A Wagon Wheel Christmas

Week One Hundred and Twenty-Three - St. Ignatius of Loyola

3:00 Christmas Eve mass, St. Ignatius.  Well, here goes nothing . . .

'Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was stirring, except for the mouse (because the cat had killed the mouse two nights earlier - true story).
The girls were still primping, while the boys tied their ties.
It was nearly one-thirty!  Time for three o'clock mass at St. I's!

Down the road they did travel, just a mile or so,
Looking forward to the chaos of the matinee show.
The Odyssey purred as they pulled in the lot
'Til Dad squealed the tires to nab the last spot.

The church was a vision in Christmas-toned hues,
While the visitors sprinted and haggled and wrestled for pews:
"That's my seat!" "I want it!" "Why can't we all fit?"
"Where's Grandma?" "Where's Grandpa?" "There's nowhere to sit!"
Several rows had been saved for the religiously late,
But our gang got a seat! - It was Christmas Eve fate!

The children were lined up at quarter past two
For their "piano recital" which started on cue.
They tickled the ivories . . . some more than others,
Temporarily blinded by their photo-snapping mothers.

'Twas a sigh of relief when the bells tolled at three
For the entrance procession led by Father Saint G.
He led with "MY FRIENDS . . " and then started to pray,
Desperately trying to put Christ back into this Christmas Day,
But the crowd was distracted; they lined the church walls.
The children kept busy with trucks, books, and dolls.
The doors were propped open to let in a breeze,
When the temp in the church reached one hundred degrees.
A lost lectionary caused an awkward delay,
And a few screaming children drew looks of dismay.
"And also with you" could be heard loud and clear,
From the "faithful" who make it to church once a year.

After that, things went well through the final "Amen."
Joy to the world!  It was only four-ten.
As one mass let out and another poured in,
The annual Monfort Heights gridlock kicked in.
Nothing says Christmas like honking your horn,
There would be no silence here on the night He was born.

Truth is, it was perfect, making memories so dear,
(And so, I'll just end this ridiculous nonsense and say . . . )

Happy holidays to all, and I'll see you next year.
 

ATTENDANCE:  Do you have to ask?

 

DURATION:  One hour, ten minutes

No Longer Under Construction (Third in a Three-Part Series)

Week Ninety-Seven - Saint Ignatius

7:30 Sunday evening mass, St. Ignatius.  After driving through the parking lot of St. I's last week, my daughter and I got a sneak preview of the improvements that had been made to the church over the past few weeks.  We accidentally caught a glimpse through the front doors of the large stained glass window we had heard about.  It appeared impressive and quite beautiful.  I had such high hopes . . .

Oh, dear.  Oh, dear dear dear.  What does one do in a situation like this?  Okay, how to approach this . . . hmmm.  Seeing that the whole family was in attendance, something that doesn't happen very often, making this something of a liturgical holiday, there was quite a bit of conversation on the way home.  Let's go to the tape:

1.  My Husband the Heathen:  "I don't think I got my money's worth.  All I got was a wagon wheel."  There's no denying it - the newly installed stained glass window looks like a big wagon wheel.  A large circular piece divided into eight sections, the work is installed directly above and behind the altar.  I feel safe in assuming no part of the original, exterior church wall was removed, so clearly, the window is artificially lit from behind.  It's not a bad window.  Although the details are unfortunately small enough to make them difficult to decipher, the window, of German origin, has a history dating back to the mid-1800's, something you can't not respect.  It's the presentation that's gone all wrong.  The frames between and around the panes are too wide, too contemporary, creating - wait for it - a big wagon wheel.  A big, cheap, homemade wagon wheel.  And it's mounted on a big plain beige wall.  The result is something oddly contemporary for such a classic piece of art and something fairly, well . . . protestant.  It's Crossroads.  It's The Vineyard.  It's not Saint Ignatius.  

2.  My daughter:  "I feel bad for Jesus."  I do too.  With the wheel taking center stage, the crucifix has been moved off to the side.  It blends into and is dwarfed by its surroundings so it's barely noticeable.  Jesus has been upstaged by a wagon wheel. 

3.  My son:  "If I hadn't known they were getting new pews, I would have thought they were the same ones."  A few weeks ago, I read an article somewhere that stated several St. I's parishioners were of the opinion that the money used to purchase new pews could have been better spent for a charitable cause, namely, food for the hungry.  My initial response to that sentiment was my usual sarcastic one, but after seeing the new pews, I have to concur.  These pews looks identical to the old ones.  True, they don't shift when someone sits down, they don't creak, and there are no more gaps or broken kneelers, but honestly, without looking closely, I too wouldn't have known they were new.  Worst of all, my pet peeve - the old tattered hymnals are still in place in these brand new pews.  I couldn't believe it.  Would it have killed them to spring for the additional cost to replace those puppies?  It's like . . . I don't know . . . putting used car mats in a brand new car, like starting out the school year with old, torn notebooks.  It's embarrassing. 

4.  Yours truly:  "The new carpet looked nice."

New and improved?  Not exactly, but, hey, maybe it'll grow on me, and to be fair, change is always hard.  But then again, change isn't always right.

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full (significantly less than the normal SRO)

DURATION:  One hour

Still Under Construction (Second in a Three-Part Series)

Week Ninety-Six - St. Ignatius Community Center

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ignatius Community Center aka "The Gym."  THIS WAS IT.  This was the weekend we had all been waiting for.  Time to cross one off the bucket list.  The infamous "Mass in the Gym" weekend.  My daughter and I broke out our best track suits and laced up our tennies just for the occasion but couldn't manage to keep a straight face long enough to even make it out of the driveway.  Okay, we didn't actually go with the activewear (although, after taking a quick look around the congregation at the apparent lack of dress code other than "When in Rome," no one would have cared - or noticed - if we had), but we did have a hard time containing our grins and giggles.  

Arriving at St. I's after a lengthy two-minute drive, it was a no-brainer to opt for the quick stroll down memory lane and enter the gym via the "school door."  Resultant observation:  It's good to know some things never change.  My daughter wanted to roam the halls for old times sake but quickly came to her senses, fearing she might run into an old teacher - they live at the school, you know.   And then . . . like a beacon in the night . . . there it was . . . The Gym. 

It had to be killing the athletic boosters to see their new gym floor covered with folding chairs, and I do mean covered.  We took a seat directly under a basketball hoop.  I mean, why wouldn't you?  Wish I would have kept my camera with me.  However, amazingly, even the abundance of chairs still wasn't enough to accomodate the crowd who eventually lined the back of the church, er, I mean, the gym and even took up residence on the bleachers.  Seriously.  A considerable amount of pleading to switch our seats "for maximum effect" ensued from my partner in crime, but I have my limits and that was one of them.  I was not about to sit in the bleachers for mass.

The "altar" was on the stage, another folding banquet table, this time elevated on blocks, and no, I don't know why.  A friend who had already attended Mass in the Gym had earlier described the altar as a plank of wood on concrete cinder blocks.  It wasn't quite that bad, but it still looked more like an ailing white Caddy up on blocks in someone's driveway than an altar.  The entrance, offertory, and closing processions ran the length of the court.  (Daughter: (aside) "Hey, look - they got new scoreboards.")  Some genius had made computer-printed black and white pictures of the stations of the cross and taped them to the walls.  I'm not kidding.  If I had actually seen someone seriously making use of them, I might have had to leave.  Even the senior gentleman behind me got a chuckle - or was it a grumble? - over them.  A few rogue blue and gold mylar balloons drifted at the ceiling, leftovers from the eighth-grade graduation party, held almost a month ago.  A small room off of the main gym area served as both a confessional and the sacristy.  I wouldn't have been surprised if someone had opened the concession stand.   

The Birds were back, providing music.  A drum set was present, though unused at this particular mass.  I can't even imagine what that would sound like in there.  Pep rally for Jesus, no doubt.  Bathrooms located to the front provided plenty of entertainment with a steady stream of youngsters, many with the whole family in tow, which I really didn't get.  

A lot of fond memories have originated in the St. I's gym.  Junior high dances, summer talent shows, the school carnival, science fairs, the annual parent meeting at Meet the Teacher night, and more.  You'll notice that mass is not one of them.  Never will be.  Never should be.  I might have felt bad about my mockery of St. I's use of the gym until the man sitting in front of me struck up a conversation with the celebrating priest.  "Father?" he asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. "When will the new pews be ready?"  Father's response:  "Hopefully, by Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.  That way, we can get back to where we should be."  
  
ATTENDANCE:  Full
     

DURATION:  One hour

Under Construction (First in a Three-Part Series)

Week Ninety-Five - St. Ignatius' Hilvert Center

10:15 Sunday morning mass, St. Ignatius.  I hadn't been back to St. Ignatius since Christmas Eve, and truthfully, I can't really say I was missing it - nothing against St. I's, I'm just enjoying seeing the sights, but sometimes an opportunity presents itself that you simply can't ignore.

For the past month, St. Ignatius has been doing some major renovations in their church - new pews, new carpeting, and something about a large stained glass window.  As a result, the church has been unavailable for mass, and all weekday and weekend masses are being celebrated in the St. Ignatius Community Center, what we common west-siders call "the gym," as well as in the Hilvert Center, the largest of the parish's meeting rooms.  Now, I've never wanted to attend mass in any gym, especially on Christmas Eve and Easter, something St. I's traditionally offers at their more popular masses on those days, but I've also joked about it enough to know that should it be offered any other time, I just might have to experience it for myself.  Ask and ye shall receive.  I'm there.

Although I was particularly looking forward to mass at center court, it has to wait until next week.  Due to scheduling constraints, this week, my daughter and I attended Sunday morning mass in the Hilvert Center.  Although it bore a strange resemblance to other churches I've visited in recent weeks - who shall remain nameless - I have to say it actually wasn't half bad.  Of course, the restrooms prominently located off to the side were a novel and unfortunate distraction.  No surprise that every little boy and every pregnant woman in attendance had to make use of the facilities. There was also something comical about an entrance procession arriving through a virtual sea of metal folding chairs, rows and rows of metal folding chairs.  Well, at least they started out in rows.  By the end of mass, things were a bit . . . skewed.  Can you hear the classic grating of metal chair legs on a tile floor?  Those folding chairs really stole the show.  Everything else seemed rather forced.  Someone had hung a crucifix behind the "altar" which, as everyone could tell, was really a folding banquet table, and a few candles were lit.  A small group of women whom we fondly refer to as "The Birds" provided musical leadership, so in the big picture, I suppose it sufficed.  After all, what more do you really need?  Well, apparently, you do need something more because, although we had gone through the motions in the Hilvert Center, my daughter and I both came home with the feeling that we still hadn't actually gone to mass.   

I have to hand it to the St. Ignatius crowd though.  They're a faithful bunch.  Although our family attended the 10:15 mass on a fairly regular basis when the kids were younger, it had been more than a few years since I last made it to the 10:15.  Amazingly - or not so amazingly - many of the same people are still showing up like clockwork.  You could probably tell St. I's parishioners that mass would be celebrated in the frozen food aisle of Kroger's next week, and they would still show up in droves, singing their hearts out and socializing like there was no tomorrow.  Gotta love that St. I's spirit.  Maybe that's all you really need . . . maybe that's what I'm missing. 
 

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full
 

DURATION:  55 minutes

The Christmas Moose

Week Seventy-One - St. Ignatius Loyola

3:00 afternoon mass, Christmas Eve, St. Ignatius.  Well, as they say, there's no place like home for the holidays, so once again, tradition prevailed - I was off the trail but with the whole gang at St. I's earliest - and busiest - Christmas Eve mass.  They were lining the walls, standing two deep in spots, for this one, an annual rite of liturgical chaos - all this in spite of a second three o'clock mass running concurrently in the gym.  I've never been to the Christmas Eve mass held in the gym, but every year, there are reassurances that it will be conducted in a "reverential atmosphere" . . . at center court. 

The trick to attending St. I's three o'clock Christmas Eve mass in the church is to arrive early, "early" meaning "no later than two o'clock" - and I'm not kidding.  If you can't make it by two, forget it or hire a seat saver who can be there by two.  Even with your seat saver, however, you want to arrive no later than 2:30 or things can get reeeeeally ugly, just like they did this year. 

Saving seats is a tricky thing.  My daughter and I are the family's official seat savers for the boys who mercifully arrive just fifteen or twenty minutes later. An elderly gentleman in the row behind us arrived shortly after two, however, and saved the whole pew for his family.  Even with grandpa's well-intentioned gesture, this was trouble a-brewin' from the get-go, but when his family didn't arrive until nearly 2:45 (inexcusable), his countless awkward denials to those looking for a seat progressed from exasperated sighs and shaken heads from those trolling the pews to a near fist-fight and an exchange of obscenities that really embodied the Christmas spirit.  I was dying.  There was no way I could look at my husband or I would have been on the floor in hysterics. 
 
Aside from that classic piece of drama, things flowed pretty smoothly.  Well, one of the readers, an adorable little girl, did misread "the bridegroom rejoices over his bride" as "the bridge-groom rejoices over his bridge," an interesting concept in itself, and  feedback from the sound system did bring the Nicene Creed to a screeching halt, but this really was St. I's at its finest.  All the big names were there.  All the big families were there.  It was a "Greatest Hits" mass if there ever was one.  

My Husband the Heathen, back at St. Ignatius for the first time since last Easter, couldn't help but compare St. I's to the many other churches he's visited with me.  His review wasn't exactly glowing.  Of course, there is no comparison in aesthetics when you're talking about The Barrel, but when you factor in that St. I's spirit,  that Wildcat pride . . . well, that's a whole 'nother story, a story the parish can be proud of.   

ATTENDANCE:  Fire code violation

DURATION:  A mind-boggling one hour and ten minutes

The Birds

Week Sixty-Seven - St. Ignatius Loyola, aka, Home Base

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Ignatius.  The "tour" is becoming more complicated.  I've visited almost all of the churches within a reasonable distance from my home.  As a result, it's now taking more time, more planning, and more gas to visit those churches remaining on the list.  Troubling.  In the meantime, the holiday weekend was pulling me in a number of different directions.  Therefore, at the request of the fam, it was a quick one minute drive down the road to St. I's for Saturday afternoon mass.

The church was surprisingly full . . . who are these people?  Have things really changed that much in one year?  It was less than comforting to realize the only people I recognized were "the old fogies" - my friends' parents, my children's friends' parents.  Guess the next generation has moved in.

I have to say, with the exception of those beaten-beyond-recognition hymnals, St. I's wasn't looking half-bad this go-round.  Something was different.  The popular concensus was that the ceiling had been painted.  Odd, I know.  There was a new cabinet for the holy oils.  Wow . . . the things you notice in the church you've spent the last twenty years in. 

ATTENDANCE:  Comfortably full

DURATION:  One hour

The Motherland

Week Thirty-Three - Roll Away the Stone

8:00 mass, Easter Sunday morning, St. Ignatius. First, let me begin by saying that Easter Sunday, 2010, has been the most perfect Easter I can remember in a long time. Temperatures in the 70's, beautiful, sunny skies, a quick and easy brunch, a relaxing day (with nothing to do but nap and enjoy the outdoors - yes!), and a good dinner. With an agenda like that, it's obvious why Easter always has been and will continue to be my favorite holiday.

I couldn't quite rally the troops to attend the Easter vigil service at St. Rose on Saturday evening, so it was back to square one this week, i.e. St. Ignatius, bright and early. Ah, tradition - and maybe a little too much of it. For how many years now has the children's bell choir played the exact same songs? Too many to count, unfortunately, but I do realize that for those first-time bell ringers, it's all new, and for their parents, it's probably another Kodak moment . . . yeah, I've been there. The generations are definitely changing at St. I's. The kids who I remember as kindergartners are now in college; the parents I volunteered with in the school cafeteria are now grandparents; and, most notably, who are these young families and what are they doing at my church? Attend the same church regularly and you'll definitely get a front row seat for the circle of life.

Ironically, when starting this little church tour project, I was content with St. Ignatius, both the physical church and the parish. Now, in a bizarrre twist of fate, I'm not sure I can say that anymore. After seeing so many vaulted ceilings, Michaelangelo-esque paintings, towering spires, polished woodwork, and even marquee lights on "The Tour," here I was on Easter Sunday looking at drab, blank walls in something that resembles a large, concrete barrel. I couldn't stay tuned in to the deacon delivering a disconnected homily, and I was annoyed that, as usual, the pastor made a mistake saying the mass. Even the music director flubbed the words to one of the songs. After a long week of Easter-related services, I'm sure the staff was weary, but I'm not sure I accept that as an excuse - it's only the most important day of the church year. And really, St. I's, would it kill you to invest in new hymnals? The only thing holding the current hymnals together is scotch tape and prayer. It's embarrassing.

"Familiarity breeds contempt"? Contempt is definitely way too strong of a word, but maybe that's the problem. Visiting other churches provides a bit of novelty, a sense of entertainment, and definitely a certain level of interest as one ventures into the new and unknown. Returning to St. I's means it's back to the "same old, same old." There's nothing new here - same music, same faces. It's all too familiar, and while some might find comfort in that, right now, I think I'll continue seeing the sights while I still can.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Liturgical Chaos

Although not an official stop on the church caravan, I feel compelled to comment on this past week's attendance at Christmas mass (actually, Christmas Eve mass) at "home base", Saint Ignatius.

Because our family is small, every year, we very purposefully attend the 3:00 Christmas Eve afternoon mass, better known in our house as "Liturgical Chaos." It's the 3:00 mass, but you have to arrive by 2:00 to get a seat. By 2:30, the church is full, and by three, it's standing room only, if you can find a place to stand. To add to the parking lot chaos, there is a second mass running simultaneously at 3:00 in the parish gym. I've never been to that mass, but since it includes a number of children's choirs, I can only assume that it's just as full as the church given the guaranteed large number of parents and grandparents in attendance.

Liturgical chaos is perfect for us. For a brief few hours, we get to live vicariously through the many extended families all that their holiday entails but without the stress or aggravation. Then, it's out to dinner and back home. Ah, a true "silent night." While I'm somewhat envious of those who enjoy a Christmas in a house filled with countless cousins and ear-splitting noise levels, I've grown up at the other end of the spectrum, and it's what I'm accustomed to - for now. Maybe, some day in the future, grandchildren will change all that! I hope so.

Going "back home" to St. Ignatius for the first time in over four months was interesting. I took a look around and what I saw was a large, cavernous behemoth desperately in need of an interior decorator. I can't say I missed it. A few of the regulars may have slightly changed in appearance, but overall, things haven't changed much. I anticipate my next return visit to be on Easter Sunday.

Now, where was I? . . .

And . . . We're Off!

So many churches . . .

So, I've decided to attend mass at a different church each week.

Why?

I've been a practicing Roman Catholic for my entire life, but I'm not having a crisis of faith or "looking for God" or anything profound like that. I'm content as a member of my own parish, so I'm not looking to switch allegiances. Hmm. I guess I'm just, well, bored (not from a religious standpoint, just bored in general), and since Cincinnati has SO MANY Catholic churches, the answer to "Why?" seems obvious - WHY NOT?!!

Week One - Home Base - Saint Ignatius

Ah, my own parish of Saint Ignatius of Loyola in Monfort Heights. As far as my little project goes, I'm not even really sure if this week should count. As a member of St. Ignatius for the past 19 years, I've only been to about a million masses there. With almost 3,000 families in the parish directory and six masses offered each weekend, it's definitely a large community - and a nice one. Having attended every possible mass option over the years, oddly enough, this weekend offered a bit of novelty in terms of masses. With the annual parish festival taking place, the starting time of 4:00 for Saturday's festivities prompted a rescheduling of the normal 4:30 mass to 3:00. I was there. Knowing that the majority of the people in attendance would be heading straight to the festival before the last song even ended (whether to hawk raffle tickets and/or to "drop their envelope in" via the Big Six booth), I expected a lot of t-shirts and shorts in the congregation . . . and I was pretty much right. Wait a minute - no homily?! and (par for the course) the priest forgot the creed. Guess even he was anxious to get out there!

ATTENDANCE: Comfortably full

DURATION: An unusually short 50 minutes