Holy Smoke

Week One Hundred and Fifty-Eight - Saint Lawrence (Lawrenceburg)

 



5:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Lawrence.  And I'm back. Oh, I'm sure some of you are probably asking yourselves, "What happened to weeks 147 through 157?!  IS EVERYTHING OKAY?"  Well, at least, that's what I'd like to think you're asking, but yes, everything is fine, and the answer to your first question, in a word, would be "summer." 

The List, while still chocked full of unseen churches, poses quite a challenge these days.  Any outing to a yet-to-be-visited church isn't exactly a hop and a skip down the road; it's more like a two and a half to three hour outing.  Not a problem for me and my husband in our autumnal return to empty-nesterdom, but when the kids are home for what amounted to be a very, VERY short summer, I'm certainly not going to ask them to give up their valuable time to indulge their mother's liturgical whims.  Likewise, I'm not giving up my valuable time with them by leaving them behind to indulge my liturgical whims.  Bottom line:  there are a dozen or so Catholic churches within ten minutes of our house.  We spent our summer mass times at those, especially base camp, St. Ignatius. But now, it's just me and the mister again, and oddly enough, it was that very mister who asked me last week if The Tour would be resuming soon.  Yes, it would!  And so begins "Year Four" of The Tour. 

YEAR FOUR?!?!?!?!

 

Good lord.  Ths is getting ridiculous.  Let's go to the tote board: I've been to 96 different churches, 11 of them in Kentucky, 3 in Indiana, the remaining in Ohio.  I honestly don't have a favorite church, although several have specific aspects that I really liked and do remember.  There are a few churches that I will not by choice return to.  In the words of Foghorn Leghorn, there's just something "eeeeee" about them.  I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that if, in fact, I did revisit churches that I initially liked or disliked, my second opinion could very well be distinctly different from my first.  With that said, where were we . . . ?  Ah. Indiana. 

As we made our way into Indy on Saturday afternoon, it was all my husband could do not to pull into the Lawrenceburg Speedway.  Thankfully, he had already made his annual pilgrimage to "the track" a few weeks ago, fulfilling some primal need for mud and noise, and continued on to our more peaceful destination - St. Lawrence Church.  His first comment once inside the church, however, was about the long, narrow decorative arch surrounding the crucifix, something to the effect of "Is that supposed to represent the racetrack?" I scooted down a bit to avoid the imminent lightning bolt.

I can't say I was much better in the reverence department though, especially when I noticed the statue of Saint Lawrence at the front of the church.  He was holding what appeared to be . . . a grill rack.  "Patron saint of grill masters?" my husband asked.  Giggle.  Actually . . .

It's an interesting story, if a bit gruesome.  Saint Lawrence died a martyr's death . . . a slow, cruel death.  He was tied to an iron grill over a slow fire, so that his flesh roasted little by little.  It is said his love for God was so strong and God gave him so much strength that Lawrence was able to joke, "Turn me over.  I'm done on this side!"  I couldn't believe this part of the story, but several resources give the same information.  So that was, in fact, a grill rack in his hand - which still strikes me as kind of bizarre, and Saint Lawrence is the patron saint of chefs . . . which, I suppose, includes "grill masters." 

With the present day church built in 1867, I expected the interior of St. Lawrence Church to really be something.  It isn't.  Whether the result of some modern day renovations or restoration following any of several floods from the nearby Ohio River, things are pretty plain, so plain that there's really nothing to comment on.  The stained glass windows are nice.  The arched ceiling is nice.  A statue of the holy family seems to take the place of individual statues of Mary and Joseph which are absent.  I did notice a small painting of a dove, the Holy Spirit, on the ceiling, high above the altar.  I thought that was pretty cool, a hidden treasure.

I liked the celebrating priest here.  Although a poor sound system made it difficult to comprehend his words at times, his relaxed style projected a true paternal presence.  My husband and I exchanged nervous glances when he, rather than the servers, lit the altar candles before mass with what appeared to be a flame-thrower.  Could have burnt the whole church down. 

Overall, mass at St. Lawrence was pleasant enough, and amazingly, I spotted a family I knew across the aisle.  Small world.  Small Catholic world.

ATTENDANCE:  Three-fourths full

DURATION:  50 minutes

                    

                   

                   

                             

                   
 

 





Sweatin' to the Oldies

Week Forty-Nine - Saint Lawrence

7:00 Sunday evening mass, St. Lawrence. Location, location, location. This particular location being on Warsaw Avenue in Price Hill, deep in the heart of Price Hill. So much so that, being the wimp that I am, I recruited My Husband the Heathen to accompany me. Let's be honest here, people. Price Hill just ain't what it used to be. Granted, upon arrival, we discovered a nice, big parking lot adjacent to the church; plus, had I been aware of the sizable crowd that attended this mass, I might have sucked it up and taken this one on my own, but I still can't help but think that some of my suspicions were confirmed. The first thing we noticed upon arrival was a Cincinnati policeman walking the beat around the church . . . and the church parking lot . . . where the cruiser was very conspicuously parked. Oh sure, he helped direct traffic after mass, but he was definitely making a statement before mass as well.

St. Lawrence is an imposing church. It's big, it's hulking, and once you're in Price Hill, it's unavoidable. With that being said, I expected something truly magnificent on the inside, and yes, it was all there - the soaring ceiling, the arches, the stained glass windows, the coolest stations of the cross to date. A gorgeous copper ceiling in the entryway was a showstopper, but something was still amiss here, and the only thing I could put my finger on was the choice of colors. Who in their right mind paints a church, this church, any church, yellow and dark pink? Seriously. There's so much potential there. Someone call Artworks and let them go crazy with a mural or something because this church deserves better than mustard and catsup.

Moving on . . . to the most prominent point of discussion for the week: the heat. Temperatures consistently in the 90's have combined with high humidity to create a sweltering summer sauna of crazy-hot days and just-as-hot nights. Air-conditioning is a must, and as we all know, all churches are air-conditioned these days, right? Wrong. After first noticing Cincinnati's finest on patrol, the second thing my husband and I noticed when pulling up to St. Lawrence was the front doors of the church - wide open. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn't. That's right, kids. We're doing this one old school. Open up those windows and bring out the fans because air-conditioning isn't on the menu tonight.

Was it hot? Was it hot. Hotter than hell. You would think a place that big with ceilings that high would maintain some sense of decency when it comes to temperature but apparently not. I didn't know they still made six-foot oscillating fans, but there they were, strategically placed in each of the four corners of the church in a desperate attempt to cool this baby down. With each fan blowing at full power, it was only natural - and fairly amusing - to watch the congregation congregate more densely in each of those corners than anywhere else in the church.

How was the priest going to celebrate mass in this heat, I wondered. Those vestments have to be hot at any time of year, but this seemed downright dangerous. At the altar, the flames of the candles were still. Translation: no benefit of fans up there. After a lovely tolling of the bells to signal both the call to mass as well as the time of day, mass began. There was no music, no singing, and certainly no hesitation on the part of the priest. For the first time, I can include an entire homily in my entry: "The first reading was about perseverence. Let us persevere. Winter will be here soon. Please stand for the creed." Most of us hadn't even hit the pew before being asked to stand. Priceless.

On one of the hottest weeks of the year, this large sweltering church had pulled in a full house. Older couples, large families, teens. The whole Catholic spectrum was there. Certainly the majority of these folks knew about the lack of air-conditioning at St. Lawrence just as they certainly knew how high the mercury had risen this past week. So what gives? Why voluntarily subject yourself to the heat? Was it the convenience of the time of the mass? Or was it a trade-off between withstanding the discomfort for half an hour for squeezing in the fastest mass in town? I'm not convinced of a strong showing by strictly registered parishioners at this particular mass since I spotted our previous next-door neighbors there, old friends who now reside in Harrison. Hmmm. Is this mass always so efficient? Is that the draw? There were so many variables here that a do-over might be in order.

Nonetheless, within 30 minutes, mass was over, and we were out of there. On the way home, we came within minutes of Resurrection and drove directly past St. Theresa of Avila both of whom offer a 7:30 Sunday evening mass. It was all I could do not to stop at either of them and make this a two-for-one weekend. Now that would have been something to write about.

ATTENDANCE: Full

DURATION: 30 minutes