Week One Hundred and Fourteen - Saint Joseph (Crescent Springs)
11:30 Sunday morning mass, St. Joseph. Back on the horse this week and beginning a three-part series. The second installment, next week, will clarify where this is headed. This week, a Sunday morning drive brought me and the mister to Saint Joseph Church in Crescent Springs, Kentucky.
Reading the history of St. Joseph's parish is about as exciting as watching grass grow, so let's just go with this - the parish dates back to 1916, and the physical church building has been built, rebuilt, and renovated more times than I could count - and leave it at that. St. Joseph seems like a nice church, but there's no getting around what I found to be a major distraction - an awkward layout.
Entering through the front doors, I could have sworn I was looking at the classic "let's-knock-out-that-wall-for-an-addition" church. However, according to the online history, the church - the one built in 1962, the one used today - was apparently built in the shape of an "L" with two areas for seating, the sanctuary located at the intersection of the two naves. Who does that? Apparently recognizing the error of their ways thirty years later, a "middle nave" was completed in 1995, purportedly connecting the two original naves into a "cohesive worship space." I just wasn't seeing it. What I was seeing was a traditional church . . . and an addition. The sanctuary is still located at the intersection of the two disparate sections, something I'm not a fan of - seems that the celebrating priest is always short-changing one side or the other. And really, shouldn't the whole flock gather together? I like to see the whole picture and not wonder about who or what I'm not seeing. Plus, you just know there's a whole unspoken set of rules about who sits in which section, not to mention the inescapable implications that come with sitting on a particular side.
With that being said, St. Joseph - the traditional half of the church - has a simple attractiveness. Wooden paneled walls behind the altar, a beamed ceiling, traditional lighting - it all works. Stained glass windows on both sides cast an unusual but oddly intriguing blue glow throughout the church. As for the "addition," things are a little more suburban - a dropped ceiling, track lighting. You get the picture.
The mass itself was boringly average. Although a female soloist had a beautiful voice, music, with piano accompaniment, was standard. The celebrating priest was . . . slow. In contrast, the distribution of communion was possibly the fastest I've seen. What seemed like a good fifty or so distributors quickly took their positions throughout the church. Things would have been wrapped up in a matter of minutes had they not left the priest to do the dishes all by himself. How rude. The whole thing just seemed to drag on and on . . . and on. Luckily, "Eli," an adorable - and well-behaved - one-year old was sitting in front of us - to keep us awake.
Reading the history of St. Joseph's parish is about as exciting as watching grass grow, so let's just go with this - the parish dates back to 1916, and the physical church building has been built, rebuilt, and renovated more times than I could count - and leave it at that. St. Joseph seems like a nice church, but there's no getting around what I found to be a major distraction - an awkward layout.
Entering through the front doors, I could have sworn I was looking at the classic "let's-knock-out-that-wall-for-an-addition" church. However, according to the online history, the church - the one built in 1962, the one used today - was apparently built in the shape of an "L" with two areas for seating, the sanctuary located at the intersection of the two naves. Who does that? Apparently recognizing the error of their ways thirty years later, a "middle nave" was completed in 1995, purportedly connecting the two original naves into a "cohesive worship space." I just wasn't seeing it. What I was seeing was a traditional church . . . and an addition. The sanctuary is still located at the intersection of the two disparate sections, something I'm not a fan of - seems that the celebrating priest is always short-changing one side or the other. And really, shouldn't the whole flock gather together? I like to see the whole picture and not wonder about who or what I'm not seeing. Plus, you just know there's a whole unspoken set of rules about who sits in which section, not to mention the inescapable implications that come with sitting on a particular side.
With that being said, St. Joseph - the traditional half of the church - has a simple attractiveness. Wooden paneled walls behind the altar, a beamed ceiling, traditional lighting - it all works. Stained glass windows on both sides cast an unusual but oddly intriguing blue glow throughout the church. As for the "addition," things are a little more suburban - a dropped ceiling, track lighting. You get the picture.
The mass itself was boringly average. Although a female soloist had a beautiful voice, music, with piano accompaniment, was standard. The celebrating priest was . . . slow. In contrast, the distribution of communion was possibly the fastest I've seen. What seemed like a good fifty or so distributors quickly took their positions throughout the church. Things would have been wrapped up in a matter of minutes had they not left the priest to do the dishes all by himself. How rude. The whole thing just seemed to drag on and on . . . and on. Luckily, "Eli," an adorable - and well-behaved - one-year old was sitting in front of us - to keep us awake.
ATTENDANCE: Slightly more than half full
DURATION: One hour
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