The Gymnasium Transformed; or, Our Lady of White Flight; or, St. Slovenly's; or The Gravedigger of St. Peter's

I've written before about the South Shore parish which recently knocked down its old church and built an eight million dollar mega-monstrosity in its place. I paid them a visit a few weeks ago, and it was as disturbing and disorienting as the architectural drawings promised.

The first thing that strikes the observer is the overwhelming, callous massiveness of the thing. Situated near an intersection in a quiet, suburban neighborhood, it seems to revel in its gaudy, unnecessary obtrusiveness. If they just wanted to increase the seating capacity, they didn't have to build something like this. They didn't have to erect this giant, brick middle finger, which seems to be flipping off passing motorists, the other Catholic parishes on SI, and the world in general, while boasting about its large endowments, mad skilz, and uncommon prowess with the ladies, like some stereotypically hyperbolic rapper. Indeed, if this thing were a person, it would be wearing a velour track suit, a diamond-encrusted American-flag belt buckle, a hubcap-sized gold medallion around his neck, puffing on a giant cigar and blowing smoke in your face. That attitude might appeal to the My Cousin Vinny demographic on the South Shore, but it doesn't say much for the taste or judgment of the people who approved this construction. It achieves size without grandeur.

The architects claim that it was built in the "architectural tradition of basilicas, with a high main nave and lower side naves or transepts". If that was their intention, I think they failed miserably (and I think the pretensions of the pastor are evident in the church's description as a "basilica", but that's a separate subject). As can be seen in the next picture, the transepts are hardly much lower than the nave, despite how it looks from the outside. One simply feels like they are in a big round room.

Besides which, why bother to claim this spurious continuity with the architectural tradition when what you've created is such an obvious dislocation from that tradition? From its cartoonish and abstract stained glass windows (some of which were designed by a local Episcopalian priest, who, by the by, lives with another Episcopalian priest in a magnificent, landmarked Victorian mansion on a North Shore hilltop), to its felt banners, its amorphous shape, its light and feminine atmosphere, to its enthronement of the priest/M.C. at the center of the sanctuary area with the subsequent banishment of the Tabernacle to the side, this church is the embodiment of "the spirit of Vatican II", and a rejection of the past. A Pentecostal megachurch? Maybe. A Brooklyn reception hall? Ok. But a basilica? Nah. Only in the most superficial way could it be interpreted as part of the Catholic architectural heritage. Can anyone conceive of Good Friday happening here?

Notice the throne. Notice the Tabernacle. Who are we worshipping?

Whatever its architectural shortcomings, the place was packed when I attended. There must have been 500 people there, dressed in their Sunday worst, as they did on my first visit. I even saw some people in shorts, due to the unseasonably warm weather. It was kind of sad to think of all the suffering North Shore parishes and Catholic schools, like St. Peter's, when this place was engorged with parishioners and surplus cash. Not too many decades ago the South Shore was a sparsely populated backwater, where a congregation of this size would have been unthinkable. But then Black faces began moving into traditionally White North Shore neighborhoods and everyone fled below the Expressway as fast as they could. The exodus from Brooklyn added impetus to the population shift. So, the Church must follow its flock. 

The priest was a tall, thin man, who almost looked like he could be a brother of the pastor. The Gospel that day was from Matthew, where Jesus told the disciples that even a person who lusted after a woman in his heart had committed adultery, or that a person who called his brother a fool will be liable to Gehenna, etc. It is a very important and deep Gospel reading. He chose to read the short form of the Gospel. As a digression I must ask WHY we even have short forms of Scripture readings. Unless one is saying Mass on a sinking ship, I see no reason to even make truncating the Word of God an option. Are we so eager to get out of Mass 30 seconds faster? Are we scared of the politically incorrect parts of the Bible? I just started a petition on this subject: http://www.petitiononline.com/noshtfrm/petition.html.  Please sign it if you agree with me. Anyway...

The priest started off by insulting Catholic girls. He spoke of a class he taught, in which a girl mentioned that she reads the Bible with her boyfriend. The priest quipped, "Obviously she wasn't a Catholic girl!". The audience guffawed. I thought that joke was distasteful. The rest of his sermon was ok. It was obvious he fancied himself a good speaker. Maybe that was why he shortened the Gospel. However, while he did a good job of rephrasing Jesus' words in contemporary terms, and made some incisive points, he said nothing, to my mind, that touched our individual consciences or spurred us to holier life or more transcendent understanding. If we sin simply by our thoughts and words, then shouldn't we confess the evil intentions we allow our minds to entertain? How do we bring our thoughts under control and consecrate our lives so as to achieve greater holiness? Hmm? Well, I guess we got some jokes instead.

A large choir, situated to the right of the altar, supplied the music. It was led by a nicely-dressed young cantor, who had to gesture to the seemingly confused choir about when to sit, stand or sing. Again, another architectural gesture to the zeitgeist. Choirs used to be hidden in the older churches, and for a good reason. This is not a concert. The music is an aid to prayer, not the main attraction. 

I apologize for the length of this posting, but there was so much to comment on here. A few more interesting items: this is a "tithing" parish. I have never heard that concept used in the Catholic Church. There's a lot of activity in this church. There is a Miraculous Medal Novena, volunteer snow shovelers for senior citizens, Eucharistic Adoration, RCIA, a 50+ club, a bereavement ministry, contemporary choir, separated and divorced ministry, book group, Adult Faith Formation group, a singles group, and a group for children and teens coping with loss or a painful family situation. On the iffy side, one can "memorialize" some of the Episcopalian priest's icons for only $10,000. There is a prayer group (probably charismatic) who meet for prayers of "praise, singing, centering and intercessory prayer". Centering prayer is a well-known New Age meditation practice from the 1970s, characteristics of which were condemned by Cardinal Ratzinger before he became Pope.

Catholic Church Chopping, Part IX: The Purell Parish

The next place I visited was a North Shore church which had- for the usual reasons I suppose- (falling membership, lack of money) been administratively joined with a nearby parish whose membership has become predominantly Mexican. The church building was one of the uglier specimens of modern church architecture. The church space was square, with primitive, cartoonish stained glass windows adorning one wall and an enclosed chapel/cry room. The traditional paintings and statues only served to emphasize the incongruity with their surroundings. The heavy concrete ceiling resembled a packing crate and gave me the feeling like it was going to fall down on us at any moment. Directly over the altar the architect had installed a gigantic tube. The purpose, I assume, was to cast down light upon the priest. Instead, I kept expecting to hear a loud flush and see the appropriate product come flowing down the pipe.

The music chosen by the pianist was probably the worst I've ever heard. All of the songs were written in the 80s and 90s and were consequently horrible. No melody, no tempo, no life; just a bunch of random notes that made these hymns utterly un-singable. The lyrics were hippy-dippy and were supposed to convey joy, but the hymns were dirge-like when played. It was utterly depressing and discouraging. No one sang.

The priest spoke in an odd, sing-songy manner, which made me think he might have been drunk, but as he held himself pretty steady on his feet, I suppose it was just a vocal idiosyncrasy. His sermon actually made sense. He compared sin to drug addiction- how we start off with just a little bit and before we know it we're sinning more and more and can't stop. That would have been a great theme for a sermon, but unfortunately he delivered it as if his intended audience were 12 year olds. I would have loved to hear the adult version.

The most embarrassing part of the Mass took place after the handshake of peace. The priest came down into the aisles and shook hands with everyone in sight. When he returned to the altar, he took out a big bottle of Purell, dispensed himself a dollop, and spent 30 seconds rubbing his hands with it. He then left the bottle on the altar for the rest of the Mass, right next to the Body and Blood of Christ. First of all, it's incredibly insulting to shake hands with someone and then disinfect yourself right in front of them. If he's so concerned about catching swine flu, he should just forgo the handshake and remain at the altar, as most priests do. Secondly, leaving a bottle of Purell up there on the altar next to the Eucharist was sacrilegious in my opinion. He made himself, the Mass and our Faith look absolutely ridiculous.

On a positive note, this parish has Stations of the Cross, a Bible Study and is having a "Mission". However, in yet another instance of bizarre Catholic thinking, the Mission is held during the week at noon, and the Bible study is at 9AM on Saturday mornings. Come on- let's try to schedule these things so people can actually come!


I returned to this church again this week. The pianist had a small choir this time and the hymns were slightly better, although still sub-par. No one sang. There was a different priest this time, a mustachioed gentleman who looked like an old cowboy. He had a loud, booming voice, which was good. Unfortunately, his sermon rambled from one disconnected platitude to another. When the handshake time came, he too went and shook everyone's hands. As for the Purell, it retained its position of honor on the altar next to the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, God Incarnate, Humanity's Savior and Lord of the Universe.

Mt. Manresa

In our continuing pictorial documentation of Staten Island's Catholic institutions, today we'll look at Mt. Manresa Jesuit retreat house. I've previously written about some of the scandalous activities that go on at this place, but today I'm only dealing with images and history.

In 1911 the Jesuits purchased one of Staten Island's grand estates for the purpose of establishing a lay retreat center, as had become popular in Europe. In addition to the original 20-bedroom mansion, the Jesuits constructed several new buildings through the years. In 1964, the old house was knocked down and replaced with a modern conference center/office building/dining hall. A more complete history can be found here. The center continues to host a wide range of retreats and public programs. My class went there for a retreat in high school and I remember being very impressed by the facilities. I would not describe them as opulent, but to me the dark wood furniture, the well-stocked library, the soft arm chairs and the tasteful, serious decor was the last word in comfort, such as you would find in rectories, traditional funeral homes or the club room of a Victorian gentleman. If a man was going to give his life to the Church, I thought, this was the way he deserved to live. Anyway, here are some pictures.

The original mansion:


Its dining room:


The entrance:


The water tower, dating from the 1800s:


Shealy Hall, I believe:


Stairway up the hilltop...


...which has a great view of the Manhattan skyline


Entrance to the Sacred Heart grotto:

Catholic Church shopping Part IV: the Gymnasium

I have written before about the next church I visited. This large parish on the South Shore has torn down its old church and is building a humongous modernist monstrosity in its place. For the time being Mass is held in the school gymnasium. There's really not that much to say. I didn't see any bulletins, so I can't comment on the life of the parish. It was a mid afternoon Mass and still drew a lot of people, perhaps 200. There is a large school connected to the parish, so in those situations I wonder if Mass attendance is mandatory for continued enrollment. The people certainly didn't seem like they wanted to be there. The altar was located at half court, against the wall, which gave it a theatre-in-the-round feel. The Indian priest gave a convoluted, uninspiring and unmemorable sermon. He spoke at length about what Hindus believed and said some vague things about that day's reading from the Book of Revelation. The music was played with skill by some musicians on the stage. and consisted of the post Vatican II second tier standards that grate on your nerves after a lifetime of hearing them. One thing I will remember about this church is that the congregation was perhaps the most slovenly group of people I have ever seen. Perhaps one or two older folks were dressed appropriately, while the majority were clad in jeans, t-shirts, sweatpants, shorts, and velour jogging suits (the uniform for Staten Island women) . The Gymnasium proved to be yet another disheartening experience for me.

Catholic Church shopping, part III: The Bunker

Although I was eager to sample a couple of churches this past Sunday, I had to choose only one since almost every place has the same schedule. So I randomly decided to go to a church on our North Shore that I will call "The Bunker".

The parish, which I believe has been around for over 100 years (although the present church was only built in 1968) is one of Staten Island's two traditionally Polish parishes. St. Stanislaus, which I've written about before, is the other. However, while St. Stanislaus is still made up mainly of Polish immigrants, this one seems to be pretty well assimilated and diversified by now. The only visible signs of its heritage were an icon of the Lady of Czestochowa and the names of some of the older parishioners in its meager bulletin.

The church was of modern design. I entered into a brown-paneled foyer almost totally devoid of adornment, with a ceiling so high that I felt like a bug trapped in a tall cardboard box. The bare pamphlet rack was the very picture of depressing, containing only the Sunday bulletin and a local exterminator's business cards. It can be guessed that there was no one there to welcome visitors. The oversized, cathedral-like doors to the church were shut tightly, further emphasizing the cold and unwelcoming atmosphere. When I passed through them, I beheld the ugliest church I have ever been in.

Imagine, if you can, a church without any windows- hence "The Bunker". Actually, there were rows of square-foot, frosted glass blocks lining certain sections of the floor, not that that alleviated the dismal atmosphere in the least. I mean, submarines have periscopes, but no one would claim that they make the vessel feel light and airy in consequence. And to be totally accurate, there was a single, enormous floor-to-ceiling semi-opaque window on one side of the sanctuary which had the aesthetic purpose, I suspect, of casting a dull light down upon the altar on Sunday mornings. However, because the church was insanely designed with Frank Gehry-like asymmetry, the window is hidden from at least 3/4 of the congregation. The church had an extremely high-pitched ceiling, which somewhat resembled that of the Air Force Academy Chapel, but whereas that place contains windows and ornamental variation, the ceiling of the Bunker was an exercise in flat, dark brown monotony, with row upon row of identically colored slats that seemed to go on forever. While the high ceilings of the great cathedrals convey the grandeur of God and a feeling of being under Heaven, this place made me feel like I was trapped in an inescapable pit. It gave the impression of being in a cavern, a feeling which was reinforced by the vast distances at play under the roof. I couldn't even see the people on the other side of this mammoth space. There were about 130 people attending Mass that day, spread out- in traditional Catholic style- as far away from each other as possible.

When I sat down, I read the 2 page bulletin and was surprised at how little activity there was going on in this church, especially considering that the parish operates a grade school and seems to have a lot of parishioners. (I wonder if attendance at Mass is a condition of enrollment). All of the announcements were for social events and entertainment: a dinner dance, a musical, a Chinese Auction. Not only that, but apart from cheerleading tryouts and a fashion show at the parish school, they were all happening at other parishes: I felt like I had walked into a morgue.

The people seemed eager to confirm that impression. I don't believe I saw anyone even pretend to sing a hymn. Hardly anyone even cracked open the misalette to follow the readings. The manner of dress ranged from casual to slovenly to Jerry-Springer-guest. The unshaven man in front of me, wearing some some sort of jogging outfit, even set a new record for irreverent "genuflection". I'm used to the "one-quarter genuflection" and the "sign of the blob" but this guy simply swatted some invisible flies away from the front of his face when he entered his pew. His 3 boys copied him exactly. The general feeling of boredom was palpable, especially among the men. They were yawning, constantly shifting their weight from one leg to another, sighing loudly, leaning wearily on the back of the pew in front of them, staring at the ceiling with undisguised impatience. Not that I didn't feel the same way, but their actions only served to further discourage the rest of us and, in addition, I'm sure their children were taking to heart how daddy really feels about church. No one seemed like they wanted to be there.

At the head of this somnambulistic ceremony, was a priest who made Bob Newhart seem like a dynamic and charismatic personality. Even if he had given the world's best sermon, his soft spoken, droning monotone would have made me want to pull my hair out. However, he did not give a good sermon. Speaking on the Gospel reading of JN 15:9-17, (Love one another as I have loved you), he blathered on with one vague generality after another. The closest he came to being specific was when he said that we should encourage one another. Please Fathers, give us some meat! Tell us how exactly to love one another as Christ loves us. What do we do? Why is it imperative? What does it all mean? Be specific. Be excited. Inform me, inspire me, build up my faith. Enough with the platitudes. Are our clergymen simpletons or do they just think we all are?

Two thoughts on preaching: first of all, priests used to have a saying: "Never underestimate their intelligence but always underestimate their knowledge." The horrible leadership of the American Church of the past few decades has left its flock spiritually disarmed. Our enemies are correct when they say that most of us are woefully ignorant about the basics of our Faith. That doesn't mean we're stupid. Teach us like Jesus taught. He spoke plain, hard truths to adults. Do the same.

Secondly, one of the best public speakers I have known once told me 3 rules for successful communication to an audience, and I've seen his teaching borne out. 1. Speak louder than normal. 2. Speak faster than normal. 3. Move around the stage. This third one may not be applicable to a priest, because the pulpit is a symbol of authority and I've always found it patronizing and pandering when priests would come down among "the people" to give their sermon. However, that doesn't mean that the priest can't be animated, look at the people, move his arms, etc. Public speaking is a completely different thing than talking on the telephone. You're a tiny little figure in front of a large room; you have to speak and act differently in order to get people's attention and be effective.

One last comic observation: the walls of the church were lined with about 20 enormous speakers the size of artillery pieces. They were the kind of speakers you would see on stage at an outdoor heavy metal concert. I thought for sure this was going to be one church where the priest's voice would come through loud and clear. However, in keeping with Catholic tradition of audio incompetence, it was a muffled, crackling and sputtering transmission that came through the sound system, like Father was broadcasting from the space shuttle and speaking through a handkerchief.

I tired to sit through the whole thing, but it eventually became intolerable. The lack of participation, the dreary priest, the oppressive architecture, the atmosphere of boredom and resentment became too much. When the "cool-dude dad" in front of me smiled approvingly on his two sons as they defaced the image of the church's patron saint on the front of the bulletin, I left.

St. Charles Seminary/Mission Center

In our continuing series on Catholic institutions on Staten Island, we will now take a look at the former St. Charles seminary, now called the St. Charles Mission Center (whatever that means). Located in ritzy Todt Hill, the seminary is located on the palatial estate of famed architect Ernest Flagg. It was run by the Scalabrians, an order founded in 1887 to "maintain Catholic faith and practice among Italian emigrants in the New World". According to wikipedia, the seminary was operated from 1948 to 1966. The estate is also home to the Center for Migration Studies, a world-famous organization devoted to the study of international migration and immigration policy. Apart from that, I don't really have any more solid information, except that they host a modest Christmas sale every year and the buildings are spectacular. If anyone has more information, please leave a comment. Enjoy the pictures:

The entrance and guard house:

The main house and veranda:

The front view:


Our Lady of Lourdes Shrine:


Shrine to Jesus:


Lady of Lourdes statues in an old tower of sorts:


St. Jude statue. (Sorry, but the phrase "Beam me up, Jesus" keeps popping into my head):


Center for Migration Studies:


I'm not sure if the following buildings were part of the Flagg estate or the seminary but appearance and anecdotal evidence suggests that they were. This "chateau" is located directly across from the seminary:


An older person I know told me that in the 60s or 70s there was a swimming pool in the sunken area in front of the chateau. The local kids would sneak in there at night and sometimes get chased away by the seminarians.


This is my favorite structure and one which I'd love to explore. A medieval
tower on Staten Island:

Priorities

In my search for Ash Wednesday schedules on Staten Island, I recently came across a couple of news items that I feel reflect badly on our Island churches' sense of priorities. The first one is this story about how some island churches are celebrating Lent. It tells how the Methodist and Presbyterian churches are sponsoring a program called "Living Lent" which sounds like something that correctly focuses on the individual's spirituality in this season of relflection and repentance. In contrast, the Catholic church mentioned in the article, St. Rita's (no link- dead website), is sponsoring a "cultural series" every Friday night during Lent. The first lecture deals with the building of the cathedral in Milan. Future weeks will focus on "St. Paul, St. Terese de Lisieux and St. Thomas' missionary journey in India." Well, it's nice that they decided to throw in some religious subjects after the architectural lecture, but judging from the term "cultural series", I'm sure that all the attendees will receive will be a nice, interesting history lesson about those people. I remember when Catholic churches used to have Stations of the Cross every Friday night during Lent. I recall them as some of my most spiritually moving experiences.

The other story was from 2008. It reported that Our Lady Star of the Sea was celebrating its last Ash Wednesday in their current church, which was built in the 60s I believe. Because the parish has a lot of families, they planned to demolish the "old" 500 seat church and build a modern barn-church with a capacity to hold 1000 people. The cost will be 8 million dollars.

Now, I know that pastor there had a mania for new construction when he led a small parish on the North Shore, where Mass was held in the school gym and he was always agitating to build a "real" church. But I really didn't question his reasoning in this article until I read the user comments below it. Someone asked the obvious question why the priests simply couldn't say more Masses on Sunday if overcrowding was such an issue. Talk about cutting the Gordian knot! According to their website, 4200 people attend Mass every weekend. There are currently 8 Saturday and Sunday Masses. That comes out to 525 people per Mass. This means that one extra Mass on Sunday would solve the problem. Throw in another for safety. There are 5 priests on staff. Surely it's more cost effective for some of the priests to work an extra 2 hours a week than to spend 8 million dollars on a new church when you already have a perfectly good one. I won't even begin to get into what else the money could have and should have been spent on.

The extravagance might have been worth it if they were building a new Saint Chappelle or some other architectural masterpiece, but the new design is brutishly modernistic and resembles nothing so much as the waiting area of a bus station. In the minds of these "geniuses", the Port Authority is an appropriate design to emulate when designing a space where 2,000 year old rituals and religious mysteries are celebrated. I've been to more than a few other churches in Staten Island and New Jersey that have the exact same design, and the feeling of coldness and lifelessness in those places was palpable to me. Even a layman like me knows that form should follow function. In my experience however, function follows form as well. Physical surroundings often instill a certain spirit into the people who inhabit them. For example, housing projects that resemble prisons tend to breed criminality. Institutional architecture encourages institutional behavior. And churches that look like theatres, homeless shelters or warehouses often end up used for just those purposes.

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