Seriously?

Week One Hundred and Thirty-Two - In which I substitute an art exhibit for mass . . .
   

How is it even possible that I'm sick AGAIN.  I haven't had a cold in years, and now, in a span of a few short weeks, I've become a virtual virus magnet.  Shoot me.  Just shoot me.  And you can all thank me for not sharing my new-found viral wealth with anyone in church this weekend.  Sigh.

In a desperate attempt to will myself well, however, I did make it to the College of Mt. St. Joseph before the closing of an exhibit there, a print exhibition of several reproduced pages from The Saint John's Bible, "the only handwritten and illuminated Bible commissioned by a Benedictine monastery since the advent of the printing press more than 500 years ago."  I had heard about the exhibit earlier but only took an interest after hearing several glowing reviews from other visitors to the gallery.  They were right.  Crafted from all traditional materials - calfskin vellum, natural inks and handmade pigments, hand-cut feather quills, gold leaf, and more - the result is truly amazing.  Over 1,100 pages long and over 165 pounds in weight, the Bible took 13 years to complete.   Frankly, after seeing the exhibit, I would have expected much longer.  This is a beautiful accomplishment.  It really is, one that I'm still fascinated by.  I'm so glad I hauled myself over there to see it.  If you didn't have a chance to see the exhibit, check out www.saintjohnsbible.org.   

In other news, this weekend begins the series of spring break arrivals and departures.  Sure wish everyone was arriving and departing at the same time.  Suffice it to say that The Tour might bypass March entirely.  Who knows.  For now, just pass me some of that amoxicillin . . .

Gesundheit

Week One Hundred and Thirty-One - Saint Louis (Batesville)

 

5:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Louis.  The schedule was empty, the weather was clear, and the tank was full.  Time for a road trip.  Batesville isn't exactly around the corner, so I think this may be the westernmost edge of The Tour.  It was a pleasant drive though, and the church was easy to locate - another small town landmark. 

St. Louis Parish dates back to 1868.  Today, it is one of the largest and most influential parishes in the Archdiocese of Indianapolis.  There's a lot of history in-between there, and it would appear that most, if not all, of it is documented on the church's website.  I'm sure it's fascinating if you want to take the time going through it.  I didn't, but I couldn't resist skimming for highlights - and there were a lot of them.  German was the spoken language in the church and school until 1887, when a gradual - and what was surely considered radical - conversion was made to English.  Pot-bellied stoves were replaced with a furnace in 1894.  I particularly liked this bit of information about the "sitz versteigerung" or "pew auction":
  
"A quaint custom that was retained during these years was the so-called "Sitz Versteigerung" or "Pew Auction." On the appointed day, usually right after Christmas, the church bells would be rung and the parishioners would gather to claim a seat or seats at a price. Certain places in church were more desirable, especially the middle aisle from the center on back Side aisle pews were lower on the scale. It was a matter of prestige to advance, if possible, from the side aisle to the middle aisle. One's standing in the community was measured by how much was bid to obtain .a certain seat. Rivalry could develop about holding on to your place or bettering it if possible. Spirited bidding often resulted, or someone with a bit of impishness in them could "run the price up" on a seat they did not want but which they knew someone else desired very much." (www.stlouis-batesville.org)
    

How can you not love that?  I had never heard of such a custom, but it explains a lot about the brass numbers I've seen on pews so often, including this weekend, at St. Louis.  What I didn't love was reading about the church renovation in 1962.  You know this church had to be a looker in her day, so I found it sad to see the results of that "renovation" - a ceiling covered with acoustical tiles, walnut paneling lining the entire nave, concealed lighting.  I like a church that looks like a church, not a family room. 

Truth is, there really isn't a whole lot to look at at St. Louis.  Things are pretty . . . beige . . . and boring.  Thankfully, someone had the sense not to mess with the altar, however, because this one is a beauty.  A soaring white and occasionally-gilded monster, it includes a number of statues fitted into small alcoves worked in among the spires.  Among all the goings-on of the altar is also the tabernacle, a small white nondescript door.  It's like a secret compartment. Interesting.

The house was full for this mass, but apparently singing doesn't run in the Hoosier blood.  Granted, the two or three individuals leading the congregation didn't exactly whip the crowd into a frenzy - who knew "How Great Thou Art?" could be sung as a dirge - but it was deafeningly silent during the hymns, one might even say borderline embarrassing.  The "choir" had such promise too in their nice blue robes.  They were trying, so I'll give them credit for that.  It just would have been nice if everyone else in this "large and influential" parish tried just as hard. 

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  50 minutes

Barnum and Bailey

Week One Hundred and Thirty - Saint Henry (Elsmere)
 

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Henry.  First thing my husband says as we're leaving St. Henry's church?   "Those kids behind us were SO BAD!" He had a point, a point I can't wait to elaborate on, but since this blog is called "So Many Churches . . .", I suppose a few words about the church are in order . . . although the whole visit was really overshadowed by the demons behind us.  They really were SO BAD.  Focus.  Focus . . . God knows I couldn't focus IN CHURCH.

Deep breath.

Elsmere, Kentucky.  Can't say I've ever been there.  Seems nice enough, but I can't say I'll go back either, only because I don't foresee a reason to return, including a return visit to the local Catholic church, St. Henry.  St. Henry seems to be quite the landmark in Elsmere, located curbside on Dixie Highway.  You can't miss it.  A decent-sized church, this one was built in 1936 to accomodate a growing congregation.  The parish itself dates back to 1890, the history of which includes the ubiquitous church building that burned to the ground, this one, in 1899.

The exterior has a good look to it, but the interior is whole 'notha story.  There's a lot of yellow here.  Lemon yellow . . . an odd contrast to the purple painted around the windows.  True, the purple nicely complements the the stained glass it surrounds, but add to that a large wall of deep salmon behind the altar, and, well, things get a little weird.  This salmon-colored addition comprises the third wall of what my husband called "the box." The church has a nice domed sanctuary going for it, and, for some reason, this three-sided "box" was constructed right in the middle of it.  The majority of the open space around the altar was lost.  It's not attractive, and, as far as I could tell, although it does support a large crucifix, it serves no purpose.  Not sure why the original walls didn't suffice.  My husband didn't get it, and neither did I.

It was a good-sized crowd at this particular mass, and it became readily apparent that nearly everyone there knew everyone else.  There was a lot of waving going on.  Cute.  I'm gonna go out on a limb, however, and say the celebrating priest wasn't a local.  This young man, as he even mentioned in his homily, was from South India.  His heavy accent was exotic enough to keep me mildly intrigued, but the additional syllable in every word also caused me to miss a lot of what he said.  The big question though - how does a young man from South India wind up as a Catholic priest . . . in Elsmere, Kentucky?
     
Ok.  Now then. I love kids.  I really do. I highly recommend them.  I have a few of my own.  However, the kids in the pew behind us at this mass nearly sent me, my husband, and, I dare say, everyone around us over the edge.  When the circus rolled in during the second reading, I immediately knew we were in trouble.  Frankly, I don't even know what exactly was behind us.  It started with a constant hum (and "hum" really seems too mild of a word) of whispers and giggles but quickly progressed to chatter and laughter.  The movement was non-stop.  One of the younger ones dropped a Hot Wheels toy on the floor TEN times.  I counted.  My husband later confessed that, had it fallen his way, he had plans to kick it to the other side of the church.  I love him. 

The hymnals were a constant source of entertainment; in fact, for some reason, judging by the outbursts of laughter, they were a RIOT.  Who knew? When I knelt, my feet were kicked I-don't-know-how-many times.  At one point, a spitting contest was brewing.  Yes, you read that right.  Spitting.  Wish someone would have told me St. Henry had a splatter zone; I would have brought my rain slicker.  Where were the parents, you ask?  Oh, they were there, laughing and playing and talking.  After communion, dad was engaged in a full-volume conversation with someone behind him that lasted until the end of mass. 

Call me an old grump, but it really was ridiculous.  This family got nothing out of the mass, and neither did those around them.  I suppose sitting in the back of a church has its risks - "lively" children, being one of them, but this weekend's fiasco was inexcusable.  Two words, people: Why. Bother.  
      

ATTENDANCE:  Almost full

DURATION:  One hour

The Happiest Place on Earth

Week One Hundred and Twenty-Nine - No Place Like Home

Friday night - Make big dinner.
Saturday morning - Make big breakfast.
Saturday afternoon - Make big lunch.
Saturday night - Make big dinner.
Sunday morning - Make big breakfast.

Yeah, the kids were home.