Department of Redundancy Department

Week One Hundred and Four - Saint Thomas (Fort Thomas)
 

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Thomas Church . . . on Fort Thomas Avenue . . . in Fort Thomas.  I was wrong.  It doesn't happen very often, but I was wrong.  I expected St. Thomas to be small, simple, and innocuous, but . . . I was wrong, and I know exactly where my preconceptions went awry - from my very best friend, a resident of Fort Thomas for several years now.  I have listened to her talk about her parish, St. Thomas, on countless occasions - anecdotes about St. Thomas's little festival, St. Thomas's little school, so it was a natural progression to anticipate a "little" church, right?  Wrong.  What I found in Fort Thomas was an impressive church with a noteworthy congregation.

Before leaving home for mass, I did my homework with a quick visit to St. Thomas's website.  I was literally overwhelmed with information.  Someone went to a lot of work documenting every detail of the parish's 100+ years of history as well as the architecture of the church - both interior and exterior.  It was a lot to wade through, too much actually.  I skimmed through looking for highlights but couldn't help but get bogged down in the details. 
 
For example, the exterior was built using "Indiana Bedford limestone;" the interior was built using "Saint Meinrad sandstone."  Now, I'm sure those nuances mean something to someone, but for this girl, it's just stone. I think I've seen too many churches because they're all starting to blend together.  The gray hues of St. Thomas definitely reminded me of another church I've visited, but for the life of me, I can't remember which one.  

The stained glass windows of St. Thomas are beautiful.  The website explains the meaning or story depicted on each of the "theme" windows which automatically created a silent, mental game for me when I got there, "Name that Window."  Had I not read the information on what was depicted in the windows, I'm not sure I would have been able to identify much on my own, but with a few tidbits of what I had read still floating around in the ol' bean, I was able to match a few of them up to the appropriate window.  The result was really fascinating and made the windows all the more beautiful.  There are also several "lancets" dedicated to Saint Thomas and to Mary.  I had to check the meaning of "lancet" after seeing the reference.  Learn something new all the time. 

There are monograms on the rafters, all of which are in Latin or Greek or some other dead language.  There are nice photos and explanations of these monograms on the web which is good because there is no way anyone without superhuman vision could decipher them in person.  Even after reading the online explanations of the monograms, it was (wait for it) all Greek to me.  There is a lengthy inscription just below the roof beams, ringing the body of the church.  This one is in English, but the "elongated Italian Gothic lettering" makes it virtually illegible.  There are glittering mosaic stations of the cross, and the half-dome ceiling above the sanctuary displays a colorful painting of Jesus flanked by twelve saints, men and women, several of whom I had never heard of - Juliana of Cornillon, Tarcisius, Norbert.  Norbert?

I didn't get to really look at the architectural details and ornamentation on the outside of the church, but like the inside, there are several.  There is also a "perpetual adoration chapel" in a building separate from the church which seems like something pretty unique.  I wonder if "perpetual" really means 24/7? 

St. Thomas is definitely a church with a lot of thought put into it.  However, unless you are informed of those details, you'll more than likely overlook the majority of them, and often, there's a minor drawback to a few of them that mutes their impact.  Much of the intricate detail and beauty really does seem to be hidden.  The "Saint Meinrad sandstone" and the abundance of stained glass windows keeps the interior dim, throwing much of the artwork into the shadows.  Plus, there's something about the rafters that gave me the creeps.   There was a vague resemblance to some medieval torture device.  Don't get me wrong though - this really is a beautiful church.
 
Music at this mass was led by a female soloist who sang beautifully.  Her post-communion "Ave Maria" was perfect.  The mass itself, however, was a bit slow, primarily due to the celebrating priest, clearly a retiree in residence at St. Thomas.  He mentioned "80 years" in his homily, so I'm guessing that was his age.  He had all the time in the world, so there was no need to rush.  Organizing his notes for his homily was a time-consuming ordeal all by itself.  But really, what's not to love about a priest who, mid-homily, pauses and then resumes with, "So, what am I saying? . . . " 

Earlier, I mentioned the congregation as "noteworthy."  This was, indeed, a noteworthy bunch, simply for the polos and button-down shirts in attendance.  Not a t-shirt in the bunch!  I think I saw two pairs of jeans in the whole church.  What a nice change of pace to see people not necessarily dressing up for mass but certainly not showing up come-as-you-are.  Even my daughter commented on how nicely everyone was dressed.
                  
Speaking of appearance, don't you love the postcard-perfect picture this week? I may have been the one who stopped the car in the middle of Fort Thomas Avenue for the shot, but it was my daughter who was behind the lens.  She'll return to college next weekend, so I'm losing my primary liturgical traveling companion for a while.  Time to call in the second-string. 
 

ATTENDANCE:  Three-fourths full

DURATION:  One hour

Dear Lord Baby Jesus . . .

Week One Hundred and Three - Saint Margaret of Cortona
    

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Margaret of Cortona.  St. Margaret of Cortona Church in Fairfax was dedicated in 1921, and St. John Vianney Church in Madison Place, just a mile or so away, was dedicated in 1950.  In 2008, the two were merged into one parish with St. Margaret remaining the primary parish.  A mass schedule is maintained at both locations, however, so when my daughter wanted to do a bit of shopping in the Hyde Park area, it was a no-brainer to continue a little farther down Erie Avenue for mass at St. Margaret of Cortona.  

Getting there was fun.  We passed "The Mushroom House" on Erie.  Not sure what the story is behind the Mushroom House, but one has to wonder if its origins did, in fact, involve, well, you know . . . "mushrooms." 
          

  

The Mushroom House doesn't exactly fit in with its Hyde Park environs, but then again, I'm not sure it would fit in anywhere.  Either way, it's quite the landmark.   We stopped, gawked, and took a few photos from the parking lot of a business across the street.  We only made two wrong turns after that.  Granted, it's not hard to get to St. Margaret, but I was in unfamiliar territory and was busy admiring the Hyde Park Country Club and the million dollar estates across from it.  Sigh.

 
We arrived at St. Marge and found a large parking lot with more than enough spots for everyone.  I pulled through a double row of spaces so I would be facing out and able to leave easily after mass.  Within seconds, an elderly woman, "Crash," as we came to call her, had careened her Cutlass into the space on my immediate left - and I mean, careened.  Her front right bumper ended up within an inch of my front left bumper.  Her car was literally in my car's space.  Never mind that there were countless empty spots in the lot.  I looked at my daughter in disbelief.   "I can't open my door," I said.  "There's only about two inches between us."  "Oh, my gosh," she replied, surveying the situation.  "You really can't get out."  And then we dissolved into hysterics.  Crash, of course, was clueless about the whole thing, never batting an eye, calming rummaging through her pocketbook for a dollar to drop in the collection basket.  We waited until she had hobbled into church (didn't want to hurt her feelings), composed ourselves (barely), and then oh-so-carefully extricated the mighty Honda Odyssey from the scene of the almost-crime and reparked several spots away, several spots away.  I don't have a St. Christopher medal in my car, but Crash must have because it was a miracle that she didn't hit us. 

St. Margaret of Cortona Church was pretty much what I expected - primarily, cinder blocks and wood paneling.  Besides a statue of Mary and a statue of Joseph, ornamentation really went no further than two framed pictures hung at the front of the church, St. Marge and St. John, I assume. They hung askew. The pews looked beaten, the tile on the floor was worn, and the decor was dated.  The congregation appeared to be suffering the same effects.  Something about this nondescript, little church just didn't seem to mesh with the other churches in the archdiocese.  Something about it made me feel as if I wasn't even in Cincinnati.  A country holler, maybe, but not Cincinnati.  I can't explain it.

In the course of The Tour, I had seen the celebrating priest once before, although I can't remember exactly where or when.  At this mass, he explained that he would be helping out, not only at St. Margaret of Cortona, but at St. John Vianney and nearby St. Anthony in Madisonville as well.  I like this guy.  He's young, he's friendly, and he's enthusiastic, all of which prompt the question:  What's it like for a young, newly-ordained priest when he is assigned to one - or more - of these struggling, smaller parishes?  "Enthusiasm" certainly isn't the first word that comes to my mind. With the realization that this may not be quite what you were expecting when you signed up for the gig, is there disappointment ?  Or is there relief - the ideal "starter church" where you can learn the ropes - or even joy - a church where you can really get to know your flock?  On the flip side, what is the response when assigned to one of the suburban mega-churches?  Oh, sure, the rectory might be nicer, but at what price?  Hoards of nameless, often privileged, and possibly quite demanding parishioners?  I don't know.  What with the whole "vow of obedience" thing, is location even an issue, albeit a subconscious one?  For the priest at this mass, if there was any sense of frustration or disappointment, he certainly didn't show it, not that I would expect him to, of course, but he seemed sincere . . . and happy.  In this overlooked little church, he seemed to me a beam of light, a ray of hope, and that's more important than any decor on the walls.  I bet he knows Crash's real name. 
    
ATTENDANCE:  Slightly less than half full
  
DURATION:  55 minutes

Hot as Hell

Week One Hundred and Two - Saint Bernard (Dayton, Kentucky)
      

4:00 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Bernard.  A few weeks ago, when the current heat wave had just rolled in, I made a mental note to suck it up and stick to the suburban parishes I so often dread, only for their guarantee of air conditioning.  Well, the scorching temperatures must have torched that mental note because, this week, I mindlessly struck out for St. Bernard Church in Dayton, Kentucky.

St. Bernard Church in Dayton, Kentucky, has no air conditioning.

My Husband the Heathen thought it was hotter than our visit to St. Lawrence Church in Price Hill last summer ("Sweatin' to the Oldies," July, 2010).  I personally thought St. Lawrence was hotter, which isn't to say that I didn't think St. Bernard was hot because IT WAS.  Even with fans blowing, the air was hot, humid, and stifling.  The sweltering heat undoubtedly played a part in the low attendance at this mass.  The few who were there clustered near the fans.  I thought the heavily-vestmented priest would put the pedal to the metal on this one and speed things up, but no such luck.  Multiple verses were sung of each hymn, no one seemed in a hurry, and unbelievably, after a deacon delivered a fairly wordy homily, he introduced a guest speaker, a Franciscan missionary sister, who spoke just as long.  I was dying.

But, to the business at hand . . . The history of Dayton's St. Bernard parish is actually quite interesting.  St. Bernard began as the Parish of Saint Francis of Assisi.  Dedicated in 1854 as the "Roman Catholic German Church of Jamestown, Kentucky," St. Francis was built on a small plot of land on Third Avenue, charmingly nicknamed "God's Acre" but unfortunately located on the Ohio River.  In 1884, a devastating flood ravaged the church nearly beyond repair, so in 1886, a new, larger church was erected.  However, in 1907, two additional floods caused severe damage to that building.  Interesting fact:  "To provide temporary repairs, logging chains were placed around the foundation to provide the support required."  Not sure if that would pass muster these days.

One year later, in 1908, the parish purchased a tract of land on Fifth Avenue. The cornerstone was laid, but due to monetary constraints, only the foundation work was completed.  Meanwhile, back on Third Avenue, the existing St. Francis of Assisi Church was completely destroyed by two more major floods, forcing completion of the work at the Fifth Avenue location, with or without the funds. In 1914, the new - and current - church was dedicated as St. Bernard of Clairvaux Church, the patron of the pastor at the time.

By the 1960's, St. Bernard was a parish of more than 900 families. However, with no flood levee, the Ohio River, while miraculously not damaging St. Bernard's church and school, continued to wreak havoc on the area. Many people left Dayton, purchasing homes in neighboring, flood-free communities, and St. Bernard felt the loss.  Years later, however, construction of a much-needed levee prompted new housing, and the number of people in the city - and in St. Bernard parish - began to grow.  Sadly, it now looks like the times are a-changin' again:  The parish website, last copyrighted in 2004, indicates a parish population of nearly 400 families, but this week's bulletin indicated a meager 89 registered households.  89 households.  How do you even keep a church open with that number?  

I'd like to say St. Bernard is one of those grand old churches that so many overlook, a diamond in the rough . . . but I can't.  Some might call the architecture beautiful, but I don't think I'm one of them.  St. Bernard looks . . . dingy, like it's been through the wash too many times, and given its location, maybe it has.  Both the interior and the exterior just seemed sad to me, as if the planners were really trying to attain a certain ornate beauty but could never quite get there.  Everything seemed to have been given only a half-hearted attempt . . . with one exception - the windows.

The beautiful stained glass windows in the church were designed and made in Munich, Germany. They are reported to be hand-crafted and made of antique glass. The windows behind the altar were purchased in 1919 at an amazing-by-today's-standards total cost of $600.00.  Each of the side windows in the body of the church portray one of the eight Beatitudes, these eight purchased in 1932 at a cost of $850.00 each, a little steeper than the first set of windows but oh-so-worth it.  Today, all of the stained glass windows at St. Bernard are insured for more than a half million dollars but are considered priceless and irreplaceable.  Once you see them, you'll understand why. 

With the exception of those windows, it was a weird visit to St. Bernard.  Disappointing, boring, trying - those all work.  The most interesting part of the trip was what we found outside of the church.  First, I was impressed by "Historic Bellevue."  When my daughter and I visited Sacred Heart in the area a few months ago, we didn't go very far into Bellevue.  This week, my husband and I did and were delighted to find a wonderful section of town, housing tea shops, coffee shops, boutiques, and vintage stores.  I can't wait to return to check it out.  In addition, after mass, I suggested that we stop at The Party Source.  I had read an article in Cincinnati magazine about "growlers," which happen to be sold at The Party Source, and thought it was something the mister would get a kick out of.  Until reading the article, neither my husband nor myself knew what a growler was.  Social hermits that we are, apparently, we were the only ones who didn't know, as quite a few customers in the store were chatting about growlers as well as buying them.  If you don't know what a growler is, you'll have to do your homework and find out.  We bought our growler and brought it home, secretly beaming to be cool again - and I don't just mean the temperature.
     
ATTENDANCE:  Almost non-existent

DURATION:  Too long

It's Not the Heat, It's the Humidity

Week One Hundred and One - Which May Also Have Been the High Temperature This Week

Problem:  The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.  Solution:  Taking a week off. 

Mudville

Week One Hundred - Saint Simon
                       

7:30 Saturday evening mass, St. Simon.  I know, I know - I've already visited St. Simon ("Simon Says," September, 2009), but there were so many reasons to go back this weekend that a rerun was just going to have to be tolerated.  Unfortunately, those reasons didn't quite pan out the way I thought they would.

St. Simon's parish festival has always been held in the middle of July, and the fam has made a tradition of stopping by said festival for one reason and one reason alone - the grilled corn.  Nothing quite like St. Simon corn.  My Husband the Heathen lives for St. Simon's corn.  He talks about it, plans for it, probably dreams about it.  Clear the decks because This. Was.The Weekend.  Now, in retrospect, it's true that I had seen no advertising for St. Simon's festival this year nor any mention of their festival in church bulletins, but it was indicated in St. Simon's own bulletin that the drawing for the "major award" would be Sunday, July 17th.  Thus, I assumed (oh, no . . . ) that the presence of a "major award," not to mention one given away on a Sunday, translated to "festival weekend."  Wouldn't you?  Sooooo, hey, seeing that it's my "centennial" church tour weekend, won't it be fun for the whole family to go to mass together at one of my favorite churches on a nice Saturday evening and then snarf down massive quantities of corn after mass?

Epic fail.

Trouble from the get-go when my son opted to go out with friends.  I really didn't mind - he had been wanting to do something with them for a while.  Then, Dad offered to stay back at home and hang out with him until he left.  I really didn't mind that either - I hate when one person is left behind anywhere.  Okay, on to Plan B then - my daughter and I will go to mass at St. Simon, and Dad will meet up with us later for maize. 

As we approached St. Simon, I believe the conversation went something like this: 
Me:  "We might have to park across the street at the school if it's crowded."
Daughter:  "That's okay.  It'll be worth it.  I didn't eat much earlier to save room for the corn."
Me:  "Gee, there's no one in the school's lot . . . there's hardly anyone here at all . . . I don't think I see a festival."
Daughter:  "You probably just can't see it from here.  I wore a black shirt in case I drip butter on it."
Me:  "Ummm . . . There is no festival."
(pause)
Daughter:  "Should I call Dad?"

It's true that every year, St. Simon's festival had slowly diminished in size.  I had even joked with my husband earlier on Saturday that this year's offering might be a lone hot dog stand with a split the pot booth.  I overestimated . . . a lot.  Not sure how a "major award" ties in to all this.  Doesn't a "major" award imply the existence of "minor" awards? But there was definitely no festival . . . and no corn.   Shoot.

Further compounding the gustatorial disappointment was the emotional heartbreak at seeing the condition of St. Simon's pastor.  I love this guy, and among other reasons, on this cinematically noteworthy weekend, I partially wanted to see him just to confirm my recollection of his eerie likeness to Albus Dumbledore (courtesy of Michael Gambon, not Richard Harris).  It's true that Father's health has been a bit of a roller coaster over the years, but the last time I visited St. Simon, albeit two years ago, he seemed better than ever.  Sadly, something has clearly gone terribly awry over those last two years as he is once again dependent on a cane as well as the arm of an assistant to shuffle the minimal number of steps possible.  He stands only when walking, taking a seat to lead the liturgy, read the gospel, deliver a very brief homily, and even pray the eucharistic prayer.  Even over a sound system, his voice is barely audible.  The mass is a quick one, only, I believe, because every effort is made to keep it that way for the benefit of the ailing pastor. 

I really like St. Simon Church.  Always have, always will, and returning there for the first time in a while reminded me of how much I like it.  Unfortunately, I can't help but wonder what the future holds for this unassuming parish.  Ever so slowly, they seem to be closing up shop, barely hanging on, much as their pastor is doing the same.  I had hoped this weekend's church outing would be a positive, happy one, but instead, it just left me feeling sad. 
     
ATTENDANCE:  Three-fourths full

DURATION:  35 minutes.  Seriously.

Home Sweet Home

Week Ninety-Nine - Bellarmine Chapel

7:00 Sunday evening mass, Bellarmine Chapel or Saint Robert Bellarmine Parish, if you will.  Bellarmine Chapel is located at the center of the campus of Xavier University.  The spiritual heart of the university, Bellarmine Chapel has always been best associated with XU, but Bellarmine is also a Jesuit parish in the Archdiocese of Cincinnati, drawing over 700 families from neighborhoods scattered throughout Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. 

When classes are in session at Xavier, Campus Ministry offers two additional masses for the students on Sunday (as well as one additional each weekday).  One of the Sunday masses, a ten o'clock evening mass, is quite the place to be.  Students know to arrive well in advance of ten o'clock if they even want a chance at a seat - this gig is SRO every Sunday.  They also know better than to show up in sweats and a t-shirt.  A few years ago, a group of Xavier students wrote and performed "Xavier:  The Musical," a series of skits satirizing all that is Xavier.  One of the skits, "10 p.m. Mass," pretty much summarizes the Sunday night liturgy:  

See?  You have to hand it to the kids though.  Here are college students, out on their own, willingly, eagerly, going to mass.  And mind you, this is a mass that often runs close to an hour and twenty minutes in length.  You can thank the always-charismatic president of Xavier, Father Michael Graham, the usual celebrant for the ten o'clock, for that.   

The 7:00 evening mass is a little different than what the ten o'clock mass brings in but not by much.  When the entire clan visited this weekend, we found a well-dressed albeit casual congregation.  An interesting group to be sure, and I mean that in the most positive of terms.  There were families and singles, children and seniors, empty-nesters and, as always, students.  More importantly, however, there were the earth mothers, the movers and shakers, those individuals who really want to make a difference in their community.  You can just tell who they are, but I also know because I recognized a few of those in attendance, and they are, in fact, "making a difference."

To be a parishioner of Bellarmine is to possess a certain attitude that says "I care," "I care about what happens both within these church walls and outside of these church walls."  These people clearly love their parish and, quite frankly, love being Catholic.  The enthusiasm is palpable.  They are happy to be at mass, at Bellarmine, a fact most evident in their spoken and sung participation in the mass.  Bellarmine isn't a big place, so that alone may contribute to the excellent acoustics, but, either way, the volume generated is impressive and powerful.  It was awkward not knowing most of the selected songs for the evening because I may have literally been the only one not singing.

Oh, of course, there are a few items in my "dislike" column.  Still not too big on the touch-feely stuff, and you can be sure there's a lot of that going on here, including the dreaded  "Take a moment and greet those around you."  I was reluctantly impressed when the woman in front of me remembered my name at the sign of peace.  I was disappointed to receive a standard issue wafer of communion in my hand.  Years ago, Bellarmine always shared an actual loaf of bread at the eucharist.  There is no crucifix.  There used to be a crucifix.  Now, a giant plus-sign stands behind the altar, an apparent move by the always-welcoming Bellarmine community to remain . . . well, welcoming to all.  Personally, I don't get it.  

My biggest problem with Bellarmine is the actual physical church and the inevitable "M" word.  Built in 1962, it's a modern one.  Ugh.  There's virtually nothing attractive about the interior, although renovations completed a few years ago did add a nice welcoming area.  The exterior is a hoot.  The roof in the form of a hyperbolic paraboloid is kind of retro-cool, if only for the stories of students over the years riding their bikes on the roof.  Ah, youth . . .    

The Jesuits always have a certain appeal, and maybe that's part of the draw here, but Bellarmine is a vibrant, youthful, active community - always has been, always will be - that pulls in a certain demographic in terms of attitude and commitment.  I feel slightly past my prime to fully share in their enthusiasm for outreach, but I can still admire it.  Of course, for this old gray mare, Bellarmine holds a special place in my heart.  After graduating from Xavier myself, it was a no-brainer to register as a parishioner at Bellarmine.  Along with My Husband the Heathen, Bellarmine was the site of our wedding and then, the baptism of our first child who is now a young adult . . . and a student at Xavier.    

ATTENDANCE:  Full

DURATION:  One hour

Hamilton!

Week Ninety-Eight - Saint Julie Billiart, Hamilton

4:30 Saturday afternoon mass, St. Julie!  Road trip!  To Hamilton!  Puncutation frenzy! Actually, I think the infamous "Hamilton!" is back to plain old "Hamilton" sans exclamation point these days.  Not sure what happened to the exclamation point, but it was fun while it lasted.  Anyhoo . . .

After spending far too many consecutive weeks "in the Heights," I happily pointed the Mighty Honda Odyssey north, way north.  We passed "Historic Lindenwald."  Have you ever heard of Lindenwald, much less Historic Lindenwald?  I haven't.  We passed German Village, and no, we were not in Columbus.  We passed a section of town that my daughter begged me not to drive through again on the way home.  And then, ah, Hamilton.  Home to a thousand small businesses.  After passing said thousand small businesses, including, of all things, a drive-thru with our same last name, a brief moment of panic ensued when my daughter and I thought we were "Lost in Hamilton."  Finally, FINALLY, however, perseverence prevailed, and we arrived at our destination:  St. Julie Billiart.  Seems kind of casual, don't you think?  Julie.  A quick google of St. Julie made only occasional references to Julia, so there you go.  "Julie" it is.  Founder of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur.  Who knew?

Judging by the exterior, St. Julie's is clearly an older church.  Therefore, when I saw the interior, I was confused.  A classic style prevailed, but renovations were evident.  Everything looked so . . . new.  Beautiful dark wooden pews and the hardwood floors beneath them were framed by just-as-beautiful carpeting in the aisles, possibly the prettiest carpeting I've ever seen in a church.  Flawless dark wood continued to dominate the decor in panels on the walls and in columns supporting impressive sculptured stations of the cross.  The main altar displayed a few spires, while the side altars were framed by two-dimensional spires . . . and that was where things started to get fuzzy.  Why just a "frame" of spires?  Why not the real thing?  And above me, a beautiful arched ceiling with coordinating dark wooden ribs and canned lights.  Huh?  Why is there so much obvious drywall in a church with so much time invested in the past?  Google . . .

St. Julie is the result of a 1989 merger of three Butler county parishes:  St. Stephen, St. Veronica, and St. Mary.  I'm not sure which of the three churches supplied St. Julie with the physical building - St. Julie's online history never makes it clear, but each of the three goes back well over 100 years.  St. Mary was dedicated in 1848, St. Veronica, 1894, and St. Stephen, the oldest Catholic parish in Butler County and the fifth oldest in the archdiocese, 1836.  Whichever building was ultimately chosen was slated for renovation amid the inevitable storm of controversy over the proposals.  Nonetheless, all fears were laid to rest when the community viewed the completed work.  It was beautiful.   

                                                             
On May 12, 1990, all joy turned to sorrow when fire consumed the church. Everything that had been accomplished was destroyed.  The above photo was taken from the parish website, a photo I find incredibly sad.

Rebuilding wasn't even a question, and work began immediately.  In the process, the outside was kept the same, but the interior was changed.  They did an outstanding job.  Given the style of the other churches of the time, things could have gone terribly wrong, but the interior is really lovely.  I was impressed, and we all know that doesn't happen very often.  In August of 1992, the new church was dedicated, and ironically, one of the first priests to take up residence at St. Julie was one of the priests currently in residence at St. Ignatius.  Small world.  

St. Julie has a large Hispanic demographic.  Half of their website is in Spanish, half of their bulletin is in Spanish, and in their missalettes, the left side is in English while the right side is in Spanish.  A one o'clock Sunday afternoon mass is offered in Spanish.  I don't speak Spanish, but I always find the concept of a foreign language intriguing, so much so that, at this mass, I spent far too much time during the readings matching up the English I was hearing with the Spanish in the book.  And did I mention the children's missalettes in the hymnal racks of each pew?  Donated by the Rosary Altar Society of St. Julie's several years ago, they had definitely seen better days, but I found it charming to see them there.  What a nice idea someone had.

All in all, St. Julie Billiart Church is a good one although a little too far for me to make a regular habit of attending mass there.  As their bulletin and website boast, just "2 blocks north of (the) Butler County Courthouse."  I suppose that could be interpreted as an invitation to salvation - pre-conviction or post-exoneration, but for now, I'll just assume the courthouse is the biggest, if not only, landmark in town and not just the most well-known one. 

ATTENDANCE:  Almost half full

DURATION:  55 minutes