South of the River

Week One Hundred and Ten - Saints Boniface and James (Ludlow)

10:00 Sunday morning mass, Sts. Boniface and James.  Yes, you read that right.  Ten o'clock on a Sunday morning.  The times, they are definitely a-changin'.  This week, I decided to head across the river - not too far - to Ludlow, Kentucky, and Saints Boniface and James Church.  With two saints in the namesake, you know there's history, so here goes . . . 

The original St. Boniface Church, dedicated in 1872, was the first German-speaking church - and school - in Ludlow.  I always think it's interesting to read how very real and pervasive the German presence was in this area years ago.  According to parish history, the early German immigrants wanted their children to retain the German language, believing "Language saves faith."  What does that even mean?

Anyhoo, the parish upgraded to the present St. Boniface church building in 1893, but, in 1915, a tornado destroyed nearly the entire structure.  Amazingly, the parishioners raised $30,000 to rebuild, a sum of money I was both surprised and impressed by, and just one year later, the rebuilt church was rededicated.  Meanwhile, St. James Church, the English-speaking Catholic church in Ludlow, was dedicated in 1887.  Eventually upgrading as well, the cornerstone for the present church on Oak Street was laid sixteen years later, in 1903.  Interesting fact:  Until 1947, there was a St. James Catholic High School affiliated with the parish.  Who knew?  
            

The anti-German hysteria of World War I brought an end to German instruction at St. Boniface School in 1920, and a few years later, the residents of Ludlow began leaving in great numbers for the suburbs.  In 1980, St. Boniface and St. James Churches merged, retaining St. James' physical church as the site of the parish.

Today, Sts. Boniface and James Church is an attractive church, both inside and out.  The hulking, classic exterior masks a surprisingly medium-sized interior.  I had a hard time deciphering what was new and what was old.  Even My Husband the Heathen was stumped.  So many elements have a classic look but, at the same time, many of those same items look fairly new.  For example, I thought the beautiful stained glass windows were the originals, but my husband believed they were relatively new.  The lights?  Old . . . maybe.  The mauve and gray color scheme?  The drywall?  Okay, easy - new.   Carpet?  New.  But even the arches over the front doors threw me.  I would assume they're original, but then again . . . I just don't know.  Suffice it to say that if any original pieces are still in place from the 1903 church, they have certainly been kept in excellent condition.

I specifically liked several items in the church.  The stations of the cross are unlike any I've seen, glistening white porcelain/ceramic figures against a red background.  Striking.  I liked the semi-circular tiers of votive candles at the feet of the statues of Mary and Joseph.  Of course, it would have been better if more than two or three candles were lit, but the potential's there.  Finally, a small circular stained glass "skylight" peeks from the dome above the altar.  Interesting.  I didn't particularly like the way it had been installed - it's way too easy to overlook, but I did like the concept.  It's . . . different.  I'd like to know the story and symbolism behind it.

Don't misread me.  Things aren't overly ornate at Sts. Boniface and James.  One simple red votive light stands next to an otherwise unadorned tabernacle.  The altar and pulpit are simple wooden structures.  Even the music at this particular mass was led by just one man and one woman accompanied by a single guitar.  Plainest - and driest - of all was the celebrating priest.  He. Was. Killing. Me.  Enthusiasm?  No, didn't see it.  Warmth?  Nope, couldn't find that either.  A smile?  Nada.  PERSONALITY?  Maybe, he's just shy.

A footnote about last week's destination, Sacred Heart in Camp Washington.  I received the latest issue of "Cincinnati" magazine in the mail this week, and lo and behold, what do I find on page 78 but a photograph and brief history of Sacred Heart or - even better - Sacro Cuore di Gesu.  For the record:  The original Sacred Heart Church was built in 1891 on Broadway.  It was the city's first parish for Italian Catholics, "serving families in the urban core, especially those that flocked to the tenements around Court Street."  By the mid-1950's, however, the Sacred Heart congregation diminished as parishioners dispersed to the suburbs (sound familiar?), and in 1969, the archdiocese sold the land to Procter & Gamble and moved the parish to Camp Washington, merging with what had been a predominantly German congregation.  The Broadway church was later demolished to make room for P & G's headquarters, but, thankfully, a few elements were moved to Camp Washington, including the marble altar and railing.  Most importantly, though, the ravioli dinners that began in 1911 were also saved and continue to this day. 

And that's the rest of the story.

ATTENDANCE:  Slightly more than half full

DURATION: 55 minutes

Mama Mia

Week One Hundred and Nine - Sacred Heart (Camp Washington)
 

5:30 Saturday afternoon mass, Sacred Heart.  Our son, our youngest, is now at college.  So far, he seems to be happy and having a good time, although I feel compelled to qualify my statement by adding that, at the time of this writing, classes hadn't started yet.  Me?  Suffice it to say that, if one more person tells me how much I'm going to love being an empty-nester, somebody's going to get hurt.  Actually, I'm fine.  It's just so . . . quiet.  But now, to the task at hand . . .

As we moved our freshman into his dorm room last week, one of his roommates arrived at the same time.  This young man came from New Jersey, and his mother epitomized all that is Jersey, not in a negative "Jersey Shore - Snookie" sort of way, but in a busy, talkative, Italian sort of way.  It was the Italian part that got me thinking about ravioli, and ravioli got me thinking about Sacred Heart Church.  I've been to Sacred Heart Church on several occasions - only once for mass but several times for food.  More on the food later.  First, the church . . .

I couldn't find any significant history of Sacred Heart Church, but I did find this:  The church was originally built in 1870 for "immigrant Germans and their descendents."  Germans?  I had always thought of Sacred Heart as the "Italian church."  Was I wrong?  Not entirely.  That small bit of history also noted that the German parishioners were later joined in 1969 by "immigrant Italians and their descendents," so my impressions were fairly accurate, but I was still surprised by the somewhat recent inclusion of the Italian demographic. 

Sacred Heart is a beautiful church.  I would assume that it's always been beautiful, although the parish website includes photos of a recent renovation/restoration project.  Unfortunately, it doesn't include dates with the photos, so I'm not sure when the work was completed, but the results are impressive. Immense marble columns, mosaic borders around tall stained glass windows, brilliant, sparkling guilded moldings, countless paintings on the ceiling and around the dome above the altar - all beautiful.  I especially like the numerous paintings of angels around the back of the altar.  I think I counted 26 angels at one point.  Above the tallest spire of the altar, there's a whole flock of them which I had a hard time taking my eyes off of.  Speaking of which, the main altar and equally impressive side altars are really something.  In My Husband the Heathen's words, "Where do you get something like that?"   

Although the stained glass windows aren't particularly detailed and, other than a few flowers, depict no real pictures, I was particularly taken by them.  I was charmed to realize mid-mass that each window had been designed in a "rainbow pattern" - the glass closest to the top including red and orange segments, the glass towards the bottom ending in aquas, blues, and purples.  The sun shining through the windows created the sense of being inside a kaleidoscope.  The soft multi-colored hues cast by the windows made up for a rather unfortunate choice when it came to the predominant color of the church - an odd, golden mustard yellow.  That and the flooring - linoleum tiles - were really the only aesthetic faults I could find at Sacred Heart.  A classic hardwood floor would have really cinched it.  I can't hold either against Sacred Heart though.  This church is pretty darn perfect.

The mass itself was standard, although there was a noticeable absence of the sign of peace. Not sure what's up with that, and frankly, I don't really care, but get this:  As my husband and I sat in our pew waiting for mass to begin, we nearly jumped out of our skins when the organist started playing.  Hallelujah!  FINALLY, an organist who takes advantage of the magnificent instrument he has available to him!  We weren't just at a mass - we were at a concert, and his performance was amazing! This organ was so big and so loud that vibrations could be felt and heard throughout the church!  To make things even better, the same organist sang an a capella piece in Latin during the distribution of communion.  Bravo! 
  
I'm pretty sure I'll be returning to Sacred Heart very soon, if not for mass (or their Sunday Latin mass), for the food! Something of a Cincinnati institution, we've hauled our pots and pans down to Sacred Heart's Italian dinner several times now and waited in line for hours for a carry-out of the best ravioli in town, and yes, it is imperative that you bring your own pots - trust me, you'll be eating for days. Their next Italian dinner is sometime in October, and you can bet that if it's a nice day with nothing else going on, my husband and I will be there.  Of course, that should be easy, now that we have all this "free time" on our hands, right?  Grrrrrr . . .
    

ATTENDANCE:  About one-third full

DURATION:  45 minutes

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Week One Hundred and Eight - Lame

So glad the podiatrist decided to be "more aggressive" in treating my bum foot . . . NOT.  Although it seems to be all the rage, you will not be seeing me in church barefoot.  Hoping to move beyond hobbling around the house very, VERY soon - got a big week coming up.

Just Like It, Only Different

Week One Hundred and Seven - Saint Vincent Ferrer
   

11:00 Sunday morning mass, St. Vincent Ferrer.  Dodged a bullet on this one.  Earlier this week, after perusing The List several times, I finally settled on St. Vincent Ferrer in Kenwood for mass this weekend, aiming for either 10:30 or noon on Sunday.  However, by some miracle, I also visited St. Vincent's website only to discover that, at some point between my initial compilation of The List and, well, this weekend, the mass times at St. Vincent had changed.  My best bet was now an 11:00 Sunday morning mass.  Had I left for a 10:30 mass, I would have simply had time to kill, but had I left for a noon mass?  Liturgical suicide.  Whew.  Ironically, 11:00 was a perfect compromise for my Sunday schedule. 

St. Vincent Church immediately reminded me of St. Ignatius . . . with a few notable differences.  Both feature pews in a semi-circle around the altar.  St. Vincent, however, has "theater seating" - the back half of the church gradually slopes down towards the sanctuary.  Only midway to the front of the church do things level out.  I say "gradually slopes," but in reality, it was a pretty good grade, quite noticeable just standing in place in one of those back rows, and let me say, as someone who's had a bum foot for a few weeks, it wasn't particularly enjoyable.  I wondered about the back-row seniors making the long uphill trek to return to their seats after receiving communion or, even more, the seniors on wheels, coasting - and, inevitably, picking up speed - downhill to the front of the church. 

St. Vincent's sanctuary very closely resembles that of St. I's - same altar, same steps leading up to the altar, same stained glass windows flanking either side of the altar, although St. Vincent's windows are of a much more vibrant Crayola medley of colors.  No wagon wheel in Kenwood - Jesus is still center stage, but unlike St. I's large statues of Mary and Joseph, St. Vincent has very small statues of each of the two, both fairly removed and off to either side.  Poor Joseph is practically hidden behind the organ.  There is a nice flowing fountain at the front of St. Vincent, but with the hum of activity in the church, I couldn't actually hear the flowing water, something I always think is nice. 

Probably, the most notable part of St. Vincent Church is its ceiling.  Long wooden beams vertically span the depth of the church, creating "sun rays" originating from just above the crucifix.  Kind of a cool concept, I guess, but also kind of cheesy . . . and dated.  On the plus side, with a permanent fixture like that, I don't expect they'll be moving their crucifix any time soon. 

Mass was unfortunately bland.  The celebrating priest spoke in a monotonic drone that never wavered.  Music, provided by three adult men and three adult women, was nothing special, and get this:  A small digital sign above the music group displayed the number of the current hymn being sung in bright. red. lights.  Now really, at what point did someone decide that the rack with the little sliding numbers wasn't good enough and had to be taken into the electronic age?  It was . . . embarrassing.

The congregation was made up of "bookends" - senior couples and families with young children, nothing in-between.  Fortunately, it was the kids who really livened things up this Sunday morning.  From the little girl in front of us with a pink pacifier the size of her face and matching pink hair bow the size of her head to the little girl second row from the front eating her entire lunch - crackers, juice box, the works - to, best of all, the handful of little boy behind me, it was Romper Room Live.  Over the course of the mass, I caught the words "potty," "tickle tickle," and "tushy."  My son and I almost lost it when we watched the powerhouse from behind us run up the aisle to exchange the sign of peace with a few random individuals.  Guess the novelty of his red cowboy boots had worn off - he was barefoot.

ATTENDANCE:  Almost full
 
DURATION:  55 minutes