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by Jim Holman.
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ST. MONICA'S, SANTA MONICA

We Stood, and All Applauded

By Charles A. Coulombe

Though I usually do not revisit churches I have already written about, I thought I would make an exception for Saint Monica's at Lincoln and California in Santa Monica. The Santa Monica Mirror's description of the 5:30 p.m. Sunday Mass as an event where "young adults push out the walls of an already large sanctuary" and where "the marketing-minded in the church have appealed" to "veteran concert goers to participate with their hands and their tapping toes," piqued my interest. Too, since Monsignor Lloyd Torgerson, Saint Monica's pastor, sits on the preparatory commission for the archdiocesan synod, another look at the parish's liturgy might give some hint of what might lay in store liturgically for the archdiocese.

My last visit had been for the Mass of the Epiphany, January 4, 1998. Four years and two months later, on March 3, 2002, I attended the Mass for the Third Sunday of Lent. Happily, St. Monica's church remains a Romanesque architectural gem, despite a post-1994 earthquake "restoration" of the interior that removed most of the communion rail, tucked the Blessed Sacrament into a separate side-chapel, and installed a rather ostentatious pond-and-waterfall baptismal font to the right of the altar table. Still the high altar remains to give one an impression of what the church looked like in Catholic times.

Gone were the lavish Christmas decorations of my former trip; in their place, on the high altar, were two dead trees, reminiscent of an H.P. Lovecraft tale set in New England. Holy Water was purposefully removed from the stoups at the entrances and from the worship-space baptismal tub to remind us, according to a sign by the stoup, that "Lent is a time of preparation." The church completely filled with a mostly Anglo audience, the majority of whom were in the 30-50 age range, so far as I could tell.

The choir, complete with guitar, drum set, and harp, stood behind the holy table and in front of the high altar. One of their number, a blond man in a polo shirt, introduced himself as "Remy, a member of the 5:30 p.m. worship team." He welcomed us, and asked newcomers to stand. We did so, and all applauded. He then asked us to lower the kneelers, and pray for a minute; this was the only time that evening the kneelers were used. Remy then warned us about the entrance song.

Said warning was fulfilled as the worship crew processed down the aisle. In the lead was a man in a somber black suit clutching a corpus-less cross; behind him came a lady in khaki blouse and black toreador pants, bearing a brazier of incense; following her was another youngish fellow in another somber black suit, and bringing up the rear was Father Paul Fitzpatrick, associate pastor and celebrant.

Arriving at the table, the party dispersed to places in the front pews. Father took his place at a chair behind the table; he then led us in the penitential rite as it is written in the missal. A lady in a black pantsuit then led us in the Greek Kyrie.

The two gentlemen in black suits took turns reading Exodus 17:3-7 and Romans 5:1-2 from the ornate marble pulpit, while the celebrant quaffed water from a dixie cup. Father Fitzpatrick then took the lectionary for a solo Gospel procession to the rear of the church and back, before mounting the pulpit to read St. John 4:5-42, the account of Jesus meeting the Samaritan woman at the well.

Father Fitzpatrick pointed out that St. John is a particularly Lenten Gospel. The three sections of it that would be read on this and the two following Sundays are concerned with water, light, and life, themselves symbolic of the baptism to be celebrated at the Easter Vigil. He explained that in the occurrence with the Samaritan woman, Jesus had broken two taboos of the time: he had spoken with a woman, and with a Samaritan. She in turn, as He revealed His knowledge of her sinful life, came to know Him better: first she addressed Him dismissively, as a Jew; then respectfully, as "sir," and finally with awe, as a prophet. The priest took Jesus' treatment of her to mean that He accepts each of us where we are.

The creed was recited in unison, and the offertory prayers were fairly standard. The offertory hymn had an extremely vibrant back beat. Due to the large quantities of bread and wine used, there was a six-person offertory procession. All stood for the Eucharistic Prayer, which was not one of the four in the missal; I could not see what Father did at the altar, as I was kneeling.

All held hands at the Our Father, and the rows shifted to form a chain across the aisle. These broke up for the Agnus Dei, which was sung in Latin. Communion, accompanied by a couple of Carpenters-style hymns was a complicated affair, with a horde of Eucharistic ministers servicing two rows of stations, one near the sanctuary, the other toward the center of the nave. Father started administering by the worship space, but then took his stand in the center of the nave.

Communion finished, all returned to their places. After a making announcements for Stations of the Cross, a Seder supper, and Lenten soup suppers, Father gave the standard blessing and dismissal. He and the worship crew recessed to a hymn, "God of Abraham," which featured a rhythm and tune quite similar to the Beach Boys' classic, "The Sloop John B." This was followed by thunderous applause. Due to the lateness of the hour and the Youth Ministry's St. Patrick's day social in the parish hall, there were no coffee and doughnuts.

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