13 :: The Cathedral Church of St. Patrick

Today I worshiped at The Cathedral Church of St. Patrick, a beautiful church that I have walked and driven past for decades in Charlotte's Dilworth neighborhood. This was my second Catholic Mass as part of this spiritual shift. I enjoyed myself... although I would offer this was more of an aesthetically gratifying morning than a spiritual one. 

More on that below.

The approach to the church reminded me what a beautiful property this is. This Catholic Church is more than eighty years old, making it one of Charlotte's oldest Catholic congregations. And this church was founded when there were still relatively few Catholics in the South. A true gem.

Like most Catholic Churches in the South, you'll notice the statue of the Virgin Mary is in the back. This degree of self-consciousness on the part of Catholics in this region dominated by Baptists is a complicated thing. But being raised in the part of the US with the highest percentages of Catholics in the US, it is a difference that I definitely noticed when I moved down here. 

And that self-consciousness is certainly no longer the case.  Charlotte's Catholic community is huge and vibrant now.

Here are some pics:

The interior of the church was among the nicest I've ever seen. The combination of age, unique artwork, as well as the naturally exotic nature of a Catholic Mass to a lifelong Protestant made for a great deal of staring on my part. Stained glad windows, the bas relief Stations of the Cross, artwork across the ceiling, ornate tile work - all simply stunning.

This structure stood in some contrast to St. Gabriel Catholic Church, a more modern church building and the only other Catholic Church I have been to in Charlotte.

Some glimpses for you:

The Mass itself was candidly a bit... challenging in a couple ways. 

First, there was a child screaming in the balcony (the place where the choir sings in a Catholic Church) during the whole service. I revel in hearing babies shriek and squeal in church, historically. It is a reminder of new life and is always to be celebrated within the walls of a holy place. 

With that said, this young one was almost forming sentences. Far too old to be yelling like that. Plus, it went on for the full seventy-five minutes. And the obligatory exit on the part of the parent or caregiver, with child in tow, never took place.

Patience and deep breaths can clear the mind spectacularly, I remembered. And that worked. 

Candidly, I think I owe the rowdy tike a debt of gratitude for making me meditate in church. I am better for having done it.

Secondly, the Priests at St. Patrick's are both from outside the US. One is from Latin America and the other from West Africa. The Priest from West Africa gave the homily. It was about Yeshua feeding a multitude with a modest number of loaves and fishes. The idea was that there is enough bounty on Earth for everyone's needs.... but not for everyone's greed. 

Beyond that, I had a very difficult time understanding him.

I didn't feel my mind or heart pierced by God's Word this morning. It certainly wasn't his fault, but I couldn't wade through the accent. 

How did I occupy myself while hearing a screaming child and a nearly incomprehensible homily? I thought about the Protestant Reformation.

How was it that I ended up being raised as a Protestant when some people in my lineage were certainly Catholic? With an ancestry that is heavily tied to the British Isles, I undoubtedly trace back to some Catholic ancestry. Who were they? Who made the change? When?

As I pondered this during Mass, I did some math on this subject. 

Let's assume that many or most of my Catholic ancestors became Protestants four hundred years ago. And let's assume that my average ancestor was twenty-five when they gave birth to my next ancestor. That means that it was a full sixteen generations back that most my ancestors would have made the sectarian change. 

And four hundred years ago I had a whopping 65,536 people in my lineage!

Yes, by these assumptions, there were more than 65,000 people who were alive at the same time and in my family tree. 

Who converted in secret? Who went to war over the schism? Who simply became Protestant when Scotland did? Who changed out of convenience, or love, or perhaps laziness? Who was born from above in a radical transformation? Who acquiesced to what their parents taught them from birth? Were homes divided over the religious convulsions of the time? Were marriages tried and tested... even broken? 

Indeed, what happened over the full arc of human history that caused me to be the Protestant in the Catholic Church in Charlotte, North Carolina this morning?

Surely, there are myriad stories to which we cannot be privy. But I am sure there are some exquisite lost tales.

I snapped back to attention when the service was over and the people got up to depart. As I left, I noticed that the next Mass was going to involve a Byzantine service. From what I could tell, there was an Orthodox Priest wandering into the Church for the next service. 

I am candidly bummed I missed that. I bet it would have been interesting to see these Brothers in Christ share space with each other, despite the upheaval that was caused between their faiths by the Donation of Constantine, the document which split East from West (and is widely believed to be a forgery!).

Here's a pic of that Orthodox Priest:

I hope it was fascinating and enriching for all.

Peace unto you, St. Patrick's.