St. Mary of the Annunciation Church -- Danvers, MA
I will go to the altar of God, to God who gives joy to my youth!
Psalm 43:4
Last week I concelebrated the funeral of a friend's mother which took place in the church of the parish in which I grew up. Although it's not far from where I now live, it's been a decade or more since I was in St. Mary of the Annunciation Church in Danvers, MA.
Much about the interior was just as I remember it and some things had changed. The holy water fonts at the doors were clearly the ones I dipped my hand in as a child. Their marble was worn but they still offered remembrance of baptism to all who pass by them...
Although I've not thought of it in ages, on entering the church from the front doors I immediately remembered where my family most often sat at Mass: left hand side, about half way down and on the aisle...
The sanctuary is simpler, rendered so by the reforms of the Council but the outline of that place where Monsignor Stephen J. O'Brien celebrated Mass, all in Latin, was more than recognizable. Gone were the altar rail and the large crucifix and smaller Infant of Prague to the sanctuary's right. The pews in front of the side altar have been replaced with three or four rows of large, leather chairs for elders who might find their comfort welcome. Gone too was the old pulpit. For just a moment I wished I'd had a chance to preach from that place where so many sermons were preached to me...
Waiting for the funeral to begin I wandered into the side chapel and realized it was smaller than I remembered it. (Actually, the whole church is smaller than I remember it.) There, along the wall, were the "boxes" where I made my first and many subsequent confessions. I thought for a moment of the time when my confession was probably like the first confessions I heard from our second graders last month. The chapel was also the place of the altar of repose on Holy Thursday nights. I recalled the banks of lilies and tulips and the yards and yards of white satin so common before we discovered that less is more...
During the funeral my mind wandered a few times, remembering coming for ashes and bringing my Protestant friend, Lewis, whose mother believed that ashes wouldn't hurt him... Stations of the cross on Friday afternoons in Lent... Sunday school classes right there in the church, each class in a pew, an empty pew or two between each class, the teacher at the aisle end or walking up and down that empty row in front of us... First Communion rehearsals and First Communion itself with Monsignor O'Brien clapping me on the back when I choked while trying to swallow the host... being confirmed there by a bishop whose name I no longer recall...
I share all of this with you for two reasons. First, I like to share such things with my readers and I trust you with my memories. Second, I wonder if you have visited the church of your youth, or perhaps you still worship there. How has it has changed? What memories does it hold for you? How did that place of prayer change you?
-ConcordPastor
I enjoyed your memories this am. Later I will comment on the Church of my youth. St Bernard's . It has changed a few times since my youth.
ReplyDeleteI returned to one of the churches of my youth (I had several) after about 40 years. I too was struck by how much smaller it was than I had remembered. This parish had a school which I attended in 4th grade and most of 5th. My memories of school: We wore navy blue jumpers with school logo and white blouses with Peter Pan collars. Rocky Marciano, at the time, the heavyweight champion of the world, came to visit. Sister Aloysius Gonzaga playing softball at lunchtime with the boys (she would turn her bib around backwards in order to pitch.) I came back the day after the last day of school my 4th grade year to help Sister Aloysius wash all of the blackboards, wipe down all of the desks, etc. She gave me a holy card, which pleased me so. I was confirmed by Archbishop O'Boyle at the age of 9, a bit earlier than confirmation age now. I remember we studied like crazy to know the Baltimore Cathechism backwards and forwards, because the Bishop asked questions of several of us. Overall, I have fond memories of this particular church and school! I think our pastor's name was Father Lyons and if my memory serves me, my father stayed in touch with him for several years after we had moved on to other places.
ReplyDeleteThe church of my youth is no longer - closed by the Archdiocese of Boston. I attended one of the last Masses said there. The celebrant was an Asian priest whose English was difficult to understand. Altogether a very sad experience. I'm glad the church of your youth still exists.
ReplyDeleteJust last night I was at a workshop in which we were asked to recall a meaningful time of worship in a community, and I did think back to the church of my youth. In the '70s we had a guitar player and I still remember the songs she sang. We had wonderful homemade, huge felt banners for the holidays covering the wall behind the altar - I remember soaring white doves on a blue background for Easter and all the little kids processing in dressed as angels. We sat in the very front pew and next to the organist. I remember her high vibrato when she sang. I remember the wonderful sound of the bells rung at the eucharistic blessing and to this day I hear those bells in my head and miss them. I also remember being denied the opportunity to be an altar server because I was a girl. My only memory from first communion is of dipping my host into the wine. I'm glad they had us do that because it etched a specific memory for me. I'll have to go back there sometime and see what it's like now. I've sometimes wondered about my pastor, Fr. Comtwah (this is the phonetic spelling) and how he's doing. I thought he was absolutely wonderful. I'll never forget when he would say "Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord." I took those words to heart every Sunday.
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately the parish of my youth, Saint Jean Baptist in Lynn, was among one of the first national (French Canadian/Acadian) parishes to close due to the reconfiguration. I had moved on before the closure but still attended the final liturgy. My parents were still among the parishioners at the time. It was a sad day. Many of us were in tears that day remembering so many happy and sad times. A few of the statues, some of which I helped to renovate, were sent to a parish in New Brunswick Canada. Some day, I hope to visit there and once again see my works of art, lovingly done with the help of my sister. It certainly was a different time back then living as Catholics.
ReplyDeleteAnne
I remember the bishop who confirmed me very well. Later he was to become Archbishop and still later wear the red hat, to his humble surprise, and he remains my favorite Cardinal.
ReplyDeleteI was eleven, but had completed our Baltimore Catechism studies and was very tall for my age, (not that my height had much to do with my studies) so the curate thought I should be confirmed.Sister had indeed put the fear of the Lord - or of the Bishop - in our hearts, saying we would not be confirmed and would be sent home if we could not answer the Bishop's questions. He announced he was not going to ask any! He did ask who was thinking of becoming a priest or nun, and from that group from two towns, not one hand was raised. He just grinned.
I still miss that craggy face and stentorian voice!
My church looks pretty much the same - the last services I attended there, however, were (except for being in the vernacular) less welcoming than over 50 years ago.
I often have occasion to visit the church of my youth because my brother and his young family still worship there; his children attend the parish school. St John the Evangelist in Canton MA will always be dear to my heart, despite the many changes that have ocurred there. I remember being at the dedication of the "new" church, I think the first one built in the Archdiocese of Boston according to the norms of Vatican II...we had a front facing altar as our ONLY altar!
ReplyDeleteI remember our beloved pastor Fr Bill Morgan walking up and down the aisles telling us we MUST sing as he assisted the organist in getting us to accept this "new" way of participating in the liturgy.
Most importantly I remember being formed at St Johns by catechists, family and a dear pastor who had embraced the vision of Vatican II and who had become deeply steeped in Cursillo...it was there that I learned the significance of my baptismal call (though I could not have identified it as such at the time!!!) It was there that Fr Bill offered us prayer and worship and educational experiences that were formational, where I met deacons in formation for priesthood who LOVED the idea of becoming a parish priest. It was there that I learned the importance of sharing faith, it was there that I took ownership of my faith, and it was there that I first experienced the JOY of being a Catholic.
I will be forever grateful to the faith filled parents who brought me there, to our dear Fr Bill who helped them to be strong Catholic parents, and to the Cursillo community in the parish who nurtured and supported me as I grew.
It was at St John's Canton where I received the sacraments of Eucharist, Confirmation and Matrimony, and it was there that I went to celebrate the lives of my mother, father, grandmother, and Fr Bill when they died. I am who I am today because of them and that parish.
Thanks ConcordPastor for encouraging me on this memory journey...while it has made me cry, it has filled me with a renewed sense of hope and joy in my Catholic faith.
Ned,
ReplyDeleteFather Bill was my grandmother's cousin and was very special in my life as well. He will always be the best example of a priest for me.
I miss him dearly and wish I could ask him things sometimes. I remember when he gave me a small book by Father Anthony DeMello. As I have been more and more able to understand the things he said to me, I am thankful for having him in my life. Anyway, just googled him and found this post. Nice to hear about how he was a pastor.