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So on my way out to run a few errands today (pay bills, transfer my insurance, buy my books, etc.), I decide to stop at St. Mary's on 8th Street since it's one of the downtown churches that I have not visited yet. With so many, you'd think I had too many choices, but I've still been searching!
When I arrived, I found all the doors locked. I went all the way around the church and a little swarthy man of (what I can only guess as) Hmong descent came and found me and asked me what I was looking for. I asked him if the church was always locked and he said yes: that they open at about 11:15-11:30 for the noon mass. He opened the door at let me in.
St. Mary's is old. Really old. Built in 1865, it looks old. The altar piece is marble, the stained glass is mostly Marian and gothic (and very pretty, even if it's a bit plain ~ I sat under the window of the Annunciation ~ ha!).
The little man went to turn on the Christmas tree and nativity lights, reverencing the tabernacle as he passed. I guessed he was the sacristan, but I liked that he was reverent. There was an electrician in there doing who-know-what and he was consulting with someone else and they whispered when they talked and the electrician went out into the hall when he needed to saw something. I liked that too. In every other church I've been in so far, people gaggle and yak in the aisles most disturbingly!
The church inside was actually pretty ugly in a scabby, old way. It was poorly heated, poorly lit, the decor was mostly tacky and mismatched ~ even the ornate marble altar was more ugly than majestic, the pews were plain, the Christmas bows and garlands cheap and uninteresting, the nativity old and haggy-looking (but placed with love). The Stations of the Cross were ancient and faded (and hang out of order for some peculiar reason!). There were blue votives lit before the statue of Saint Joseph to the right of the altar. I'm guessing the place is only slightly smaller than the cathedral in Austin (which tells you how small the cathedral was!) and it smelled of old wood and candle wax.
I sat for a long time looking at the crucifix hanging to the left of the altar (a beautiful old large crucifix ~ the most beautiful thing in the whole church), and when mass finally began (sans music or anything else by way of introduction), I noticed that there were six women in the pews (including myself) and nine men. What church on earth has more men attend a noon weekday mass than women? I was impressed, even if there were only 15 people in there.
To my surprise, the little gentle Hmong man turned out to be the priest himself! Also impressed me: what priest notices people wandering around the parish and chases them down to let them in? He gave a very short homily on the Name of Jesus in his thick accent (in fact, this was the shortest mass I have ever attended. If it lasted more than twenty-two minutes, I'd be surprised).
But you know what? Everything was done so reverently, and everything about the priest and the lector and the few parishioners was so earnest. And the tacky church itself was so humble in its own faded way, and I thought: I can go to St. Agnes and be proud because it is beautiful and because Father Altier is there and they celebrate the Latin mass. etc. etc. or perhaps does God want me here ~ in a crumbly old church of what would appear little means, a small congregation, and a humble priest whose English is good, but hard to understand (so the more closely one must listen)?
I think I will go back on Sunday. There was an organ in the rear loft, so perhaps they will have music. Maybe I've found my home. Not in the grand cathedral, not in the famous St. Agnes, but in the place we ought to expect to find Jesus: poor, off to the side, away from the hub and bub ~ like a manger on the skirt of a little town.
: D
When I arrived, I found all the doors locked. I went all the way around the church and a little swarthy man of (what I can only guess as) Hmong descent came and found me and asked me what I was looking for. I asked him if the church was always locked and he said yes: that they open at about 11:15-11:30 for the noon mass. He opened the door at let me in.
St. Mary's is old. Really old. Built in 1865, it looks old. The altar piece is marble, the stained glass is mostly Marian and gothic (and very pretty, even if it's a bit plain ~ I sat under the window of the Annunciation ~ ha!).
The little man went to turn on the Christmas tree and nativity lights, reverencing the tabernacle as he passed. I guessed he was the sacristan, but I liked that he was reverent. There was an electrician in there doing who-know-what and he was consulting with someone else and they whispered when they talked and the electrician went out into the hall when he needed to saw something. I liked that too. In every other church I've been in so far, people gaggle and yak in the aisles most disturbingly!
The church inside was actually pretty ugly in a scabby, old way. It was poorly heated, poorly lit, the decor was mostly tacky and mismatched ~ even the ornate marble altar was more ugly than majestic, the pews were plain, the Christmas bows and garlands cheap and uninteresting, the nativity old and haggy-looking (but placed with love). The Stations of the Cross were ancient and faded (and hang out of order for some peculiar reason!). There were blue votives lit before the statue of Saint Joseph to the right of the altar. I'm guessing the place is only slightly smaller than the cathedral in Austin (which tells you how small the cathedral was!) and it smelled of old wood and candle wax.
I sat for a long time looking at the crucifix hanging to the left of the altar (a beautiful old large crucifix ~ the most beautiful thing in the whole church), and when mass finally began (sans music or anything else by way of introduction), I noticed that there were six women in the pews (including myself) and nine men. What church on earth has more men attend a noon weekday mass than women? I was impressed, even if there were only 15 people in there.
To my surprise, the little gentle Hmong man turned out to be the priest himself! Also impressed me: what priest notices people wandering around the parish and chases them down to let them in? He gave a very short homily on the Name of Jesus in his thick accent (in fact, this was the shortest mass I have ever attended. If it lasted more than twenty-two minutes, I'd be surprised).
But you know what? Everything was done so reverently, and everything about the priest and the lector and the few parishioners was so earnest. And the tacky church itself was so humble in its own faded way, and I thought: I can go to St. Agnes and be proud because it is beautiful and because Father Altier is there and they celebrate the Latin mass. etc. etc. or perhaps does God want me here ~ in a crumbly old church of what would appear little means, a small congregation, and a humble priest whose English is good, but hard to understand (so the more closely one must listen)?
I think I will go back on Sunday. There was an organ in the rear loft, so perhaps they will have music. Maybe I've found my home. Not in the grand cathedral, not in the famous St. Agnes, but in the place we ought to expect to find Jesus: poor, off to the side, away from the hub and bub ~ like a manger on the skirt of a little town.
: D
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: D
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What is the hold this thing has over me? I write about it all the time, claim to have consigned it to the past, and yet... and yet.
Thank you!
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by chance there was a baptism last sunday when i went to mass and the priest went on a bit about being "marked with the name of God" ~ in the way that we write our names on our mittens so we don't lose them at school. i think there's something to that. some mystical, indelible id that we never lose from that moment on and it carries along with us in its own gentle, reminding way.
: D
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The image of having little tags like childrens mittens is such a comforting one! As I get older I can feel it, jabbing in me :)
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~ Laura.
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: D
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P.S.-- do you have cingular as your cell phone perchance? I remember you mentioning it many many many entries ago. :)
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: D
and no, i dunna have cingular. i went with sprint.
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: D