Week One Hundred and Forty-Five - Tired.
Tired. Yep. Tired.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
GET ME A BUTTON!
Week One Hundred and Forty-Four - We Got Spirit. Yes, We Do . . .
There was really only one reason for a return to the 7:30 Sunday mass at St. Ignatius this week. "Spirit Sunday." In the good old days, there were balloons and all sorts of hoopla. These days, the balloons are gone, although there is a parish cook-out which I've never attended - we'll just leave that for the next generation. The one common denominator over the years, however, has been the "spirit button." Corny? Oh yeah. Required? Indubitably. Can't say I have the complete set, having joined the parish after the inaugural button, but I have a few. Somehow my kids have twice as many as me . . . not sure how that happened. Trading on the black market, no doubt.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
M. Night Shyamalan
Week One Hundred and Forty-Three - Saint Aloysius (Shandon)
4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Aloysius. I've found some interesting things - besides churches - on these liturgical outings, and this week I hit the mother lode. After deciding that I wanted to sleep in on my rainy Mother's Day, my daughter and I headed west on Saturday afternoon to Shandon. I wasn't particularly excited about visiting the church there, St. Aloysius, but I always like taking a drive in the country, so I was looking forward to this. What we discovered made it all the better, but more on that later.
St. Aloysius sits on a large flat parcel of land in a quiet section of Butler County, Morgan Township to be exact, and it's pretty much what I expected. I can't recall the exact date on the cornerstone, but I think it's something in the 1980's. I was surprised to see additional information above that cornerstone indicating that the parish had originated in 1878. I can't imagine that many Catholic folks in that area of town back then, but then, I can't imagine that many folks, period, in that area of town back then.
St. Aloysius is a surprisingly large church and a particularly wide one. There is a lot going on there but without a common denominator. There are a few stained glass windows and a few clear paned windows, the clear windows notable because they are on either side of the altar, which provided us with a nice view of the gathering rain clouds outside. A fairly large wooden cross is perched on a rock fountain from which water gurgles and flows. A painting of Mary, rather than a statue, is surrounded by votive candles. Couldn't find Joseph. A large projection screen, thankfully rolled up, hangs to the side of the altar at the ready. This particular weekend, everything was draped in metallic fabric - the crucifix, the altar, the pulpit, a nod to the Easter season, I presume.
What was most noticeable though was the overriding choice of color, GREEN . . . sea foam green. Not sure why you would choose sea foam green for the walls of a church or any walls for that matter, just as I'm not sure why the tabernacle area off to the side was an even more vivid shade of green . . . lime green. Wow.
The young man leading the hymns and playing piano seems like a nice guy, but he might be trying a tad too hard. His vocals were so loud that they were often muffled in the sound system. Take it down a notch, buddy, both in volume and enthusiasm. This isn't a revival.
Now to the good stuff. This was definitely an interesting drive, the highlight being the discovery of what could easily have been the set for "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre." No, seriously. . . it looked exactly like it. A desolate intersection a mile or so down the road - another locale that had definitely appeared in a horror flick or two - didn't ease our nerves. Turns out, while we had, in fact, stumbled across a creepy intersection, more importantly, we had also discovered an abandoned Shaker village. Situated on Oxford Road, we passed a Shaker cemetery, two lone Shaker dwellings situated in the middle of nowhere, and additional Shaker buildings farther down the road. It all went by so fast on our way to St. Aloysius that, on the way back, we made a point of slowing down and even stopping to take it all in - along with a few photos!
I came home and immediately started researching. What I found was an abundance of information on the White Water Shaker Village of southwestern Ohio, existing from 1824 - 1916. Today, a faithful group of volunteers are working to restore the buildings, with the intent to offer docent-led tours to the public someday. Apparently, more than twenty original Shaker buildings are still standing in the area. I had no idea that Shakers ever lived in this area, and now, I'm fascinated. Check out www.whitewatervillage.org for more information and additional photos.
Was it creepy? Well, although a random tumbleweed or circling vulture would have really been the icing on the cake, I do remember, at some point, saying, "We . . . aregonnadie," and the overcast skies and subtle breeze definitely set the mood for Blair Witch. But was it fascinating? Without a doubt. With the history of the village now understood, we are even planning a return trip . . . but I think we'll bring Dad along next time.
ATTENDANCE: Almost half full
DURATION: One hour
St. Aloysius sits on a large flat parcel of land in a quiet section of Butler County, Morgan Township to be exact, and it's pretty much what I expected. I can't recall the exact date on the cornerstone, but I think it's something in the 1980's. I was surprised to see additional information above that cornerstone indicating that the parish had originated in 1878. I can't imagine that many Catholic folks in that area of town back then, but then, I can't imagine that many folks, period, in that area of town back then.
St. Aloysius is a surprisingly large church and a particularly wide one. There is a lot going on there but without a common denominator. There are a few stained glass windows and a few clear paned windows, the clear windows notable because they are on either side of the altar, which provided us with a nice view of the gathering rain clouds outside. A fairly large wooden cross is perched on a rock fountain from which water gurgles and flows. A painting of Mary, rather than a statue, is surrounded by votive candles. Couldn't find Joseph. A large projection screen, thankfully rolled up, hangs to the side of the altar at the ready. This particular weekend, everything was draped in metallic fabric - the crucifix, the altar, the pulpit, a nod to the Easter season, I presume.
What was most noticeable though was the overriding choice of color, GREEN . . . sea foam green. Not sure why you would choose sea foam green for the walls of a church or any walls for that matter, just as I'm not sure why the tabernacle area off to the side was an even more vivid shade of green . . . lime green. Wow.
The young man leading the hymns and playing piano seems like a nice guy, but he might be trying a tad too hard. His vocals were so loud that they were often muffled in the sound system. Take it down a notch, buddy, both in volume and enthusiasm. This isn't a revival.
Now to the good stuff. This was definitely an interesting drive, the highlight being the discovery of what could easily have been the set for "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre." No, seriously. . . it looked exactly like it. A desolate intersection a mile or so down the road - another locale that had definitely appeared in a horror flick or two - didn't ease our nerves. Turns out, while we had, in fact, stumbled across a creepy intersection, more importantly, we had also discovered an abandoned Shaker village. Situated on Oxford Road, we passed a Shaker cemetery, two lone Shaker dwellings situated in the middle of nowhere, and additional Shaker buildings farther down the road. It all went by so fast on our way to St. Aloysius that, on the way back, we made a point of slowing down and even stopping to take it all in - along with a few photos!
I came home and immediately started researching. What I found was an abundance of information on the White Water Shaker Village of southwestern Ohio, existing from 1824 - 1916. Today, a faithful group of volunteers are working to restore the buildings, with the intent to offer docent-led tours to the public someday. Apparently, more than twenty original Shaker buildings are still standing in the area. I had no idea that Shakers ever lived in this area, and now, I'm fascinated. Check out www.whitewatervillage.org for more information and additional photos.
Was it creepy? Well, although a random tumbleweed or circling vulture would have really been the icing on the cake, I do remember, at some point, saying, "We . . . aregonnadie," and the overcast skies and subtle breeze definitely set the mood for Blair Witch. But was it fascinating? Without a doubt. With the history of the village now understood, we are even planning a return trip . . . but I think we'll bring Dad along next time.
ATTENDANCE: Almost half full
DURATION: One hour
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Six-Pack
Week One Hundred and Forty-Two - Saint John the Evangelist (Deer Park)
11:00 Sunday morning mass, St. John the Evangelist. Happy to report that half of the collegians are home for the summer. This past Sunday morning, with Tonto now in the passenger seat, I set out on Cross County Highway for the booming metropolis of . . . Deer Park. Destination: St. John the Evangelist Church.
We found St. John with no problem but only because of its sign. Take a gander at Ansel Adam's photo up yonder. Seriously, does this look like a Catholic church to you? And is it just me, or is there a jack o'lantern face at the top of that wall? Finding the front door would have been equally as challenging but was accomplished uneventfully via the "Follow the Regulars" rule.
Truthfully, being in the 'burbs and all, I didn't really expect a lot, so I wasn't disappointed in what I found at St. John. There was a lot of St. Vincent (Kenwood) here, courtesy of the stained glass windows of red, orange, and yellow hues flanking the altar. Wood paneled walls concealed an unusually large number of confessionals (What happens in Deer Park stays in Deer Park?), and a semi-circular arrangement of pews hearkened memories of any number of churches I've been to. Speaking of said pews, a quick interjection: I don't like open-backed pews, which these were. There's something too . . . "park bench" about them, something too . . . "tent revival."
Music was a mixed blessing. Two young girls "led" the singing, although their whispered vocals didn't really get 'r done. On the plus side, a trumpeter had me from the get-go. He was excellent and alone made the visit worthwhile . I was most troubled by the servers, two grown men. One of them was sporting gym shoes and bare legs, i.e. he was wearing shorts under his alb. A grown man. When sitting next to the servers' table, he leaned on it like he was sitting at the kitchen table, draped all over it. A grown man. Worst of all, while the celebrating priest was delivering his homily, this GROWN MAN, seated behind the priest in view of the entire church, took the opportunity to peruse the First Communion program that had been distributed to everyone. I. Couldn't. Believe it.
Speaking of First Communion, it's that time of year, so it was no surprise when my daughter and I walked into St. John's only to find just that - a small group, four girls and two boys, dressed to the nines, ready to receive Jesus for the first time. They were put through their paces via a steady stream of somewhat painful participation on their part - the reading of the petitions, the offertory procession, and an uncomfortable performance on the steps of the altar as they struggled to make it through all of the verses of "Let Us Be Bread." At the end of the mass, they also managed to combine their First Communion celebration with a mini-May Crowning as each child placed flowers before a statue of Mary. It was a nice gesture, albeit a rather comical one when the woman in charge brought out the statue - dangling it at arm's length, carrying it by the head. Come on, lady, it's the Blessed Mother.
There was a lot that was awkward at St. John, including several moments in the mass itself. After the Lamb of God, part of the congregation was kneeling, part was standing, and a few were sitting. The same thing happened during the distribution of communion. The final blessing included a prayer sung by the priest and repeated by a fraction of the congregation. Hands were raised, not in the "one-hand-palm-extended" style, but in a two-handed "don't-look-at-me-I-didn't-do-it" style. Granted, there may have been a number of guests in attendance for the First Communion celebration, visitors like myself who weren't familiar with the St. John routine. I'm just not sure there was a routine.
ATTENDANCE: About half full
DURATION: One hour and ten minutes
We found St. John with no problem but only because of its sign. Take a gander at Ansel Adam's photo up yonder. Seriously, does this look like a Catholic church to you? And is it just me, or is there a jack o'lantern face at the top of that wall? Finding the front door would have been equally as challenging but was accomplished uneventfully via the "Follow the Regulars" rule.
Truthfully, being in the 'burbs and all, I didn't really expect a lot, so I wasn't disappointed in what I found at St. John. There was a lot of St. Vincent (Kenwood) here, courtesy of the stained glass windows of red, orange, and yellow hues flanking the altar. Wood paneled walls concealed an unusually large number of confessionals (What happens in Deer Park stays in Deer Park?), and a semi-circular arrangement of pews hearkened memories of any number of churches I've been to. Speaking of said pews, a quick interjection: I don't like open-backed pews, which these were. There's something too . . . "park bench" about them, something too . . . "tent revival."
Music was a mixed blessing. Two young girls "led" the singing, although their whispered vocals didn't really get 'r done. On the plus side, a trumpeter had me from the get-go. He was excellent and alone made the visit worthwhile . I was most troubled by the servers, two grown men. One of them was sporting gym shoes and bare legs, i.e. he was wearing shorts under his alb. A grown man. When sitting next to the servers' table, he leaned on it like he was sitting at the kitchen table, draped all over it. A grown man. Worst of all, while the celebrating priest was delivering his homily, this GROWN MAN, seated behind the priest in view of the entire church, took the opportunity to peruse the First Communion program that had been distributed to everyone. I. Couldn't. Believe it.
Speaking of First Communion, it's that time of year, so it was no surprise when my daughter and I walked into St. John's only to find just that - a small group, four girls and two boys, dressed to the nines, ready to receive Jesus for the first time. They were put through their paces via a steady stream of somewhat painful participation on their part - the reading of the petitions, the offertory procession, and an uncomfortable performance on the steps of the altar as they struggled to make it through all of the verses of "Let Us Be Bread." At the end of the mass, they also managed to combine their First Communion celebration with a mini-May Crowning as each child placed flowers before a statue of Mary. It was a nice gesture, albeit a rather comical one when the woman in charge brought out the statue - dangling it at arm's length, carrying it by the head. Come on, lady, it's the Blessed Mother.
There was a lot that was awkward at St. John, including several moments in the mass itself. After the Lamb of God, part of the congregation was kneeling, part was standing, and a few were sitting. The same thing happened during the distribution of communion. The final blessing included a prayer sung by the priest and repeated by a fraction of the congregation. Hands were raised, not in the "one-hand-palm-extended" style, but in a two-handed "don't-look-at-me-I-didn't-do-it" style. Granted, there may have been a number of guests in attendance for the First Communion celebration, visitors like myself who weren't familiar with the St. John routine. I'm just not sure there was a routine.
ATTENDANCE: About half full
DURATION: One hour and ten minutes
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Well, Shoot . . .
Week One Hundred and Forty-One - In Which I Lose a Church
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