The Churches of San Francisco
One Man’s Odyssey through the Catholic (and Orthodox) Churches
of God’s Favorite City
by Ikaros, The Angel who Crash-Landed
PART V
Church of Saint Paul
1660 Church Street; mailing address: 221 Valley Street (Noe Valley)
Visited Saturday, 25 Jan, 2014, Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul (vigil of Third Sunday in Ordinary Time) 4:30 mass
ARCHITECTURE:
Gothic Revival
Strong Point: Franz Mayer Stained Glass, Gothic Spires and groin vaulting, Lighting Fixtures
Weak Point: Not a Trace of One.
LITURGY:
Liturgical Style – Folksy and Friendly
Music – Folk Guitar
Homily – H4, (see homily ratings below)
“Sister Act”
Lost in my usual morning stupor and throwing articles of clothing randomly at my body in hopes that they’d land in the appropriate places (and why NOT wear an old shoe as underwear? Who’s to notice?), rushing to be ready by the time my sister showed up at the door to accompany me on the Walk for Life West Coast. I was lacing my shoes when she showed up. We shuffled to Civic Center Plaza, where fifty thousand people (they estimated) were gathering to walk in support of our weakest and most vulnerable ones: the unborn babies. These littlest ones live in their own eerie underwater world, womb to some; tomb to others. Our laws have legalized their slaughter. I would walk to save their lives. And possibly, I would die to save their lives.
The first “picket Sign” we saw belonged to Christiana, who graciously permitted me to use her photo and name in my blog. Her sign made me cry (one of the great gifts of my Italian half is the ready and cathartic tearfall).
Other signage made equally poignant statements exposing the farce of legalized abortion for the heartless infanticide it really is. My favorite speaker was an agnostic, who used science and simple facts, the “New Testament” of the biology textbook, to expose the murder incognito of abortion.
The Orpheum Theater pays unwitting tribute to Motherhood at the beginning of the parade route.
The walk ends at the Ferry Building, whose recently-completed clock tower was halted by the seismic convulsions of 1906, freezing in time the moment of 5:12 a.m. on 18 April. Refurbished a century later, it has recovered its place as vibrant hub of transportation and culture. Milling about the plaza, we passed a local hero, on the scale of a Hercules or Agamemnon (my Greek half blushes with pride), who has the unmitigated courage to defend marriage, family, and the unborn, in a city which has criminalized the nuclear family as the enemy of our cherished “diversity”, thereby narrowing the very diversity for which we claim to stand. And this hero defends the family without uttering a word of accusation against the communities of “diversity” which have mysteriously labelled him a hater. Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone (my Italian half blushes with pride), paraded by in the midst of his retinue of Knights of Columbus without making eye contact. I made a subtle bow to my hero as he passed, and continued with my sister to the BART station, which whisked us in a few short stops to the vicinity of St. Paul’s parish on this, the liturgical feast of the Conversion of St. Paul.
Is it considered tacky in the blogosphere to use the same photo twice? So sue me.
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The Church of St. Paul is locally famous as the set for the Whoopie Golberg movie “Sister Act”; chosen, no doubt, for its quintessential neo-gothic interior, dramatic marble altar, and the exquisite stained glass from (once again) the Franz Mayer studios in Munich. I made my best attempt to capture the beauty of this photogenic church with only the help of a wee tabletop tripod, providing less than perfect results, before squeaking in a quick rosary before Mass.
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Today's feast: The Conversion of St. Paul, in Stained Glass
Mass began with a cringe. “Sing a New Song unto the Lord” is not my personal taste in music, (but at least it was nicely executed by talented piano, guitar and vocals). Furthermore, there was no procession. The priest appeared at the altar with none of the fanfare of Christ on Palm Sunday, which is what every processional symbolically represents to me). I felt gypped out of one of my favorite parts of Liturgy.
In the a cappella opening of the Glory to God, once again the cantor’s beautiful voice briefly took center stage.
The homily, given by Jesuit Father Michael Kotlanger (on loan from St. Ignatius High School), was a thoughtful and studious reflection on Christ’s fulfillment of Isaiah, bringing the Old Testament to life in the New. Seeing through father’s eyes how Christ relocated to Capernaum, to begin his ministry in the path used by the Syrians on their invasion route into Israel, Father illustrates how Christ poised himself for God’s recapture of the Temple. I was inspired by his exhortation for us to become the new apostles of Christ in our own time, and spread the gospel with our acts and words into the world in which we live. It made me think of how our own church, in so many ways, has been attacked from inside and out, and sits in need of God’s re-conquest through a new generation of saints.
Thank you, Father, for your beautifully-constructed message.
At the offertory, the cantor’s voice sparkled, and despite my musical tastes, I remained impressed with this liturgy until the ending note, when the Holy Sacrament of Communion left me with a bad taste in my mouth. Awkwardly, four women, who I took to be plain-clothes sisters, distributed communion (which is fine with me, of course) while the priest did NOT (which was unsettling to me). To assist the priest is commendable, but to replace him, in any context, bothers me. Had these women co-opted the sacrament, wresting it from the hands of the priest in an act of political posturing, or had the pastor assigned them this duty? Without knowing the details, I'll refrain from passing judgment. The mass then ended, again, with no recessional: our good, thoughtful priest disappearing like the Wizard of Oz behind his curtain. Perhaps I’ll re-visit this church when the pastor is celebrating and ask him a kindly-worded question or two, but the overall impression I left with was that of an under-empowered clergy being partially eclipsed by an over-empowered ministry team, and I wondered if this parish had, in fact, become the living metaphor of a “Sister Act”.
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What?!?! No Recessional?
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Tailgate:
Try this place some time - GREAT Pizza!
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My sister and I headed for Rustic Pizzeria, where we were joined by a second sister to cap off the evening with some of the best pizza in San Francisco, at the recently-opened Rustic (a few long blocks’ walk from the fringe of Noe Valley to the Mission). And thus completed my own personal "Sister Act", as I bade the two farewell and enjoyed the evening trek home.
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Barbie drinks here? Our Lady answered a prayer here?
I'm sorry, folks, but I'm afraid your "Vegetaurian" isn't quite explicit enough.
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My “Hurricane-System” of Homily Ratings
H5: Transformative
The priest said or demonstrated something which altered my perspective, so profoundly, that I leave the church a different person than when I entered, and remain so. The priest has not only challenged me toward growth but provided me with the tools or information I needed to accomplish and sustain that growth. I have heard just a few such homilies in my life, so don’t be surprised if there aren’t (m)any times you see this rating come up.
H4: Challenging
The priest has made it clear that we are not complacently at the end of our journey, but in need of Christ to bring us closer to where He is calling us. I feel challenged and encouraged to move beyond where I am now.
H3: Inspiring
This is a category of many beautiful and moving homilies, in which the priest has painted with words an image of spiritual fulfillment toward which we are all striving, but not necessarily mapped out the process for me to get there.
H2: Feel-Goodie
Everybody wants a homily that makes us leave Mass feeling good about who we are, but how will we ever grow in faith if all we get is a spiritual pat on the back and a candy bar? Typically, these homilies ignore our church teachings, blithely side-stepping them, rather than outwardly contradicting them. They can be harmful “Pharisee-makers” in boosting our smugness and self-righteousness when what we need is a stern correction. Happily, I have heard very few homilies of this nature in the city of San Francisco.
H1: Negative
The only thing worse than a priest making me feel good about being the unrepentant sinner that I am is a priest who makes me feel bad about it. Gladly, I have heard so little fire-and-brimstone negativity in my lifelong practice of Catholicism that I can honestly expect not to use this rating at all.
H0: Heretical
Let’s hope that this is another category I can safely expect not to use. I have, in my travels, heard views from the pulpits of Catholic churches which contradict Catholic teaching, but I don’t expect to happen across any contrary teaching here in my City and County.
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