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
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
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