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
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