Now This Is A Church

Saint Mary Star of the Sea in Beverly, MA

The thought of leaving the only parish you've ever know can be unthinkable for some Catholics.  In fact, the sudden closure of several churches within the Boston Archdiocese several years ago caused much discord and upheaval.  If your spiritual needs are not being met, however, changing parishes can be quite easy.  During my childhood at St. John the Evangelist in Beverly, I just assumed our great priests would always be around but by my early teens, they were no longer there due to a series of transfers and the death of our pastor.  At a time when I was seeking closeness with my faith, the new priests assigned to our parish seemed distant and cold.  Their sermons just didn't do it for my family and soon my older brother and I were making up nicknames for them like Fr. Forgetful and Fr. Boring.  With the departure of our interim pastor, we were assigned Fr. George Butera.  He seemed friendly enough but was a bit quirky and after a while my mother came to the realization that he was always asking his parishioners for money.  This was a real sore spot for us because the church's interior had already undergone a recent and unnecessary renovation.

After sticking it out for a few years, my mother wanted something more so on a random Sunday in late 1992, she decided we would give Saint Mary Star of the Sea in downtown Beverly a try.  It was a large traditional looking church (circa 1908) made out of red brick with a steeple that could be seen for miles.  My first time inside had actually taken place many years before when my mother introduced my brother and me to the Holy Thursday tradition of visiting seven different churches in one evening.  When we entered St. Mary's again and took our place amongst the parishioners, the only thing I had remembered about the building from that initial visit was the high ceiling covered in ornate woodwork.  My brother admired the architecture and remarked, "Now this is a church."  I was struck by the large and diverse congregation which seemed to include a good amount of young people.  I guess we get so attached to our parishes, it almost felt like I was a spy trying to blend in with the crowd or at the very least, a stranger who had been invited to a friend of a friend's party.  The teen girl who sang during the Mass was very talented and my brother thought she was cute too.  The priest, who was nearing the end of his assignment here, gave a very upbeat sermon which only added to the positive energy we found at St. Mary Star of the Sea.

After Mass, we decided right then and there to make this church our new spiritual home.  The beautiful architecture was a plus and despite my brother's remark, it was a combination of many things that drew us to this place.  You just got a sense that the congregation was dedicated in its faith and had worked hard to build a wonderful community that was a reflection of God's love.  As my mother, brother and I returned week after week, we didn't feel like strangers anymore.  The pastor at the time was Fr. Richard Johnson.  He seemed to be a likable grandfatherly figure with a positive attitude that often shone through in his sermons.  There was also Fr. Richard Mehm who was extremely conservative in his beliefs and took his faith very seriously.  You could always count on his sermons to tackle the hot button issues head on without apology.  New to St. Mary's in 1990 was the fairly young and somewhat jocular Fr. Richard Beaulieu who had belonged to this parish as a child.  He was more liberal in his outlook and wasn't afraid to call out the hypocrisy of conservatives which of course upset some parishioners.  I wondered if he and Fr. Mehm often butted heads behind closed rectory doors.  This was all so very refreshing to me because at the very least, these priests had something to say and their sermons usually gave you something to think about which had not been the case with the church we left behind.

A regular sight at one of the morning Masses was a little boy who liked to shake hands so much, he left his pew and went up and down the isles in order to reach as many people as possible.  I marveled at that kind of innocence and it reminded me of how I saw the world during my early childhood at St. John's.  How cynical it was for me to wonder when he would stop doing that.

My initial experiences with St. Mary Star of the Sea were uplifting but I wanted so much more from my faith and this church.  Doubt and awkwardness had punctuated my high school years.  Would this house of worship provide a nurturing environment to help me find my place in the world?

Something More Than Coffee And Donuts

It's amazing how drastically your view of something can change over the years.  Looking back to when I was a small child, I loved the elderly parishioners at St. John the Evangelist.  It didn't matter how wrinkled or gray they were.  I thought these people had a grandfatherly or grandmotherly aura about them and some even radiated a form of charisma that children were inexplicably drawn to.  One elderly usher liked wearing turtlenecks and tinted glasses with the church's standard issue red blazer and I thought he was just plain cool.  When it came time for everyone to shake hands, I tired to reach as many people as I could and loved it.  Young, old, male or female.  It didn't matter.  I really wanted to shake your hand.

As I got a bit older, this innocence waned.  I think young people bring to the table a passion that's genuine and pure but often it lacks a certain amount of tact that comes with age.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing, though.  During one altar boy training session, Fr. Kiley urged us to do our best because if we made the slightest mistake in our duties, he would hear about it at the end of Mass.  You see, there was a group of old ladies sitting in the front pews who critiqued our performance on the altar.  My immediately reaction was to ask Father why these parishioners were paying all this attention to us and not the Mass itself.  I saw a distasteful complacency in the front pew peanut gallery and wasn't afraid to say so.  Now my remark could have been put more diplomatically but at its heart was a concern some parishioners were missing the true meaning of the Mass.

When you think about the early years of St. John the Evangelist in the 1950s, it had to be about passion.  This group of people decided to be part of a new parish in a city that was already home to two Catholic churches.  For over a year, they met in the basement of a veterans post to worship but eventually this new parish built what was then a very modern complex that not only housed a church but a school and convent as well.  I'm guessing these people had to strongly believe in what they were doing and put their money, time and energy where their mouths were all in an effort to spread the Gospel, educate young minds and form a community of faith.

In the 1950s there seemed to be a spiritual confidence within the Church where bold and creative ideas emerged for propagating the faith like the establishment of chapels inside shopping malls in order to reach people in their new marketplaces.  During my time at St. John's some thirty years later, I just didn't see much of this remarkable passion.  As I was struggling with my faith, the old people around me seemed to be content, static and stale.  For many, going to church was simply part of a long-held Sunday morning routine where pews were "reserved" and a mere dollar in the collection plate was good enough even for the parishioners who could afford much more.  After Mass activities included gossiping over coffee and donuts but never trying to carry one's faith beyond the church doors.  These are not the things that build great parishes but many at St. John's were blind to just how stagnant the congregation was.  They were certainly blind to the struggles my friends and I faced as young Catholics.  A good number of my public school classmates attended CCD with me but very few of them actually went to Mass.  That number shrank even more after confirmation with some of my friends giving up on God altogether.  Had this parish offered us something more than coffee and donuts after Mass then perhaps this wouldn't have been the case.

I started to look around the church and wonder where all the young people were.  This question took on new meaning as I found myself developing attractions to the opposite sex with almost no girls my own age in sight.  A feeling of loneliness eventually crept in and I grew to resent the large elderly presence at St. John's because in many ways it represented a failure of my parish to stay relevant.  On a personal level, I so badly wanted to find fellowship and love with people my own age, seeing all the gray hair and wrinkled skin in the pews became tiresome.  Hearing the elderly constantly complain about death or aches and pains was downright depressing to this teenager but few things were worse than when an old lady would tell me how handsome I looked!  (Oh how I longed to hear that kind of compliment from a girl my own age.)

Sadly, much of my life in the Catholic Church has been marred by priests and laypeople who have never treated my concerns with a sense of urgency yet if parishes are to thrive, there needs to be a balance that encourages the best traits of ALL its parishioners.  While youth often brings recklessness and self-absorption, it also offers creativity and passion and these gifts can be the perfect compliment to the wisdom and patience that comes with age.  Without a serious commitment to its young adults, congregations stagnate in a climate of indifference and narrow-mindedness until they wither away.

They Put Hot Rod Flames In My Church!

St. John the Evangelist Church and School

My first spiritual home in the Catholic Church was St. John the Evangelist in Beverly, MA during the 1970s and 80s.  It was a neighborhood parish located far from the downtown in a box-like building attached to a Catholic elementary school complex all of which was constructed during the late 1950s.  In fact, the church itself should have been the school's gymnasium but original plans for a separate house of worship on the complex's grounds had been scrapped.  My older brother went to school here for a couple of years but my only experiences with the building's classrooms were the occasional craft fair and CCD (a.k.a. Sunday school).  I found it to be a fascinating place with "secret" rooms along dark hallways, a fallout shelter in the basement cafeteria and a set of locked doors at the top of the main staircase that supposedly led to an abandoned convent.

Since my father was raised Orthodox, he rarely accompanied us to church but his absence never bothered us or seemed out of place.  As a small child, I didn't have much of an understanding of the Mass.  You sat in a pew and kept yourself entertained while the boring grown-ups yammered on.  I loved placing money in the basket and looked forward to the part where everyone shook hands.  When people went up to get communion I knew Mass would soon be over but wondered what the host tasted like.  Back then, going to Church was just something you had to sit through but you never questioned going.  It was part of the Sunday morning routine and after Mass my mother might get a box of Munchkins at Dunkin' Donuts.

Over the years I had some very thoughtful CCD teachers and they helped me gain a better understanding of my faith.  Soon I was joining in on all those verses the grown-ups had yammered on about.  Following in the footsteps of my brother, I eventually became an altar boy.  While some of St. John's priests faded into the haze of distant memories, a few were unforgettable.  Our longtime pastor was the sometimes soft-spoken and sometimes gruff, Fr. George Everard.  He could get so worked up during passionate sermons it wasn't uncommon for him to thump the pulpit.  Fr. John Kiley was a master at playing the organ and often added his own intricate embellishments to the music.  He was also in charge of training the altar boys and treated us to an annual trip to Canobie Lake Park.  These were truly innocent times and we had such a high regard for our priests, they almost seemed otherworldly.

As my teenage years approached, doubt started to creep in.  It's only natural to ask the big questions:  Why do bad things happen to innocent people?  Is God really out there?  Where is my place in the world?  At a time when I needed consistency, guidance and fellowship there wasn't much at St. John's geared toward helping young people find their way.  I started to look at the aging population of our parish and was troubled by their overwhelming numbers.  To make matters worse, Fr. Kiley got transferred to a different parish in 1987 and Fr. Everard passed away the following year.  Their replacements left much to be desired.  One priest was so elderly and forgetful, his sermons just rambled on and on.  Our new pastor was very aloof and I no longer put these priests on the same pedestal as their predecessors.  This wasn't the only unwelcome change at St. John's, however.

For a box that was supposed to be a gym, the Church building itself had always been nicely decorated but for some reason it was decided that an extensive cosmetic renovation was needed.  A fundraising campaign was launched and before long workmen were tearing up beautiful woodwork and subdued purple draperies.  What we got after the renovation boggled the mind.  The wall behind the altar was painted in a sloppy crosshatching that looked like it was done by the 5th grade art class.  The sanctuary was now a semi-circle with a prominent raised section emerging from the ceiling.  On it they painted what was supposed to be the burning bush but the depiction was barely noticeable and resembled tumbleweed instead.  Taking up most of the space on this surface were several plumes of fire that were awful looking.  My brother said they resembled the flames you'd see painted on a hot rod.  After all the hype, our once beautiful church was laughable.

This was my first introduction to a twisted logic that seems to pervade the Catholic Church.  Instead of focusing on the things that really matter like fellowship, evangelization, or helping the poor, people convince themselves that painting a wall or replacing light fixtures will strengthen a parish.  I would argue these costly renovations ultimately do very little to attract people to the Catholic Church.  What I saw on display at St. John's was a complete waste of time.  Rather than an expression of God's love, it seemed to reflect someone's ambition.  The Bible says to give anonymously yet so often when these renovations occur, a commemorative plaque is installed in a prominent place so everyone can see all the donors' names.

If I suffered from a little bit of doubt a few years ago, it was now magnified many times over as a result of these disappointing changes.  Our church saw yet another new pastor but his most defining trait was constantly asking his parishioners for more money.  There was always some pet project that needed funding but very little was done to increase our faith.  My family was so fed up we eventually decided to give that big church downtown a try and it quickly became our new spiritual home.  I haven't set foot in St. John's since but a recent look at their website revealed those terrible renovations have been painted over with more subdued colors and accents in purple.  Seems like the church already had that a long time ago.

Why This Blog? Why Now?

At Mass we often hear the constant calls for vocations to the priesthood and religious life but what to do if you feel that you were meant to walk another path?  Will those in the Church act as good shepherds and help you in your struggle to find your way, or will you be forced to travel this path alone?
       
As a lifelong and devout Catholic, I have NEVER had a calling to the priesthood.  This is not a bad thing.  It just means that for a very long time, I've felt a very strong desire to be married.  It's great that there are people in the world who have a calling to the priesthood and religious life and if you feel choosing this vocation is why God put you on this earth then no one should get in the way of that.  However, the Catholic Church's desire to see more priests fill its ranks often unfairly places my calling to the Sacrament of Marriage on a far less important rung in the grand scheme of things.
       
Think about it.  A common intention our lector says at Mass is: "We pray for vocations from the young men of this parish…that they will hear God's call and say yes."  The word "discernment" is often thrown in for good measure too.  However, a "vocation" can mean many things…a career…a hobby…a craft…a way of life that gives you fulfillment.  When did the definition for the all important v-word get changed to something that only applied to the priesthood and religious life?  For those of us sitting in the pews each week with the vocation of marriage burning in our hearts we are left to wonder how come no one publicly prays for us with the same sense of legitimacy and importance?  
       
Have you ever heard a lector or priest during Mass say, "We pray for the single Catholics of this parish…that they might find companionship and fulfillment in the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony."  I haven't but it's not like I didn't try.  During a town hall meeting at my former parish, I mentioned my struggles as a single Catholic to our pastor and suggested they pray for the people like me at Mass during the intentions.  After he nervously grinned (probably because such an idea was so foreign to him) he talked about some of the steps that the parish could take to encourage fellowship among single Catholics but as the months passed, nothing ever came of this.  How crushed my soul felt sitting in the pews week after week with the realization my parish couldn't even be bothered to pray for the people in my situation let alone recognize our needs.
       
The Church is at a very serious crossroad which it can no longer afford to ignore.  Religion simply does not play an important role in many people's lives anymore as society continues its march toward the secular.  Parishes are closing.  Congregations are graying out with very few young adults to fill the pews.  You'd think the Church would do all it could to promote fellowship and marriage for faithful single Catholics.
       
The sad truth is many of the actions (and inactions) of the Catholic Church have only driven people away.  This is a tragedy because I think there are so many great things the Church does have to offer especially when we look at how mainstream society suffers from addiction, materialism, greed and meaningless interpersonal relationships.
       
I was raised Catholic since birth and have been devout for a very long time but my faith is like a ship adrift in a storm.  I am a lost sheep wondering why I am on this lonely path.  Are you one too?  I suspect there are many single Catholics out there who have suffered from similar disappointments and if the Church is to survive and grow, it needs to stop acting like we don't exist.