I met a lot of inspiring people during my 14 months on the road. But Father Raul Marquez and the folks of St. Peter stood out in how they helped me turn that inspiration into action.
I attended the American Sign Language Mass at St. Peter to write about the experiences of Deaf Catholics and how the Church had evolved over time to better serve their needs. Father Marquez, then the pastor at St. Peter, was gracious in welcoming me and my special guest, son Ian, to the parish that Sunday morning.
But the effects of that Mass lasted well beyond that fourth Sunday of Lent. Spurred on by my experience, I enrolled in ASL classes at St. Rita School for the Deaf in Cincinnati. Better yet, I’m taking the class alongside my daughter, Kiera, a first for both of us. (For the record, she’s a much better student than I am. My tired old brain doesn’t absorb new information quite as readily as hers).
As I am diving into the world of Father Marquez (who learned to sign to better serve his parishioners), he has also moved on to a new challenge. Sparked by comments Pope Francis made while visiting the Middle East in 2018 for people of good will to open our churches, our buildings and our hearts to those who are in need, especially to poor children, Father Raul realized he was being called to serve in a new way.
The priest has temporarily stepped aside from his role shepherding a parish to lead another venture, Francis House. The home in Colombia was created for up to 12 girls living in extreme poverty around the world to find emotional, spiritual and economic support to help forge better lives. Father Raul founded the home based on his own experience growing up in Colombia.
If you would like to join me in contributing to Francis House, you can do so at their website at https://francishouse.us/.
And, of course, to read more about Father Raul and St. Peter, you can get a copy of 52 Masses at https://52masses.square.site.
When I was wrapping up the writing process for 52 Masses last year, the obvious hope was the book would be available for the Christmas season, figuring it might make a nice gift for the devout Catholic in one’s family.
I came up a little short of that goal, making this graphic temporarily obsolete. Fortunately, the celebration of the Nativity of our Savior is an annual event. Thus, I’m sending out this reminder that the book remains available for purchase.
I hope you consider 52 Masses when you’re shopping for that friend or relative who might appreciate reading about some inspiring men and women. Or, if you’re anything like me, you can drop this hint when your child asks you what you’d like for Christmas and you’re drawing a blank for an idea.
Either way, thanks to all of you who have supported me during this experience. May you all have joyous Advent and Christmas seasons.
Bill Tammeus of the National Catholic Reporter reviewed the book. I want to thank him for such a positive review, one that I think really captures what I was hoping to accomplish.
While the days of regular travel to churches across the country are over, I still have the occasion to visit a new one from time to time when my regular job takes me out of town.
Today was just such an occasion, when I attended Mass at Prince of Peace in Olathe, Kansas (that’s pronounced O-lay-thuh. I know, I asked).
As most of my travel now is for business-related activities, I’m typically exploring new parishes for daily Mass. Such was the case today, and I was delighted to see an all-school Mass in session. These are always special, not just because the churches are far more filled to capacity than normal (and this one was particularly well-attended).
The priest presiding over today’s Mass was perfect for an all-school Liturgy. He not only had the kindly manner of Fred Rogers, he even sounded like him. And any comparison with Fred Rogers is about the highest compliment I can give, as I consider him one of the 10 greatest Americans of the 20th Century.
During the course of my tour of the Augustine Institute last week, I was asked a question I previously hadn’t been: Over the course of your travels across the country, where did you go where the Mass was done the best?
I was stumped. Ultimately, I answered Rhode Island, which was kind of a cop out, but in another way, it reflected my feelings quite nicely.
I chose Rhode Island not because of any specific Mass, but because of all three. The Church of the Holy Name of Jesus is, in many ways, three parishes in one. It’s the traditional neighborhood parish. It also serves the Latin Mass community in Rhode Island at another Mass. And still another, held in the Lady Chapel, is done for the city’s sizable East African population. There, the Mass is said in Nigerian, with music to match. The chance to experience Mass so many different ways in one place was obviously appealing, even if it didn’t really answer the question directly.
But as I thought about it, and believe me I’ve thought it about it plenty since then, I realized that in some ways, my favorite Mass was probably an amalgamation of many of the places I went, somewhat validating my on-the-spot answer. ‘
Thus, my favorite was this:
Before even entering the worship space, I would choose the way the parish community at St. Joseph University Church in Buffalo truly invited all of its visitors to feel comfortable. It takes almost no effort to make newcomers feel welcome, but not enough parishes do it.
From an architectural standpoint, we would celebrate in Sts. Peter and Paul in St. Louis and admire how man has created beauty as a way of honoring our Lord.
We would arrange ourselves the way they do at Holy Family, the Syro-Malabar Church in Phoenix. There, the youngest people are put way up at the front, where they can focus fully on the altar. Behind them would be the baseball team from Bethlehem Catholic High School in Pennsylvania, a group of young men celebrating Mass before they could take part in their secondary activities. Our Mass would have a full complement of altar servers and deacons, as they did in Yukon, Oklahoma.
For the music, I’d choose a combination of the choir at St. Katharine Drexel-St. Mary in Kaukauna, Wisconsin and the musicians at Our Lady of Guadalupe in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Oh my, I can hear this right now.
The homily would be delivered by Father Brian Park from St. Michael, Minnesota. His words, and all of the liturgy, would be accompanied by an American Sign Language speaker, such as the ones I encountered at St. Peter in Portland, Oregon. And for those incapable of coming to Mass, such as home- or hospital-bound, the presentation of the livestream would be handled with the professionalism and care of the men and women of Seton Parish in Bear, Delaware. Though there is no substitute for being in the presence of the Eucharist, we can still strive to do our best to bring Mass to those who can’t physically be there.
The Consecration would be performed by Father McCambridge at St. John the Baptist in Arkansas. For solemnity and reverence, the Latin Mass is tough to beat.
Before we filed out of Mass, we would gather at the baptismal font for the communal blessing of the sick, as they do at Christ the King in Dunbar, West Virginia.
And after Mass, we would come together for feast and fellowship (at my table, there was a high-level philosophy discussion taking place. I was riveted, even if low-level philosophy is beyond my understanding) as they do at St. John Chrysostom Melkite Catholic Church, in Atlanta. As Sundays are the only day the far-flung parish community can come together, they make the most of them.
Finally, if we happened to miss Mass at 8 a.m., we would have many more options to follow, as is the case at Our Lady of Guadalupe in Bakersfield, where 11 Masses are celebrated from Saturday to Sunday evenings.
It’s still a cop out I suppose, but it’s an aspirational one.
52 Masses 