Mudville

Week One Hundred - Saint Simon
                       

7:30 Saturday evening mass, St. Simon.  I know, I know - I've already visited St. Simon ("Simon Says," September, 2009), but there were so many reasons to go back this weekend that a rerun was just going to have to be tolerated.  Unfortunately, those reasons didn't quite pan out the way I thought they would.

St. Simon's parish festival has always been held in the middle of July, and the fam has made a tradition of stopping by said festival for one reason and one reason alone - the grilled corn.  Nothing quite like St. Simon corn.  My Husband the Heathen lives for St. Simon's corn.  He talks about it, plans for it, probably dreams about it.  Clear the decks because This. Was.The Weekend.  Now, in retrospect, it's true that I had seen no advertising for St. Simon's festival this year nor any mention of their festival in church bulletins, but it was indicated in St. Simon's own bulletin that the drawing for the "major award" would be Sunday, July 17th.  Thus, I assumed (oh, no . . . ) that the presence of a "major award," not to mention one given away on a Sunday, translated to "festival weekend."  Wouldn't you?  Sooooo, hey, seeing that it's my "centennial" church tour weekend, won't it be fun for the whole family to go to mass together at one of my favorite churches on a nice Saturday evening and then snarf down massive quantities of corn after mass?

Epic fail.

Trouble from the get-go when my son opted to go out with friends.  I really didn't mind - he had been wanting to do something with them for a while.  Then, Dad offered to stay back at home and hang out with him until he left.  I really didn't mind that either - I hate when one person is left behind anywhere.  Okay, on to Plan B then - my daughter and I will go to mass at St. Simon, and Dad will meet up with us later for maize. 

As we approached St. Simon, I believe the conversation went something like this: 
Me:  "We might have to park across the street at the school if it's crowded."
Daughter:  "That's okay.  It'll be worth it.  I didn't eat much earlier to save room for the corn."
Me:  "Gee, there's no one in the school's lot . . . there's hardly anyone here at all . . . I don't think I see a festival."
Daughter:  "You probably just can't see it from here.  I wore a black shirt in case I drip butter on it."
Me:  "Ummm . . . There is no festival."
(pause)
Daughter:  "Should I call Dad?"

It's true that every year, St. Simon's festival had slowly diminished in size.  I had even joked with my husband earlier on Saturday that this year's offering might be a lone hot dog stand with a split the pot booth.  I overestimated . . . a lot.  Not sure how a "major award" ties in to all this.  Doesn't a "major" award imply the existence of "minor" awards? But there was definitely no festival . . . and no corn.   Shoot.

Further compounding the gustatorial disappointment was the emotional heartbreak at seeing the condition of St. Simon's pastor.  I love this guy, and among other reasons, on this cinematically noteworthy weekend, I partially wanted to see him just to confirm my recollection of his eerie likeness to Albus Dumbledore (courtesy of Michael Gambon, not Richard Harris).  It's true that Father's health has been a bit of a roller coaster over the years, but the last time I visited St. Simon, albeit two years ago, he seemed better than ever.  Sadly, something has clearly gone terribly awry over those last two years as he is once again dependent on a cane as well as the arm of an assistant to shuffle the minimal number of steps possible.  He stands only when walking, taking a seat to lead the liturgy, read the gospel, deliver a very brief homily, and even pray the eucharistic prayer.  Even over a sound system, his voice is barely audible.  The mass is a quick one, only, I believe, because every effort is made to keep it that way for the benefit of the ailing pastor. 

I really like St. Simon Church.  Always have, always will, and returning there for the first time in a while reminded me of how much I like it.  Unfortunately, I can't help but wonder what the future holds for this unassuming parish.  Ever so slowly, they seem to be closing up shop, barely hanging on, much as their pastor is doing the same.  I had hoped this weekend's church outing would be a positive, happy one, but instead, it just left me feeling sad. 
     
ATTENDANCE:  Three-fourths full

DURATION:  35 minutes.  Seriously.