#298: Connections and Journeys

EXCERPT:
Sometimes you feel at home in the most unexpected places. That's what happened to me last weekend, at the 50th anniversary of Bob Lindsay's ordination.

For more than 30 years my wife and I have been liturgical nomads, trekking from church to church in search of life-giving liturgy and family-supporting community. Sometimes we have found it, but (with one exception) never for long. Most places got stale, or lost key clergy, or ultimately fell short of our needs and expectations.

Perhaps we were spoiled by our church experiences immediately after Vatican II (and even before we married). During my years at Holy Cross, for example, our college chaplain, Father Bob Lindsey S. J., was a central player in my liturgical formation. He was already celebrated for his weekend preaching at the main campus chapel -- I retain vivid images from his homily opening my freshman year: "welcome back from the sand, the sex, and the suds!" -- but that was not what spoiled me.

What did spoil me was weekday evening liturgy, at 11:00 PM, when 100 or so students put their books aside to trudge down to the Saint Mary Chapel, the catacomb-like low dome of the lower church. There we gathered in the rounded sanctuary singing the Psalms set to music by Jesuit Paul Quinlan, who led a small group with guitars, bass fiddle, percussion, and occasional winds, as "Father Lindsay" celebrated the sacred mysteries. The midnight walk back to the dorms became both nightly ritual and community-builder among us worshipers.

In graduate school I spent most of two years worshipping at Saint Paul's in Cambridge, where the "high church" liturgy was framed by the congregation’s full-throated accompaniment of the spectacular boy choir under Ted Marier’s direction. Then Anne and I spent two years worshiping at Saint Thomas the Apostle church in Chicago’s Hyde Park, where a Jesuit liturgical coordinator (whose name I forget) made sure that every Sunday Mass included apt, enlivening music along with creative liturgical actions and a vibrant spirit.

My first three parish jobs (as religious education director) brought me and Anne instant communities of like-minded peers and parents in Laurel (Maryland), Salem (Massachusetts), and Dorchester (Massachusetts). Then, while raising our kids, we mostly worshipped at Boston's downtown Paulist Center, later migrating to Saint William Parish in Dorchester, Saint Ann Parish in the Back Bay, the Jesuit Urban Center in the South End, and finally a trio of parishes within a short drive--one working class, one professional class, one multi-ethnic and multi-lingual.

Since our kids began leaving home in 1994 we have seldom felt at home for long -- and I suspect the failure of any parish to make us feel strong belonging explains why many Baby Boomers like us have drifted away from active church life.

We have often lamented our lack of attachment to any one church community, generally feeling that our presence was neither expected nor welcomed, and even that our absence was not much noticed.

Yet some occasions remind us that we remain part of a community of faith--even in a community of strangers!