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?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Cotton
Week One Hundred and Five - Home Base
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
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 fullBefore 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.
DURATION: One hour
Thursday, August 11, 2011
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.
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
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
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Hot as Hell
Week One Hundred and Two - Saint Bernard (Dayton, Kentucky)
4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Bernard. A few weeks ago, when the current heat wave had just rolled in, I made a mental note to suck it up and stick to the suburban parishes I so often dread, only for their guarantee of air conditioning. Well, the scorching temperatures must have torched that mental note because, this week, I mindlessly struck out for St. Bernard Church in Dayton, Kentucky.
St. Bernard Church in Dayton, Kentucky, has no air conditioning.
My Husband the Heathen thought it was hotter than our visit to St. Lawrence Church in Price Hill last summer ("Sweatin' to the Oldies," July, 2010). I personally thought St. Lawrence was hotter, which isn't to say that I didn't think St. Bernard was hot because IT WAS. Even with fans blowing, the air was hot, humid, and stifling. The sweltering heat undoubtedly played a part in the low attendance at this mass. The few who were there clustered near the fans. I thought the heavily-vestmented priest would put the pedal to the metal on this one and speed things up, but no such luck. Multiple verses were sung of each hymn, no one seemed in a hurry, and unbelievably, after a deacon delivered a fairly wordy homily, he introduced a guest speaker, a Franciscan missionary sister, who spoke just as long. I was dying.
But, to the business at hand . . . The history of Dayton's St. Bernard parish is actually quite interesting. St. Bernard began as the Parish of Saint Francis of Assisi. Dedicated in 1854 as the "Roman Catholic German Church of Jamestown, Kentucky," St. Francis was built on a small plot of land on Third Avenue, charmingly nicknamed "God's Acre" but unfortunately located on the Ohio River. In 1884, a devastating flood ravaged the church nearly beyond repair, so in 1886, a new, larger church was erected. However, in 1907, two additional floods caused severe damage to that building. Interesting fact: "To provide temporary repairs, logging chains were placed around the foundation to provide the support required." Not sure if that would pass muster these days.
One year later, in 1908, the parish purchased a tract of land on Fifth Avenue. The cornerstone was laid, but due to monetary constraints, only the foundation work was completed. Meanwhile, back on Third Avenue, the existing St. Francis of Assisi Church was completely destroyed by two more major floods, forcing completion of the work at the Fifth Avenue location, with or without the funds. In 1914, the new - and current - church was dedicated as St. Bernard of Clairvaux Church, the patron of the pastor at the time.
By the 1960's, St. Bernard was a parish of more than 900 families. However, with no flood levee, the Ohio River, while miraculously not damaging St. Bernard's church and school, continued to wreak havoc on the area. Many people left Dayton, purchasing homes in neighboring, flood-free communities, and St. Bernard felt the loss. Years later, however, construction of a much-needed levee prompted new housing, and the number of people in the city - and in St. Bernard parish - began to grow. Sadly, it now looks like the times are a-changin' again: The parish website, last copyrighted in 2004, indicates a parish population of nearly 400 families, but this week's bulletin indicated a meager 89 registered households. 89 households. How do you even keep a church open with that number?
I'd like to say St. Bernard is one of those grand old churches that so many overlook, a diamond in the rough . . . but I can't. Some might call the architecture beautiful, but I don't think I'm one of them. St. Bernard looks . . . dingy, like it's been through the wash too many times, and given its location, maybe it has. Both the interior and the exterior just seemed sad to me, as if the planners were really trying to attain a certain ornate beauty but could never quite get there. Everything seemed to have been given only a half-hearted attempt . . . with one exception - the windows.
The beautiful stained glass windows in the church were designed and made in Munich, Germany. They are reported to be hand-crafted and made of antique glass. The windows behind the altar were purchased in 1919 at an amazing-by-today's-standards total cost of $600.00. Each of the side windows in the body of the church portray one of the eight Beatitudes, these eight purchased in 1932 at a cost of $850.00 each, a little steeper than the first set of windows but oh-so-worth it. Today, all of the stained glass windows at St. Bernard are insured for more than a half million dollars but are considered priceless and irreplaceable. Once you see them, you'll understand why.
With the exception of those windows, it was a weird visit to St. Bernard. Disappointing, boring, trying - those all work. The most interesting part of the trip was what we found outside of the church. First, I was impressed by "Historic Bellevue." When my daughter and I visited Sacred Heart in the area a few months ago, we didn't go very far into Bellevue. This week, my husband and I did and were delighted to find a wonderful section of town, housing tea shops, coffee shops, boutiques, and vintage stores. I can't wait to return to check it out. In addition, after mass, I suggested that we stop at The Party Source. I had read an article in Cincinnati magazine about "growlers," which happen to be sold at The Party Source, and thought it was something the mister would get a kick out of. Until reading the article, neither my husband nor myself knew what a growler was. Social hermits that we are, apparently, we were the only ones who didn't know, as quite a few customers in the store were chatting about growlers as well as buying them. If you don't know what a growler is, you'll have to do your homework and find out. We bought our growler and brought it home, secretly beaming to be cool again - and I don't just mean the temperature.
ATTENDANCE: Almost non-existent
DURATION: Too long
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