Jerry Barca '99 | February 12, 2019
I started going to daily Mass recently. I’ve been there before. First, when I was an altar boy serving at 6:45 a.m. After those Masses, my mother would take me to the diner for breakfast and I’d order french fries with cheese and brown gravy before heading off to school.
I went to daily Mass a lot my senior year of high school, four days a week. My buddy and I were the only two students sitting in the tiny chapel before classes started. His dad had cancer, and I needed extra prayers to get into the college I wanted to attend.
That was 23 years ago. I haven’t had regular-attendee status at the music-less short form of the Sunday celebration since. This time around, I go for the spiritual nourishment, for the boost I hope receiving the Eucharist might give my prayers — maybe they’d be answered sooner. I leave my phone in the car. I go to quiet my mind, to step back and take a breather from the busyness of life, to be open to what God has to offer.
Each day by 8:30 a.m., about 60 people spread out among the two dozen pews inside the red-brick church. I’ve laid claim to a spot on the end of the pew closest to the center aisle, about three-quarters of the way back on the left side, near the baptismal font.
Daylight pushes through the stained-glass windows. Hexagonal Tudor pendant lights drop from the Gothic arches above the pews. The white walls and ceiling are accented by gray trim and touches of blue and gold paint on the baroque cornices.
A bishop laid the church’s cornerstone in 1881. Since then the parish has expanded with the country. Today it offers Mass in English, Spanish and Vietnamese. A contemporary chapel, which holds more worshippers, was added in 1980. But this place has that old-school feel.
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