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 fullOther 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.
DURATION: 55 minutes
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