offered by American Legacy Tours.  Offered on selected Saturday mornings in December, this particular tour is a two-hour stroll through the Gateway Quarter of Over-the-Rhine, highlighting a few of the many churches there.  The perfect weather on Saturday and our open schedule made it a no-brainer for me and my husband to put our winnings to good use, and what a treat it was! 

Among the active parishes our group visited were the First Lutheran Church on Race Street (where I got to ring the church bell!), Nast Trinity United Methodist Church,  Prince of Peace Lutheran Church, and Saint Francis Seraph and Friary.  Saint Francis definitely was the highlight of the tour, not just as far as the beauty of the church's sanctuary, but because the brothers welcomed us into their private residence.  There, we could wander at our own pace, discovering treasures around every corner - a miniature Dickens village in their dining room, a hallway lined with nativity sets from around the world, a room overflowing with Santas, countless beautifully decorated Christmas trees.  In a beautiful inner courtyard (Are we really in Over-the-Rhine?), we found a model train layout set up by one of the brothers.  Also outside, a nativity scene complete with live goats, sheep, and miniature donkeys was open to the public.  In between these churches, we also stopped at a few that have closed and are being restored and/or renovated for other uses.    

Beyond the physical beauty of each of these churches, however, the tour emphasized the spiritual beauty of what each of these parishes is doing on a daily basis.  Supplying clothing, food, prepared meals, and educational and legal assistance are just a few of the services offered by these good people.  Often struggling to stay afloat themselves - Prince of Peace has only nine registered members, these churches truly are an inspiration in the work they do in an area so desperate for it.  The title of the tour couldn't be more appropriate. 

Hopefully back on track next week.  Until then, I'll leave you with this unbelievable little gem learned on the tour - the traditions of Hanukkah started in Cincinnati.  Google it.  It's true.

"And also with . . . your spirit"

Week One Hundred and Nineteen - St. John the Evangelist (West Chester)
 

11:30 Sunday morning mass, St. John the Evangelist.  I didn't expect to end up at St. John this week.  Quite frankly, I didn't expect to end up at any church remaining on The List, but an errand in West Chester and a purchase return at Tri-County Mall created the perfect opportunity for a visit. 

My first glimpse of St. John's church confused me.  Not only did the strip mall colors and design throw me, so did the size.  From the outside, St. John looked surprisingly small.  What gives?  Aren't we in West Chester - the land of plenty?  Yyyyyes, we are! Not to fear - the fog immediately lifted as I entered the church.  Passing through the welcoming space, I found - wait for it - a coliseum.  Shocking, I know.  Rows and rows of pews, arranged in a complete circle, gradually slope downward towards the altar.  The ceiling soars to a point centered above the altar, creating a worship space in the shape of, for lack of a better description, an upside-down cut diamond.  If nothing else, it's a spacious church.  

Beyond the vast expanse of space, however, there isn't much to see at St. John.  A few squares of monochromatic stained glass seem to have been added as an afterthought.  Several relief sculptures on the walls are somewhat interesting, only because they are so large and so . . . unusual.  Kneelers were non-existent.  A huge pipe organ can't be missed but, unfortunately, wasn't put to use at this mass.  In recognition of the first week of advent, a series of purple banners hung from a ring suspended high above the altar.    

Not a great photo this week. I'd like to blame a gray morning of persistent rain, but it was more likely due to the fact that my daughter and I arrived with minutes to spare - just like everyone else. We may not have gotten the perfect shot, but we did get a seat, which, in West Chester, is saying something.  This particular mass was packed, with many of those in attendance flooding through the doors at the very last minute.  The size of the church and the large number in attendance created the standard suburban mass experience, one that was cold and detached.  I definitely felt more like a spectator than a participant.  Others around me must have resigned themselves to the same fate as very few joined in the singing.  The congregation seemed so removed from the mass that many sat with their arms stretched out over the back of their pew.  It was as if they were just kickin' back, watching the mass from the comfort of their living room sofa.  Others were clearly just putting in their time.  The woman in front of me was lounging in her seat just as I described but was also tapping her nails on the back of the pew for the duration of the priest's homily, her casual demeanor betrayed by an underlying impatience that was both visible and audible - but mostly annoying. 

Ironically, almost everyone did follow along with the little red booklets distributed at the doors as this was the first week for the implementation of "The New Roman Missal."  Let's just say, in the words of the celebrating priest, "It's gonna take a while."  Most of the congregation's spoken responses came over loud and clear - with a majority falling back into old habits.  It was a bit awkward.  I have to be honest; in spite of my own conscious efforts to keep up, I too let one or two old-school "And also with you" responses slip out.  

 

I just read that Covington's bishop has decreed that parishioners should not hold hands during the praying of the Our Father.  I'm not a hand-holder to start with, but I'm sure this is going to have a number of folks all riled up.  Old habits die hard, and I'm pretty sure this one won't go down without a fight.

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  One hour

Rerun

Week One Hundred and Eighteen - St. Jude, Take Two

It's not that I don't have the time to continue visiting the remaining churches on The List, I'm just running a little low on the clock when it comes to writing about them.  Consider this week:  With the very best intentions of finishing up my "Three Joes Walk into a Bar" series, I had my handy-dandy Mapquest directions all printed out and ready for a Sunday morning outing . . . until I realized the upcoming week would be a busy one . . . with few blog-opportunities.  Shoot.  I ended up attending St. Jude's 11:00 Sunday morning mass - not a bad thing, I might add - but writing this pitiful blog entry - a not-so-good thing. 

Alas, dear friends, I may suffer the same fate next weekend. 

Hail, Hail

Week One Hundred and Seventeen - Absent

Told ya so.

Safety in Numbers

Week One Hundred and Sixteen - Saint Leo the Great

10:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Leo.  We interrupt our regularly scheduled series to bring you the 125th anniversary of St. Leo the Great Parish!  Being the big baby that I am about location-location-location, I didn't think The Tour would ever stop at St. Leo in Fairmount, but when I heard about their 125th anniversary mass and celebration, I knew it was the perfect opportunity for a visit.  As a bonus, my dad attended grade school at St. Leo's.  He would have been 84 this week, so Dad, this one's for you.

My husband and I arrived early for mass at St. Leo which was a good thing.  We found a nice parking spot on the street and, more significantly, one of the last remaining seats in the church - it was packed.  These were clearly the people my dad had gone to school with - now-senior men and women who had grown up in the area.  I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the conversations around me, an ongoing litany of "who's-that-over-there" to the more sobering "so-and-so-passed-away" to discussions about the appearance of the church itself - the new lights, the "removal of the side pews."  It was fun listening to them reconnect in a church that was now so different from the one they remember - different in several ways.

Never having been in St. Leo's church before Sunday, I don't know what changes or renovations have taken place over the years, but I'm assuming there were several, including many fairly recent in preparation for this very weekend.  My husband noticed a lingering odor of fresh paint, and the program for Sunday's liturgy thanked several individuals and businesses for their assistance with other projects - pew repair and varnishing, new sanctuary carpeting, new concrete steps in the front of the church - all for the anniversary.  The result was a church that, while not perfect, looked pretty darn good for 125.

Beyond the physical changes in the church, however, the more significant differences lie in the parish population.  The majority of Sunday's congregation was a white, middle-class, suburbanite crowd, an exception at St. Leo.  St. Leo works with Mother of Christ in Winton Hills and Saint Bernard in Spring Grove Village.  As a result, their congregation is a melting pot of African-Americans, Caucasians, Hispanics, and Burundians.  Low income is the common denominator.  The immigrants often work for minimum wage, and many rely on federal assistance to meet their needs.  The St. Leo Food Pantry is well known in the area.  The church meets the challenges of the language barriers of its members with masses celebrated in their native languages and with volunteers who teach English to new parishioners.  Even at this mass, the opening song was in Spanish, as was the first reading, the second reading was in Kirundi, the native language of Burundi, and three homilies were delivered - one in English, one in Spanish, and one in Kirundi.  The communion song was performed by the church's Burundian Choir.  It. Was. Wonderful.

Going into this mass, I knew we were in for the long haul, but to be honest, after an hour and fifty minutes - yes, you read that right - even I was a bit taken aback.  Five concelebrating priests, incense, holy water, the works - we definitely got our money's worth.  Surprisingly, however, I didn't feel like we were there that long.  In fact, it seemed shorter than some of the masses I've been to in recent weeks.  It may have been the novelty of being in my dad's old church or maybe it was the festive atmosphere, but I think it was something more.  St. Leo's seems to have a definite spirit, a spirit of perseverence . . . and joy.  This is what a church should be.  My husband ran into one of his coworkers at the mass.  A member of the aforementioned white, middle-class, suburban demographic, she told us how, although she and her family belong to another parish, they attend mass quite frequently at St. Leo - her son even made his First Communion there.  Her enthusiasm about that personal celebration ("We sang a song in Swahili at my son's First Communion!  It was awesome!") as well as St. Leo in general was palpable.  Realistically, I still don't see myself returning to St. Leo on a regular basis, but it will definitely linger in my thoughts.  It's a good one.


Don't even bother looking for me next week.  The whole gang will be here!  Things to do. Birthdays to celebrate.  Love that.

ATTENDANCE:  Full . . . for a special occasion

DURATION:  One hour and fifty minutes . . . for a special occasion (And can we give it up for My Husband the Heathen who sat through the whole thing and never complained once?!)

Three Joes Walk Into a Bar . . . (Second in a Three-Part Series)

Week One Hundred and Fifteen - Saint Joseph (Camp Springs)

    

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Joseph a.k.a. St. Joseph in the Hills, although if you ask me, it would be St. Joseph ON the Hill.  St. Joseph Church in Camp Springs sits at the end of a long driveway at the top of a steep hill.  Suffice it to say that you will not be attending mass here in the winter nor when there's even a threat of snow.  In good weather though?  It's kind of cool - a little red church, up high, all by itself, keeping watch over the neighborhood. 
  
According to St. Joe's brief online history, the parish originated in 1845 with the construction of a log church by German immigrants.  Today, St. Joseph in Camp Springs is the oldest Catholic parish in Campbell County, and the parish school, established in 1851, is the longest continuing Catholic elementary school in the Diocese of Covington.  How the school continues is beyond me - enrollment this year is a whopping 34 students, K thru 8th grades.  The school itself doesn't appear much larger than a ranch house.  The Sisters of Divine Providence, just down the road, staffed the school until 1978 when a shortage of nuns prompted a switch to lay faculty.  Financial troubles in 1991 forced the seventh and eighth grades to be dropped, although they were reinstated the following year.  Clearly, it's been a struggle for the school over the past several years, but I like this little school's perseverence and spirit. Go, Blackhawks! 
 
Meanwhile, back at the church . . . Not a lot to see here.  A square nave, roughly 14 rows of pews on each side, white walls, a small balcony.  A few stained glass windows appear to be the originals but lack the glamour of some of the other stained glass from the same time period that I've seen.  The altar takes center stage, a hulking behemoth, not particularly pretty but imposing nonetheless.  It frames a large portrait of Joseph holding the child Jesus - it's a good one.  There are additional paintings on either side of the altar, but from my vantage point, I couldn't see what they depicted. 
   
A lone woman led the music for the mass, providing guitar accompaniment.  She sang quite well, but for a grown woman, her voice rang out like that of a little girl.  Odd. Mass progressed at a good clip with two exceptions.  My husband and I couldn't help but chuckle (chuckle?) over the seemingly endless stream of petitions.  The petition for the sick must have included every name in the parish census.  And then, just when things were wrapping up, the celebrating priest asked the congregation to "please, be seated." Oh no.  A fifteen minute lecture on the upcoming changes to the mass ensued -  every line, every word, every detail, as if anyone was going to remember any of it.
   
The one thing I will definitely remember about St. Joseph is their church bell.  Tolling just before the start of mass, it must be heard for miles around.  This is a true church bell, and it's loud. REALLY.  LOUD.  I loved it.
   

St. Joseph's School's website includes a poem written in the 1930's by a church parishioner which I've included here.  I think it's quite nice.
     

Far from modern city rumble,

Far from all industrial ills

Nestled in Kentucky’s highlands

Stands St. Joseph’s-in-the-hills.

      

Here its spire, a rigid finger

Pointing nobly heav’ns way

Beckons to the valley trav’ler

To ascend the hills and pray.

      

Steeped in love and old tradition

Standing here a hundred years,

Landmark of a bygone era,

Built by faithful, stern pioneers.

     

Here they came with ax and plowshare

Tilled the valleys, bridged the rills,

And with Christian faith and labor

Built St. Joseph’s-in-the-hills.

     

Thus their church was interwoven

With their lives, and going their way

They left it to the generations –

Thus it stands…the same today.

     

And Oh! ‘tis sacred when the sun sets

And a lonely cardinal trills

While the wind is whisp’ring softly

O'er St. Joseph's-in-the-hills.

                                                                 
               The website for St. Joseph Church touts their parish as "the best-kept secret in Campbell County."  I have to agree. 
                  
ATTENDANCE:  45 minutes for the mass itself
       
DURATION:  Slightly less than half full

Three Joes Walk Into a Bar . . . (First in a Three-Part Series)

Week One Hundred and Fourteen - Saint Joseph (Crescent Springs)

 

11:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Joseph.  Back on the horse this week and beginning a three-part series.  The second installment, next week, will clarify where this is headed.  This week, a Sunday morning drive brought me and the mister to Saint Joseph Church in Crescent Springs, Kentucky. 

Reading the history of St. Joseph's parish is about as exciting as watching grass grow, so let's just go with this - the parish dates back to 1916, and the physical church building has been built, rebuilt, and renovated more times than I could count - and leave it at that.  St. Joseph seems like a nice church, but there's no getting around what I found to be a major distraction - an awkward layout. 
 
Entering through the front doors, I could have sworn I was looking at the classic "let's-knock-out-that-wall-for-an-addition" church. However, according to the online history, the church - the one built in 1962, the one used today - was apparently built in the shape of an "L" with two areas for seating, the sanctuary located at the intersection of the two naves.  Who does that?  Apparently recognizing the error of their ways thirty years later, a "middle nave" was completed in 1995, purportedly connecting the two original naves into a "cohesive worship space."  I just wasn't seeing it.  What I was seeing was a traditional church . . . and an addition.  The sanctuary is still located at the intersection of the two disparate sections, something I'm not a fan of - seems that the celebrating priest is always short-changing one side or the other.  And really, shouldn't the whole flock gather together?  I like to see the whole picture and not wonder about who or what I'm not seeing.  Plus, you just know there's a whole unspoken set of rules about who sits in which section, not to mention the inescapable implications that come with sitting on a particular side.  
 
With that being said, St. Joseph - the traditional half of the church - has a simple attractiveness.  Wooden paneled walls behind the altar, a beamed ceiling, traditional lighting - it all works.  Stained glass windows on both sides cast an unusual but oddly intriguing blue glow throughout the church.  As for the "addition," things are a little more suburban - a dropped ceiling, track lighting.  You get the picture. 

The mass itself was boringly average.  Although a female soloist had a beautiful voice, music, with piano accompaniment, was standard. The celebrating priest was . . . slow.  In contrast, the distribution of communion was possibly the fastest I've seen.   What seemed like a good fifty or so distributors quickly took their positions throughout the church.  Things would have been wrapped up in a matter of minutes had they not left the priest to do the dishes all by himself.  How rude.  The whole thing just seemed to drag on and on . . . and on.  Luckily, "Eli," an adorable - and well-behaved - one-year old was sitting in front of us - to keep us awake.      

ATTENDANCE:  Slightly more than half full

DURATION: One hour

They All Come Back

Week One Hundred and Thirteen - Family Time

Now really.  With everybody home for the weekend, did you seriously think I would spend a good chunk of time travelling to god-knows-where for mass?  Sorry, Charlie.  Rest assured, though - I'll be back with a vengeance next weekend!

The Other Side of the Tracks

Week One Hundred and Twelve - That Old Time Religion

Well, lookee here.  Done hanged up them thar Cath-o-lic ways for the weekend, and headed south fer some proper worshippin' - at Hebron Baptist Church.  Y'all didn't see that'n comin', did ya?  Hit me with some gospel, Mahalia.     

Actually, my husband and I attended the wedding of one of his coworkers this weekend - hence, the brief detour in statehood and religious affiliation . . . and politically correct posts. 

Outer Limits

Week One Hundred and Eleven - Saint Columban
 

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Columban.  I think I may have reached my limit this week, my limit in distance-to-be-traveled-for-mass, that is.  Took the Mighty Honda Odyssey to Loveland - the far edge of Loveland, and let me just say, it was A Drive.  In retrospect, it really was a bit ridiculous.  Until Saturday, Wards Corner was just a name Tim Hedrick mentioned in storm warnings.  Now I know - it's out there.  It's also the home of St. Columban Church.

Although St. Columban's parish was founded in 1859 "as a mission church of St. Andrew in Milford," the cornerstone on the current church building reads 2002, so yes, it's a new church, meaning St. Columban comes with the inevitable pros and cons in the aesthetics department.  PRO:  A mesmerizing holy water font at the back of the church.  Very cool.  Very cool.  CON:  Indecipherable stained glass windows.  I don't know what they were supposed to depict, so given the minimal size of the windows, I'm really not sure why they even bothered with them.  PRO:  Dark wooden pews and additional decorative detailing throughout the church using the same dark wood - always a good choice. CON:  A large wooden backdrop behind the altar carved with the likeness of . . . a tree.  PRO:  I can't believe I'm saying this but the lighting - think "upside down umbrellas."  I kind of liked them.  Surprising, I know.  A skylight running the length of the center aisle reminded me of another church, but for the life of me, I can't remember which one.  CON:  The absence of statues.  Is there a new rule I'm not aware of that prohibits statues in new churches?  No Mary.  No Joseph.  I don't get it.

BIGGEST CON OF ALL: The crucifix.  Anchored on the "tree" behind the altar, a plain wooden cross supports a solid white porcelain Jesus.  Soooo many problems with this Jesus, an awkward resemblance to a woman being the most noticeable.  Long, flowing hair and a voluminous, draped loincloth billowed to the right, apparently the result of a stiff, sculptural breeze coming from the left.  The feet were perfectly aligned next to each other, toes pointed downward, the hands similary perfect.  At the same time, a very realistic crown of thorns hung at the base of the cross.  My Husband the Heathen thought it was a pretzel.  It was all so . . . disturbing.  In retrospect, I theorized that this was the resurrected Jesus, not Jesus on the cross, and with that, things seemed to make a little more sense.  But did I like it?  Not at all. 
 

I feel like St. Columban is the St. Ignatius of Clermont County.  Not only is their physical church somewhat similar to St. I's in setup, the website for the parish school indicates a current student enrollment around 700, a number similar to, although still far behind, St. I's. I think a good portion of those 700 students were at this 4:30 mass.  There were numerous families with children in attendance, and a lot of those families included children younger than school-age . . . which made for quite a show.  I've never seen so many children fall off kneelers in such a short span of time.  The little girl behind us was quite vocal throughout the mass; another, next to my husband, was planking on the back of the pew in front of her.  Props to the young family in front of us - an attractive husband and wife, clearly living the good life - with FOUR BOYS UNDER FIVE.  More power to you, sister.  I did love their youngest, just a baby, stylin' in his cardigan sweater with suede elbow patches.  Yeah, overall, it was a well-dressed crowd, even the babies.

No surprise, it was a noisy mass . . . and a busy one, people milling around, walking back and forth, in and out.  I was confused by a few rows of individual seats, not just at the back of church, but outside of the church, in the welcoming space.  Was this the "cry room"?  If so, there must have been a lot of teary-eyed individuals - of all ages - at this mass.  I have no idea why so many people were sitting there, other than for a quick getaway.  

No collection was taken up during the mass.  This was definitely a first.  The bulletin indicated that online donation was available, but we all know the seniors won't take that route, so what gives?   I have to admit though, it was actually kind of nice, being able to concentrate on the preparation of the gifts and the offertory hymn without wondering when the basket was coming your way.  No last minute check writing.  None of that panicked searching for a few dollars at the last minute or fighting over which child gets to drop the envelope in. 

So many things at St. Columban had me guessing, but with time and thought, it all started to make sense.  Of course, there's still the little matter of the drive - which will never make sense, but a nice dinner out on the way home definitely made it acceptable.  
    
ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  55 minutes

South of the River

Week One Hundred and Ten - Saints Boniface and James (Ludlow)

10:00 Sunday morning mass, Sts. Boniface and James.  Yes, you read that right.  Ten o'clock on a Sunday morning.  The times, they are definitely a-changin'.  This week, I decided to head across the river - not too far - to Ludlow, Kentucky, and Saints Boniface and James Church.  With two saints in the namesake, you know there's history, so here goes . . . 

The original St. Boniface Church, dedicated in 1872, was the first German-speaking church - and school - in Ludlow.  I always think it's interesting to read how very real and pervasive the German presence was in this area years ago.  According to parish history, the early German immigrants wanted their children to retain the German language, believing "Language saves faith."  What does that even mean?

Anyhoo, the parish upgraded to the present St. Boniface church building in 1893, but, in 1915, a tornado destroyed nearly the entire structure.  Amazingly, the parishioners raised $30,000 to rebuild, a sum of money I was both surprised and impressed by, and just one year later, the rebuilt church was rededicated.  Meanwhile, St. James Church, the English-speaking Catholic church in Ludlow, was dedicated in 1887.  Eventually upgrading as well, the cornerstone for the present church on Oak Street was laid sixteen years later, in 1903.  Interesting fact:  Until 1947, there was a St. James Catholic High School affiliated with the parish.  Who knew?  
            

The anti-German hysteria of World War I brought an end to German instruction at St. Boniface School in 1920, and a few years later, the residents of Ludlow began leaving in great numbers for the suburbs.  In 1980, St. Boniface and St. James Churches merged, retaining St. James' physical church as the site of the parish.

Today, Sts. Boniface and James Church is an attractive church, both inside and out.  The hulking, classic exterior masks a surprisingly medium-sized interior.  I had a hard time deciphering what was new and what was old.  Even My Husband the Heathen was stumped.  So many elements have a classic look but, at the same time, many of those same items look fairly new.  For example, I thought the beautiful stained glass windows were the originals, but my husband believed they were relatively new.  The lights?  Old . . . maybe.  The mauve and gray color scheme?  The drywall?  Okay, easy - new.   Carpet?  New.  But even the arches over the front doors threw me.  I would assume they're original, but then again . . . I just don't know.  Suffice it to say that if any original pieces are still in place from the 1903 church, they have certainly been kept in excellent condition.

I specifically liked several items in the church.  The stations of the cross are unlike any I've seen, glistening white porcelain/ceramic figures against a red background.  Striking.  I liked the semi-circular tiers of votive candles at the feet of the statues of Mary and Joseph.  Of course, it would have been better if more than two or three candles were lit, but the potential's there.  Finally, a small circular stained glass "skylight" peeks from the dome above the altar.  Interesting.  I didn't particularly like the way it had been installed - it's way too easy to overlook, but I did like the concept.  It's . . . different.  I'd like to know the story and symbolism behind it.

Don't misread me.  Things aren't overly ornate at Sts. Boniface and James.  One simple red votive light stands next to an otherwise unadorned tabernacle.  The altar and pulpit are simple wooden structures.  Even the music at this particular mass was led by just one man and one woman accompanied by a single guitar.  Plainest - and driest - of all was the celebrating priest.  He. Was. Killing. Me.  Enthusiasm?  No, didn't see it.  Warmth?  Nope, couldn't find that either.  A smile?  Nada.  PERSONALITY?  Maybe, he's just shy.

A footnote about last week's destination, Sacred Heart in Camp Washington.  I received the latest issue of "Cincinnati" magazine in the mail this week, and lo and behold, what do I find on page 78 but a photograph and brief history of Sacred Heart or - even better - Sacro Cuore di Gesu.  For the record:  The original Sacred Heart Church was built in 1891 on Broadway.  It was the city's first parish for Italian Catholics, "serving families in the urban core, especially those that flocked to the tenements around Court Street."  By the mid-1950's, however, the Sacred Heart congregation diminished as parishioners dispersed to the suburbs (sound familiar?), and in 1969, the archdiocese sold the land to Procter & Gamble and moved the parish to Camp Washington, merging with what had been a predominantly German congregation.  The Broadway church was later demolished to make room for P & G's headquarters, but, thankfully, a few elements were moved to Camp Washington, including the marble altar and railing.  Most importantly, though, the ravioli dinners that began in 1911 were also saved and continue to this day. 

And that's the rest of the story.

ATTENDANCE:  Slightly more than half full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Mama Mia

Week One Hundred and Nine - Sacred Heart (Camp Washington)
 

5:30 Saturday afternoon mass, Sacred Heart.  Our son, our youngest, is now at college.  So far, he seems to be happy and having a good time, although I feel compelled to qualify my statement by adding that, at the time of this writing, classes hadn't started yet.  Me?  Suffice it to say that, if one more person tells me how much I'm going to love being an empty-nester, somebody's going to get hurt.  Actually, I'm fine.  It's just so . . . quiet.  But now, to the task at hand . . .

As we moved our freshman into his dorm room last week, one of his roommates arrived at the same time.  This young man came from New Jersey, and his mother epitomized all that is Jersey, not in a negative "Jersey Shore - Snookie" sort of way, but in a busy, talkative, Italian sort of way.  It was the Italian part that got me thinking about ravioli, and ravioli got me thinking about Sacred Heart Church.  I've been to Sacred Heart Church on several occasions - only once for mass but several times for food.  More on the food later.  First, the church . . .

I couldn't find any significant history of Sacred Heart Church, but I did find this:  The church was originally built in 1870 for "immigrant Germans and their descendents."  Germans?  I had always thought of Sacred Heart as the "Italian church."  Was I wrong?  Not entirely.  That small bit of history also noted that the German parishioners were later joined in 1969 by "immigrant Italians and their descendents," so my impressions were fairly accurate, but I was still surprised by the somewhat recent inclusion of the Italian demographic. 

Sacred Heart is a beautiful church.  I would assume that it's always been beautiful, although the parish website includes photos of a recent renovation/restoration project.  Unfortunately, it doesn't include dates with the photos, so I'm not sure when the work was completed, but the results are impressive. Immense marble columns, mosaic borders around tall stained glass windows, brilliant, sparkling guilded moldings, countless paintings on the ceiling and around the dome above the altar - all beautiful.  I especially like the numerous paintings of angels around the back of the altar.  I think I counted 26 angels at one point.  Above the tallest spire of the altar, there's a whole flock of them which I had a hard time taking my eyes off of.  Speaking of which, the main altar and equally impressive side altars are really something.  In My Husband the Heathen's words, "Where do you get something like that?"   

Although the stained glass windows aren't particularly detailed and, other than a few flowers, depict no real pictures, I was particularly taken by them.  I was charmed to realize mid-mass that each window had been designed in a "rainbow pattern" - the glass closest to the top including red and orange segments, the glass towards the bottom ending in aquas, blues, and purples.  The sun shining through the windows created the sense of being inside a kaleidoscope.  The soft multi-colored hues cast by the windows made up for a rather unfortunate choice when it came to the predominant color of the church - an odd, golden mustard yellow.  That and the flooring - linoleum tiles - were really the only aesthetic faults I could find at Sacred Heart.  A classic hardwood floor would have really cinched it.  I can't hold either against Sacred Heart though.  This church is pretty darn perfect.

The mass itself was standard, although there was a noticeable absence of the sign of peace. Not sure what's up with that, and frankly, I don't really care, but get this:  As my husband and I sat in our pew waiting for mass to begin, we nearly jumped out of our skins when the organist started playing.  Hallelujah!  FINALLY, an organist who takes advantage of the magnificent instrument he has available to him!  We weren't just at a mass - we were at a concert, and his performance was amazing! This organ was so big and so loud that vibrations could be felt and heard throughout the church!  To make things even better, the same organist sang an a capella piece in Latin during the distribution of communion.  Bravo! 
  
I'm pretty sure I'll be returning to Sacred Heart very soon, if not for mass (or their Sunday Latin mass), for the food! Something of a Cincinnati institution, we've hauled our pots and pans down to Sacred Heart's Italian dinner several times now and waited in line for hours for a carry-out of the best ravioli in town, and yes, it is imperative that you bring your own pots - trust me, you'll be eating for days. Their next Italian dinner is sometime in October, and you can bet that if it's a nice day with nothing else going on, my husband and I will be there.  Of course, that should be easy, now that we have all this "free time" on our hands, right?  Grrrrrr . . .
    

ATTENDANCE:  About one-third full

DURATION:  45 minutes

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Week One Hundred and Eight - Lame

So glad the podiatrist decided to be "more aggressive" in treating my bum foot . . . NOT.  Although it seems to be all the rage, you will not be seeing me in church barefoot.  Hoping to move beyond hobbling around the house very, VERY soon - got a big week coming up.

Just Like It, Only Different

Week One Hundred and Seven - Saint Vincent Ferrer
   

11:00 Sunday morning mass, St. Vincent Ferrer.  Dodged a bullet on this one.  Earlier this week, after perusing The List several times, I finally settled on St. Vincent Ferrer in Kenwood for mass this weekend, aiming for either 10:30 or noon on Sunday.  However, by some miracle, I also visited St. Vincent's website only to discover that, at some point between my initial compilation of The List and, well, this weekend, the mass times at St. Vincent had changed.  My best bet was now an 11:00 Sunday morning mass.  Had I left for a 10:30 mass, I would have simply had time to kill, but had I left for a noon mass?  Liturgical suicide.  Whew.  Ironically, 11:00 was a perfect compromise for my Sunday schedule. 

St. Vincent Church immediately reminded me of St. Ignatius . . . with a few notable differences.  Both feature pews in a semi-circle around the altar.  St. Vincent, however, has "theater seating" - the back half of the church gradually slopes down towards the sanctuary.  Only midway to the front of the church do things level out.  I say "gradually slopes," but in reality, it was a pretty good grade, quite noticeable just standing in place in one of those back rows, and let me say, as someone who's had a bum foot for a few weeks, it wasn't particularly enjoyable.  I wondered about the back-row seniors making the long uphill trek to return to their seats after receiving communion or, even more, the seniors on wheels, coasting - and, inevitably, picking up speed - downhill to the front of the church. 

St. Vincent's sanctuary very closely resembles that of St. I's - same altar, same steps leading up to the altar, same stained glass windows flanking either side of the altar, although St. Vincent's windows are of a much more vibrant Crayola medley of colors.  No wagon wheel in Kenwood - Jesus is still center stage, but unlike St. I's large statues of Mary and Joseph, St. Vincent has very small statues of each of the two, both fairly removed and off to either side.  Poor Joseph is practically hidden behind the organ.  There is a nice flowing fountain at the front of St. Vincent, but with the hum of activity in the church, I couldn't actually hear the flowing water, something I always think is nice. 

Probably, the most notable part of St. Vincent Church is its ceiling.  Long wooden beams vertically span the depth of the church, creating "sun rays" originating from just above the crucifix.  Kind of a cool concept, I guess, but also kind of cheesy . . . and dated.  On the plus side, with a permanent fixture like that, I don't expect they'll be moving their crucifix any time soon. 

Mass was unfortunately bland.  The celebrating priest spoke in a monotonic drone that never wavered.  Music, provided by three adult men and three adult women, was nothing special, and get this:  A small digital sign above the music group displayed the number of the current hymn being sung in bright. red. lights.  Now really, at what point did someone decide that the rack with the little sliding numbers wasn't good enough and had to be taken into the electronic age?  It was . . . embarrassing.

The congregation was made up of "bookends" - senior couples and families with young children, nothing in-between.  Fortunately, it was the kids who really livened things up this Sunday morning.  From the little girl in front of us with a pink pacifier the size of her face and matching pink hair bow the size of her head to the little girl second row from the front eating her entire lunch - crackers, juice box, the works - to, best of all, the handful of little boy behind me, it was Romper Room Live.  Over the course of the mass, I caught the words "potty," "tickle tickle," and "tushy."  My son and I almost lost it when we watched the powerhouse from behind us run up the aisle to exchange the sign of peace with a few random individuals.  Guess the novelty of his red cowboy boots had worn off - he was barefoot.

ATTENDANCE:  Almost full
 
DURATION:  55 minutes

Fizzle

Week One Hundred and Six - Well, This is Embarrassing . . .
 
Starting Year Three . . . off the radar.  Did make a brief stop at the St. Ignatius summer festival though.  Does that count?

Cotton

Week One Hundred and Five - Home Base

 

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ignatius.  My nostagic-to-a-fault daughter wanted to visit the ol' stomping grounds before returning to college on Sunday.  There's only so much one can say about a church you've been to hundreds of time, so let's focus on this instead:  the second anniversary of The Church Tour. 

I remember, two years ago, compiling my first list of local Catholic churches.  I think I had maybe thirty-some churches listed.  I figured I would make the rounds for the same number of weeks, and the tour would be history.  Such a noob.  

Since then, I've added churches in Northern Kentucky and Indiana.  I've discovered countless churches I never even knew existed and found a few that existed but are now closed.  Just last week, I added another church to the list that I recently became aware of!  It's been a fascinating two years.  Let's go to the stats:   

Since August 22nd of 2009, I have visited a total of 77 different Catholic churches, including 7 in Northern Kentucky and 1 in Indiana.  Two have been deemed "cathedrals" and one a "basilica," although I will argue that several more deserve either of those designations.   I have been to one "chapel," one "friary," and have attended mass in one "undercroft."  Of course, who can forget mass in The Gym.  I have visited two deconsecrated churches.

Of the 77 churches featured in blog entries, 55 are "saint" churches, i.e., Saint Ignatius, Saint James, etc.  For the record, I counted All Saints as just one, although, technically, by virtue of its name, I guess I could have really maxed out on the number of saints with that one.  As far as repetition, there were 5 "Our Lady" churches, 3 Sacred Hearts, 2 St. Als, 2 St. Bernards, 2 St. James, 4 St. Johns, and 2 St. Marys.  Pretty sure that among those duplicates, however, we weren't always talking about the same people.   

I've been to new churches - St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross - and old churches - Old St. Mary's.  I've been to modern churches - Good Shepherd - and traditional churches - St. Boniface.  I've seen the elaborate - Covington Cathedral - and the simple - St. Matthias, the big - St. Maximillian - and the small - St. Jerome.  I've seen beauty - Mother of God - and those, well, not quite as beautiful - we won't name names.  I've seen churches with a seeming abundance of resources - St. Susanna - and the struggling underdogs - St. Margaret of Cortona.
 
Of the 77 masses on The Tour, 52 were on Saturday - still not a morning person. I have been to one non-English mass. Some masses were packed - St. Louis's Saturday afternoon mass - and others were empty - All Saints' Sunday afternoon.  I've traveled through blinding snow to Christ the King, torrential rain to Guardian Angels, and scorching heat to St. Bernard in Kentucky. 

The current list of churches I have yet to visit should take me through another year, if not longer. Of course, things aren't as easy as they were at the beginning. Attending mass at a church located 45 minutes away is a little more complicated than visiting a church ten minutes away, "complicated" meaning, not only is Mapquest research involved, but a bit of planning and often the harsh reality of "there goes a big chunk of my day."

Has the novelty worn off?  In all honesty, at times, yes.  Although finding the "hidden gems" is still exhilirating, I've definitely come to the conclusion that there's only so many ways one can build a church, be it old or new.  Frankly, it's becoming harder and harder to write about a church that looks just like last week's church . . . that looks like last week's church . . . or was it the week before? 

Fortunately, what's become more fascinating than the physical churches is the human church within  them.  I'm continually amazed at the noticable differences in the personalities of the parishes, the subtle nuances between the numerous congregations I've been a part of.  There have been the touch-feely parishes, like Bellarmine Chapel, versus parishes with little or no emotion - who shall also remain nameless.  I don't know if the differences are a result of locale, demographics (age, economic stability, etc.) or the spirit generated within the parish, but the differences are visible and palpable.  I'm not a big touchy-feely fan, but I've now realized that when the emotion isn't there, I find myself missing it.  Go figure.

Take away all the differences, however, and you're still left with the one constant which trumps everything else - our faith.  So many churches . . . so many Catholics . . . all coming together week after week to celebrate the same mass in the same way.  Kills me every time.   Looking forward to the next 52 weeks.

Department of Redundancy Department

Week One Hundred and Four - Saint Thomas (Fort Thomas)
 

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Thomas Church . . . on Fort Thomas Avenue . . . in Fort Thomas.  I was wrong.  It doesn't happen very often, but I was wrong.  I expected St. Thomas to be small, simple, and innocuous, but . . . I was wrong, and I know exactly where my preconceptions went awry - from my very best friend, a resident of Fort Thomas for several years now.  I have listened to her talk about her parish, St. Thomas, on countless occasions - anecdotes about St. Thomas's little festival, St. Thomas's little school, so it was a natural progression to anticipate a "little" church, right?  Wrong.  What I found in Fort Thomas was an impressive church with a noteworthy congregation.

Before leaving home for mass, I did my homework with a quick visit to St. Thomas's website.  I was literally overwhelmed with information.  Someone went to a lot of work documenting every detail of the parish's 100+ years of history as well as the architecture of the church - both interior and exterior.  It was a lot to wade through, too much actually.  I skimmed through looking for highlights but couldn't help but get bogged down in the details. 
 
For example, the exterior was built using "Indiana Bedford limestone;" the interior was built using "Saint Meinrad sandstone."  Now, I'm sure those nuances mean something to someone, but for this girl, it's just stone. I think I've seen too many churches because they're all starting to blend together.  The gray hues of St. Thomas definitely reminded me of another church I've visited, but for the life of me, I can't remember which one.  

The stained glass windows of St. Thomas are beautiful.  The website explains the meaning or story depicted on each of the "theme" windows which automatically created a silent, mental game for me when I got there, "Name that Window."  Had I not read the information on what was depicted in the windows, I'm not sure I would have been able to identify much on my own, but with a few tidbits of what I had read still floating around in the ol' bean, I was able to match a few of them up to the appropriate window.  The result was really fascinating and made the windows all the more beautiful.  There are also several "lancets" dedicated to Saint Thomas and to Mary.  I had to check the meaning of "lancet" after seeing the reference.  Learn something new all the time. 

There are monograms on the rafters, all of which are in Latin or Greek or some other dead language.  There are nice photos and explanations of these monograms on the web which is good because there is no way anyone without superhuman vision could decipher them in person.  Even after reading the online explanations of the monograms, it was (wait for it) all Greek to me.  There is a lengthy inscription just below the roof beams, ringing the body of the church.  This one is in English, but the "elongated Italian Gothic lettering" makes it virtually illegible.  There are glittering mosaic stations of the cross, and the half-dome ceiling above the sanctuary displays a colorful painting of Jesus flanked by twelve saints, men and women, several of whom I had never heard of - Juliana of Cornillon, Tarcisius, Norbert.  Norbert?

I didn't get to really look at the architectural details and ornamentation on the outside of the church, but like the inside, there are several.  There is also a "perpetual adoration chapel" in a building separate from the church which seems like something pretty unique.  I wonder if "perpetual" really means 24/7? 

St. Thomas is definitely a church with a lot of thought put into it.  However, unless you are informed of those details, you'll more than likely overlook the majority of them, and often, there's a minor drawback to a few of them that mutes their impact.  Much of the intricate detail and beauty really does seem to be hidden.  The "Saint Meinrad sandstone" and the abundance of stained glass windows keeps the interior dim, throwing much of the artwork into the shadows.  Plus, there's something about the rafters that gave me the creeps.   There was a vague resemblance to some medieval torture device.  Don't get me wrong though - this really is a beautiful church.
 
Music at this mass was led by a female soloist who sang beautifully.  Her post-communion "Ave Maria" was perfect.  The mass itself, however, was a bit slow, primarily due to the celebrating priest, clearly a retiree in residence at St. Thomas.  He mentioned "80 years" in his homily, so I'm guessing that was his age.  He had all the time in the world, so there was no need to rush.  Organizing his notes for his homily was a time-consuming ordeal all by itself.  But really, what's not to love about a priest who, mid-homily, pauses and then resumes with, "So, what am I saying? . . . " 

Earlier, I mentioned the congregation as "noteworthy."  This was, indeed, a noteworthy bunch, simply for the polos and button-down shirts in attendance.  Not a t-shirt in the bunch!  I think I saw two pairs of jeans in the whole church.  What a nice change of pace to see people not necessarily dressing up for mass but certainly not showing up come-as-you-are.  Even my daughter commented on how nicely everyone was dressed.
                  
Speaking of appearance, don't you love the postcard-perfect picture this week? I may have been the one who stopped the car in the middle of Fort Thomas Avenue for the shot, but it was my daughter who was behind the lens.  She'll return to college next weekend, so I'm losing my primary liturgical traveling companion for a while.  Time to call in the second-string. 
 

ATTENDANCE:  Three-fourths full

DURATION:  One hour

Dear Lord Baby Jesus . . .

Week One Hundred and Three - Saint Margaret of Cortona
    

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Margaret of Cortona.  St. Margaret of Cortona Church in Fairfax was dedicated in 1921, and St. John Vianney Church in Madison Place, just a mile or so away, was dedicated in 1950.  In 2008, the two were merged into one parish with St. Margaret remaining the primary parish.  A mass schedule is maintained at both locations, however, so when my daughter wanted to do a bit of shopping in the Hyde Park area, it was a no-brainer to continue a little farther down Erie Avenue for mass at St. Margaret of Cortona.  

Getting there was fun.  We passed "The Mushroom House" on Erie.  Not sure what the story is behind the Mushroom House, but one has to wonder if its origins did, in fact, involve, well, you know . . . "mushrooms." 
          

  

The Mushroom House doesn't exactly fit in with its Hyde Park environs, but then again, I'm not sure it would fit in anywhere.  Either way, it's quite the landmark.   We stopped, gawked, and took a few photos from the parking lot of a business across the street.  We only made two wrong turns after that.  Granted, it's not hard to get to St. Margaret, but I was in unfamiliar territory and was busy admiring the Hyde Park Country Club and the million dollar estates across from it.  Sigh.

 
We arrived at St. Marge and found a large parking lot with more than enough spots for everyone.  I pulled through a double row of spaces so I would be facing out and able to leave easily after mass.  Within seconds, an elderly woman, "Crash," as we came to call her, had careened her Cutlass into the space on my immediate left - and I mean, careened.  Her front right bumper ended up within an inch of my front left bumper.  Her car was literally in my car's space.  Never mind that there were countless empty spots in the lot.  I looked at my daughter in disbelief.   "I can't open my door," I said.  "There's only about two inches between us."  "Oh, my gosh," she replied, surveying the situation.  "You really can't get out."  And then we dissolved into hysterics.  Crash, of course, was clueless about the whole thing, never batting an eye, calming rummaging through her pocketbook for a dollar to drop in the collection basket.  We waited until she had hobbled into church (didn't want to hurt her feelings), composed ourselves (barely), and then oh-so-carefully extricated the mighty Honda Odyssey from the scene of the almost-crime and reparked several spots away, several spots away.  I don't have a St. Christopher medal in my car, but Crash must have because it was a miracle that she didn't hit us. 

St. Margaret of Cortona Church was pretty much what I expected - primarily, cinder blocks and wood paneling.  Besides a statue of Mary and a statue of Joseph, ornamentation really went no further than two framed pictures hung at the front of the church, St. Marge and St. John, I assume. They hung askew. The pews looked beaten, the tile on the floor was worn, and the decor was dated.  The congregation appeared to be suffering the same effects.  Something about this nondescript, little church just didn't seem to mesh with the other churches in the archdiocese.  Something about it made me feel as if I wasn't even in Cincinnati.  A country holler, maybe, but not Cincinnati.  I can't explain it.

In the course of The Tour, I had seen the celebrating priest once before, although I can't remember exactly where or when.  At this mass, he explained that he would be helping out, not only at St. Margaret of Cortona, but at St. John Vianney and nearby St. Anthony in Madisonville as well.  I like this guy.  He's young, he's friendly, and he's enthusiastic, all of which prompt the question:  What's it like for a young, newly-ordained priest when he is assigned to one - or more - of these struggling, smaller parishes?  "Enthusiasm" certainly isn't the first word that comes to my mind. With the realization that this may not be quite what you were expecting when you signed up for the gig, is there disappointment ?  Or is there relief - the ideal "starter church" where you can learn the ropes - or even joy - a church where you can really get to know your flock?  On the flip side, what is the response when assigned to one of the suburban mega-churches?  Oh, sure, the rectory might be nicer, but at what price?  Hoards of nameless, often privileged, and possibly quite demanding parishioners?  I don't know.  What with the whole "vow of obedience" thing, is location even an issue, albeit a subconscious one?  For the priest at this mass, if there was any sense of frustration or disappointment, he certainly didn't show it, not that I would expect him to, of course, but he seemed sincere . . . and happy.  In this overlooked little church, he seemed to me a beam of light, a ray of hope, and that's more important than any decor on the walls.  I bet he knows Crash's real name. 
    
ATTENDANCE:  Slightly less than half full
  
DURATION:  55 minutes