No Longer Under Construction (Third in a Three-Part Series)

Week Ninety-Seven - Saint Ignatius

7:30 Sunday evening mass, St. Ignatius.  After driving through the parking lot of St. I's last week, my daughter and I got a sneak preview of the improvements that had been made to the church over the past few weeks.  We accidentally caught a glimpse through the front doors of the large stained glass window we had heard about.  It appeared impressive and quite beautiful.  I had such high hopes . . .

Oh, dear.  Oh, dear dear dear.  What does one do in a situation like this?  Okay, how to approach this . . . hmmm.  Seeing that the whole family was in attendance, something that doesn't happen very often, making this something of a liturgical holiday, there was quite a bit of conversation on the way home.  Let's go to the tape:

1.  My Husband the Heathen:  "I don't think I got my money's worth.  All I got was a wagon wheel."  There's no denying it - the newly installed stained glass window looks like a big wagon wheel.  A large circular piece divided into eight sections, the work is installed directly above and behind the altar.  I feel safe in assuming no part of the original, exterior church wall was removed, so clearly, the window is artificially lit from behind.  It's not a bad window.  Although the details are unfortunately small enough to make them difficult to decipher, the window, of German origin, has a history dating back to the mid-1800's, something you can't not respect.  It's the presentation that's gone all wrong.  The frames between and around the panes are too wide, too contemporary, creating - wait for it - a big wagon wheel.  A big, cheap, homemade wagon wheel.  And it's mounted on a big plain beige wall.  The result is something oddly contemporary for such a classic piece of art and something fairly, well . . . protestant.  It's Crossroads.  It's The Vineyard.  It's not Saint Ignatius.  

2.  My daughter:  "I feel bad for Jesus."  I do too.  With the wheel taking center stage, the crucifix has been moved off to the side.  It blends into and is dwarfed by its surroundings so it's barely noticeable.  Jesus has been upstaged by a wagon wheel. 

3.  My son:  "If I hadn't known they were getting new pews, I would have thought they were the same ones."  A few weeks ago, I read an article somewhere that stated several St. I's parishioners were of the opinion that the money used to purchase new pews could have been better spent for a charitable cause, namely, food for the hungry.  My initial response to that sentiment was my usual sarcastic one, but after seeing the new pews, I have to concur.  These pews looks identical to the old ones.  True, they don't shift when someone sits down, they don't creak, and there are no more gaps or broken kneelers, but honestly, without looking closely, I too wouldn't have known they were new.  Worst of all, my pet peeve - the old tattered hymnals are still in place in these brand new pews.  I couldn't believe it.  Would it have killed them to spring for the additional cost to replace those puppies?  It's like . . . I don't know . . . putting used car mats in a brand new car, like starting out the school year with old, torn notebooks.  It's embarrassing. 

4.  Yours truly:  "The new carpet looked nice."

New and improved?  Not exactly, but, hey, maybe it'll grow on me, and to be fair, change is always hard.  But then again, change isn't always right.

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full (significantly less than the normal SRO)

DURATION:  One hour

Still Under Construction (Second in a Three-Part Series)

Week Ninety-Six - St. Ignatius Community Center

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ignatius Community Center aka "The Gym."  THIS WAS IT.  This was the weekend we had all been waiting for.  Time to cross one off the bucket list.  The infamous "Mass in the Gym" weekend.  My daughter and I broke out our best track suits and laced up our tennies just for the occasion but couldn't manage to keep a straight face long enough to even make it out of the driveway.  Okay, we didn't actually go with the activewear (although, after taking a quick look around the congregation at the apparent lack of dress code other than "When in Rome," no one would have cared - or noticed - if we had), but we did have a hard time containing our grins and giggles.  

Arriving at St. I's after a lengthy two-minute drive, it was a no-brainer to opt for the quick stroll down memory lane and enter the gym via the "school door."  Resultant observation:  It's good to know some things never change.  My daughter wanted to roam the halls for old times sake but quickly came to her senses, fearing she might run into an old teacher - they live at the school, you know.   And then . . . like a beacon in the night . . . there it was . . . The Gym. 

It had to be killing the athletic boosters to see their new gym floor covered with folding chairs, and I do mean covered.  We took a seat directly under a basketball hoop.  I mean, why wouldn't you?  Wish I would have kept my camera with me.  However, amazingly, even the abundance of chairs still wasn't enough to accomodate the crowd who eventually lined the back of the church, er, I mean, the gym and even took up residence on the bleachers.  Seriously.  A considerable amount of pleading to switch our seats "for maximum effect" ensued from my partner in crime, but I have my limits and that was one of them.  I was not about to sit in the bleachers for mass.

The "altar" was on the stage, another folding banquet table, this time elevated on blocks, and no, I don't know why.  A friend who had already attended Mass in the Gym had earlier described the altar as a plank of wood on concrete cinder blocks.  It wasn't quite that bad, but it still looked more like an ailing white Caddy up on blocks in someone's driveway than an altar.  The entrance, offertory, and closing processions ran the length of the court.  (Daughter: (aside) "Hey, look - they got new scoreboards.")  Some genius had made computer-printed black and white pictures of the stations of the cross and taped them to the walls.  I'm not kidding.  If I had actually seen someone seriously making use of them, I might have had to leave.  Even the senior gentleman behind me got a chuckle - or was it a grumble? - over them.  A few rogue blue and gold mylar balloons drifted at the ceiling, leftovers from the eighth-grade graduation party, held almost a month ago.  A small room off of the main gym area served as both a confessional and the sacristy.  I wouldn't have been surprised if someone had opened the concession stand.   

The Birds were back, providing music.  A drum set was present, though unused at this particular mass.  I can't even imagine what that would sound like in there.  Pep rally for Jesus, no doubt.  Bathrooms located to the front provided plenty of entertainment with a steady stream of youngsters, many with the whole family in tow, which I really didn't get.  

A lot of fond memories have originated in the St. I's gym.  Junior high dances, summer talent shows, the school carnival, science fairs, the annual parent meeting at Meet the Teacher night, and more.  You'll notice that mass is not one of them.  Never will be.  Never should be.  I might have felt bad about my mockery of St. I's use of the gym until the man sitting in front of me struck up a conversation with the celebrating priest.  "Father?" he asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. "When will the new pews be ready?"  Father's response:  "Hopefully, by Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.  That way, we can get back to where we should be."  
  
ATTENDANCE:  Full
     

DURATION:  One hour

Under Construction (First in a Three-Part Series)

Week Ninety-Five - St. Ignatius' Hilvert Center

10:15 Sunday morning mass, St. Ignatius.  I hadn't been back to St. Ignatius since Christmas Eve, and truthfully, I can't really say I was missing it - nothing against St. I's, I'm just enjoying seeing the sights, but sometimes an opportunity presents itself that you simply can't ignore.

For the past month, St. Ignatius has been doing some major renovations in their church - new pews, new carpeting, and something about a large stained glass window.  As a result, the church has been unavailable for mass, and all weekday and weekend masses are being celebrated in the St. Ignatius Community Center, what we common west-siders call "the gym," as well as in the Hilvert Center, the largest of the parish's meeting rooms.  Now, I've never wanted to attend mass in any gym, especially on Christmas Eve and Easter, something St. I's traditionally offers at their more popular masses on those days, but I've also joked about it enough to know that should it be offered any other time, I just might have to experience it for myself.  Ask and ye shall receive.  I'm there.

Although I was particularly looking forward to mass at center court, it has to wait until next week.  Due to scheduling constraints, this week, my daughter and I attended Sunday morning mass in the Hilvert Center.  Although it bore a strange resemblance to other churches I've visited in recent weeks - who shall remain nameless - I have to say it actually wasn't half bad.  Of course, the restrooms prominently located off to the side were a novel and unfortunate distraction.  No surprise that every little boy and every pregnant woman in attendance had to make use of the facilities. There was also something comical about an entrance procession arriving through a virtual sea of metal folding chairs, rows and rows of metal folding chairs.  Well, at least they started out in rows.  By the end of mass, things were a bit . . . skewed.  Can you hear the classic grating of metal chair legs on a tile floor?  Those folding chairs really stole the show.  Everything else seemed rather forced.  Someone had hung a crucifix behind the "altar" which, as everyone could tell, was really a folding banquet table, and a few candles were lit.  A small group of women whom we fondly refer to as "The Birds" provided musical leadership, so in the big picture, I suppose it sufficed.  After all, what more do you really need?  Well, apparently, you do need something more because, although we had gone through the motions in the Hilvert Center, my daughter and I both came home with the feeling that we still hadn't actually gone to mass.   

I have to hand it to the St. Ignatius crowd though.  They're a faithful bunch.  Although our family attended the 10:15 mass on a fairly regular basis when the kids were younger, it had been more than a few years since I last made it to the 10:15.  Amazingly - or not so amazingly - many of the same people are still showing up like clockwork.  You could probably tell St. I's parishioners that mass would be celebrated in the frozen food aisle of Kroger's next week, and they would still show up in droves, singing their hearts out and socializing like there was no tomorrow.  Gotta love that St. I's spirit.  Maybe that's all you really need . . . maybe that's what I'm missing. 
 

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full
 

DURATION:  55 minutes

Gossip Girl

Week Ninety-Four - Saint Matthias the Apostle

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Matthias.  How do churches like Saint Matthias in Forest Park come about?  Consider the age-old question, "Which came first - the chicken or the egg?"  Only this time, it's "Which came first - the parish or the church?"  Sadly, I wasn't really feeling much of either this weekend.

Other than an uncanny and somewhat creepy resemblance to a bishop's mitre, St. Matthias doesn't look like a church, neither on the exterior nor the interior.  I have to wonder if, at some time, this building served another purpose - like a community center.  Some, no, many might simply refer to this church as a meeting room.  A potted palm or two, a statue of Mary and a statue of Joseph in opposite  corners, interlocking kneeler-less chairs (desperately in need of reupholstering), a dropped ceiling, fluorescent lights.  And the congregation was just as spartan as the surroundings.  I counted roughly sixty people in attendance in a room that could have easily accomodated many more. 

So what gives?  I was torn between feelings of admiration for this small group of stalwart parishioners, rooting for these underdogs desperately trying to hold their parish together, and confusion as to why St. Matthias even exists.  Their weekly collection hovers around $2,500.  Only two masses are offered each weekend, one on Saturday afternoon and one on Sunday morning.  Their own bulletin references mass times at Our Lady of the Rosary just down the street.  I usually feel bad when I visit a church that seems to be on its last leg, but this time, things just seemed awkard and out of sync.

The celebrating priest was a man well-advanced in his senior years.  His selection of Eucharistic Prayer was one of the longer ones in the book which, unfortunately, posed problems for no one but himself.  He kept losing his place, stumbling, stopping and re-starting.  His litany of saints included several of the same saints more than once.  Of course, I guess there's no harm in that.  The assisting priest was so feeble that I was nervous he wouldn't make it through to the end of mass.  Both priests won me over at the last minute though when I saw them stifling smiles over a toddler who, by the end of mass, had had, how shall we say, more than enough. 

A single woman provided leadership in song . . . more or less . . . probably less.   Bless her heart.  You know she was the only one in the whole parish who offered to take the job, so props to her.  I certainly couldn't do it.  A gentleman accompanied her on the organ.  He wore dress pants, a dress shirt, and tie, so props to him too.  Christopher Lloyd from his "Back to the Future" days was there.  

Probably the highlight of the visit was the older woman sitting in front of me.  She and her husband were clearly long-time parishioners, sitting in the same seats they've sat in forever.  She knew and, most importantly, commented to her husband on everyone there.  It was priceless.  She may have been whispering under her breath, but with so few people in the room, it was coming over loud and clear from my vantage point.  An elderly man came in wearing shorts, socks, and sandals, a fashion faux-pas in anyone's book, so naturally, he wasn't about to be left out of her running commentary.  "Tsk. Tsk. Shorts!"  A woman sitting towards the front?  Her husband lost his job, moved out of state to take another, and lost that job too . . . and they still have kids in college to support.  Best of all were her remarks about a woman who would also later serve as a lector and communion distributor. The word "cleavage" was used and how there had been, you know, "too much of it" at a previous mass prompting someone to inform said woman of her inappropriateness.  This week, apparently, things were a little more modest and "covered up."  It went on and on.  I was almost disappointed when mass started I was enjoying it so much.
   

ATTENDANCE:  About one-fourth full

DURATION:  55 minutes