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Contents © 2001
by Jim Holman.
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ST. THERESA OF AVILA, SILVERLAKE

Shadows of the Past

St. Teresa of Avila (2216 Fargo Avenue), just off Glendale Boulevard in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles, is built in the Mission style on the outside; its interior was originally gothic -- although altered since its building in accord with post-conciliar fads. The wooden gothic high altar remains intact as a sort of backdrop to the worship space. The life-size statue of St. Teresa continues to occupy her central niche, although the two empty niches below her remind one that they once held statues -- perhaps two among the five statues at the rear of the nave. The tabernacle, removed from the high altar, rests on a block which occupies the space formerly held by a side altar. On either side of the tabernacle, angel statues clutch lights -- these probably once flanked the high altar. A wall-to-wall carpet lines nave and worship space alike, while at the center of the latter stands a small four-legged table. Beautiful plaques depicting the stations of the cross line the wall, and bits of the wooden communion rail remain..

I attended the 10 a.m. Mass on April 1, 2001, the Fifth Sunday of Lent. The audience loosely filled most of the pews. They represented all ages and were primarily Filipino and Latino, with a sprinkling of Anglos. Due to the arrangement of the worship space, few people paid much attention to the tabernacle, and the choir in the choir loft chatted loudly among themselves. The skirl of the guitar signaled the opening procession, made up of crucifer/acolyte, lectoress, and Father Charles Carolan, the celebrant.

I had not heard the sprightly processional hymn before. The music of the Mass, in general, reminded me of the guitar Masses of my youth, by turns reminiscent of the Carpenters, when joyful, and "Amazing Grace," when thoughtful. But I could identify none of the hymns used.

The priest used the straight confession of sins, followed by a guitar "Lord Have Mercy." The lectoress read the two readings, the choir strummed the responsorial psalm and the alleluia, and Father Carolan read the Gospel. In his homily, he pointed out that the reading from Isaiah involved new beginnings, and Paul had to make one such. He commented on the story of the woman caught in adultery, declaring that Jesus had forced the crowd to look at themselves. He made no mention of the tradition that Our Lord was writing their sins on the ground, but rather implied that this was some sort of delaying tactic which permitted the would-be executioners to gather their wits. Father Carolan repeated Christ's words to the woman: He did not condemn her, and she was to sin no more. He then pointed out that we have to do the same in our lives.

The creed was recited, while the offertory hymn was in the thoughtful mode. Father used Eucharistic Prayer II, and all prayed the Our Father with raised rather than joined hands (although there were some few hold-outs). The handshake of peace was predictably vigorous, while the Lamb of God was at first unrecognizable -- the choir added words about the goodness of peace before they settled down to the regular lyrics. Everyone stood afterwards, and then the three extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist gathered at the table to receive in the hand.

In accordance with the cardinal's fiat, the crowd trooped up to receive from rear to front, and most (but by no means all) received in the hand. Communion accomplished, most returned to sit at their pews, very few kneeling.

Father Carolan himself sat down for a space in his throne behind the table, then rose for the final blessing. There was a rousing recessional during which about half the folk left. A guitar postlude, accompanied by the rhythmic clapping of the remaining audience, followed the recession of the priest. Then, the customary applause.

There were neither coffee nor doughnuts outside.

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