Today was the MarJmom's birthday. As such we (the daughter and son in law from Iowa and MarJ and myself) joined her for a service at her favorite (and childhood) parish, St. Cecilias on East 152nd. I admit the application of my Catholic upbringing is sparse in execution so the actions of when to rise and when to sit necessitated the cues from the Priest who guided us through the sermon.
(Necessary backstory) My own childhood parish was a rather formal to do, or at least it felt that way. I swear parts of the sermon were in Latin with the familiar droning chant that even as a distant memory lulls my eyes to close. I remember the foray into livening up the service with guitar and perhaps something a little more akin to 4/4 time on the organ which were but weak attempts and all but buried under the haunting air of fresh pressed beige slacks and uncomfortable navy blue ties that forever permeates my young memory. That and the sheer scale of the church, whose columns I couldn't ever hope to reach around marching in a rhythmic stoic pattern towards the alter. My grandfather was one of the fellows who in his Sunday best would take collection, so we were sure to be seated in the center aisles and even once or twice undergo the harsh public scrutiny of offering the gifts. As a full disclaimer my father was head of the custodial department and allowed me to help in landscaping and odd jobs at the young age of 13. Through such access I was offered the rare behind the scenes glimpses of the institution, the old boilers, the bell tower lacking bells but having large speakers (this realization forever broke my heart) and the eternal war between the floor buffer and fresh black souled shoes.
It was with this mentality that I entered a new church, expected the similar Catholic droning (sorry!) and the apprehension of the looks I would attract when I failed to shuffle into line for communion. Instead what I received was nothing short of a warm homecoming, the sort reserved for a long lost relative, and not only from the MarJmom but from a congregation that was so open and strong that I felt an honest warmth in my heart. For those of you familiar with the Catholic services there is a moment, previously experienced as politely brief, in which one is to shake the hand of their neighbor and offer them peace. At St. Cecilia's the sermon came to a abrupt halt as the congregation practically erupted in a cacophony of noise, people arising and walking about to hug old friends and firmly shake the hands of newcomers. This usual brief moment (as I had previously experienced) lasted long enough to actually allow me (as a newcomer) to begin to get comfortable with meeting so many new people. I was truly shaken to the core by the experience and perhaps at that very moment I realized with such a great sadness the burden that communities such as Mount Pleasant are currently facing.
You see, St. Cecilia's is facing closure. Not facing as in there is still the possibility that it may not happen but facing as in the parish is going to close its doors. Father Daniel Begin with have to find a new flock and the parishioners of St. Cecilia's will have to find a new community with which to embrace.
It didn't seem to bother the choir which was simply amazing. I only had the opportunity (or bravery) to talk to one member, the gentleman playing homemade drums (think calf skin stretched on homemade shells) and keeping the subtle rhythm while giving the drums strong enough voice to perfectly accentuate the rest of the choir. Nor did the congregation, who had scheduled an ice cream social for today, gather under the dark cloud of impending closure. Instead they were simply rallying around the plans for the August 1st community festival, not looking for sympathy but rather in order to set in motion an attempt to offer strength and joy to the community so many love.
The MarJ, being ever my guide to my own hometown, pointed out the neighboring New Life Community building. Once the elementary school for St. Cecilia's it now offer transitional housing for families fulfilling a rather rare role for the city of Cleveland and boasting a strong success rate. I am unaware of what fate may be waiting for this program when St. Cecilia closes its doors although I am hoping that being an interface program it will stand on its own and continue its work without it's neighbor.
My concern pivots on the impending closing. This amazing community that happened to have congregated at St. Cecilia's for the past 90 years will soon be dispersed and that truly fills my heart with sorrow. While I can understand the pragmatism of such a decision I admit that a great part of me wonders just what sort of fate the community and these parishioners are being handed. At a time when we all need to lean on our neighbor a little bit more, when we all need to watch out for each other with a little more tenacity, when we need to be willing to open our eyes and our hearts a little wider I find the systematic weakening of our core communities a little unforgivable and honestly am fearful of the greater implications to our fair city.
Just when I found a community where everyone goes out of their way to make introductions and begin building a bridge of friendship I find it slipping away. If only our neighbors and neighborhoods could learn to act like that, then we would all be truly blessed.
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