ROAMIN'
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2004 ROAMIN' CATHOLIC
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Contents © 2004
by Jim Holman.
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ROAMIN' CATHOLIC
November 2004

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HOLY NAME OF MARY, SAN DIMAS

No Coffee and Doughnuts

On July 3, 2004, Cardinal Roger Mahony dedicated the new church building for Holy Name of Mary parish in San Dimas. The account of the event given in the July 9 Tidings by Sister Nancy Munro of the Congregation of St. Joseph was quite compelling. Apparently it was a gala affair, complete with dancing girls. Cardinal Mahony gave a homily, telling the standing-room only crowd, "we are the temple of his presence.... Fill this place with your presence.... May the Word of God always be heard in this place.... The temple of God, which you are, is holy."

The article went on to say, "as he congratulated the parish for its years of hard work toward completion of the church, Cardinal Mahony commented that such an impressive and beautiful church would inspire others with its size and beauty. But, he asserted, 'people will be more inspired by us.' And as parishioners -- the 'living stones' of their church -- they are 'more powerful than any building,' the cardinal said." According to the Tidings, the pastor, Father Thomas Mullen, a priest of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, the congregation which staffs the parish, declared that "parishioners now have a worship space that instills 'a sense of wonder and awe.' He said he had spoken several times recently to parishioners about what he calls the 'Wow' factor; looking at the newly built church gave him 'goose bumps.'"

Curious to see if the new church would have the same effect on outsiders, I resolved to attend the 11 a.m. Mass on July 18, the Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time. Arriving at 10:45, I found the enormous parking lot already full. On venturing inside, I found that communion was being distributed. The communion hymn was Cooney's "Bread of Life," with its comforting lyrics assuring us that "I myself am the Bread of Life; you and I are Bread of Life," words which seemed to echo the improving sentiments of the cardinal's dedication sermon.

The Precious Blood had been consecrated in a glass pitcher, of the shape familiar from Kool-Aid commercials, and administered to the faithful from fine stemware. The church was packed, and a parishioner explained to me that the 9:30 and 11:00 Masses were henceforth conflated into a single 10:00 a.m. celebration -- hence the overflow crowd.

The army of Eucharistic ministers, accompanied by the priest, duly administered the sacred species. This act concluded, the final prayers were said; the sanctuary party recessed, after applause was given the musicians, and those of the congregation who did not leave stood around chatting. I explored the church.

The influence of Cardinal Mahony's cathedral is noticeable: the worship space is lower than the rest of the auditorium, and the lights are very reminiscent of those that grace Our Lady of the Angels. There is a fine traditional crucifix against the light brown-brick surface of the rear of the church; that area boasts a semi-circle of abstract bluish stained glass. The holy table, ambo, and other such furniture are of blond wood, while, except the Stations of the Cross, there is little ornamentation on the walls. The tabernacle is artfully concealed in a room off to the right of the sanctuary, but the room's glass walls do make it visible to those who know where to look. At the entrance, there is a large baptismal/entry font, with recycling holy water. In the vestibule are traditional statues of St. Joseph, the Virgin, and the Infant Jesus of Prague, presumably from the old church. But their positions cast them in the role of ornaments, rather than foci of devotion -- there are no prie-dieux, and any attempt to kneel in prayer before them might result in the devotee being trampled. I have to admit that I was wowed, in a sense.

Once outside, while there were no coffee and doughnuts, there were vending machines. Fortified with a Coke, I read the explanation in the parish bulletin I had just been handed of the figureless stained glass. "The stained glass windows in our new worship space," it began, "were designed by Father Bill Moore, SS.CC. He explains 'the windows in the arch frame the Eucharistic action -- the recalling of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Using both traditional and contemporary techniques and glasses, these windows reference the stone block construction of a temple; think of Solomons [sic] temple, Machu Picchu, Jesus the 'rejected stone' who becomes the cornerstone, the Church as rock, etc. The connections are virtually endless, and however we 'read' them, hopefully they will link us to our past -- to other faiths -- to all humanity.'"

I departed. But having missed most of the Mass, not only was my Sunday obligation unfulfilled, my task was undone. So I returned on July 25, the Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, for the 10 a.m. Mass. Once again, it was a standing-room crowd of all ages. The musicians consisted of a flautist, pianist, and cantoress. The processional party comprised Father Mullen, two well-dressed lectoresses, a crucifetrix, lucifer, and lucifetrix, and a spare altar girl. Father held the brightly covered Gospel book aloft. They took their places, and the Mass began.

It ran pretty much according to the missalette. The readings were clearly delivered, and Father Mullen began by observing that the previous week he had, "on your behalf," baptized several folk into the community. He reflected on what an awesome thing this was and how all the parishioners were part of teaching the new entrants the life of Christ and of prayer. He emphasized that God loves us all, just as we are, whatever our faults.

At the offertory, the pitcher of wine and stemware appeared, as did an enormous glass punch bowl of unconsecrated hosts. The bread and wine duly consecrated, the Our Father was sung, to the traditional tune. While most of the music had been essentially solo performances by the cantoress (although some hearty souls joined in), the congregation all participated in the Our Father, holding hands the while. After the tumultuous handshake of peace and the Lamb of God, the large (over twelve) contingent of extraordinary Eucharistic ministers appeared. From there, things proceeded as they had the previous week.

Following the customary final applause, I made my way out past the friendly, chatting parishioners. Once again bereft of coffee and doughnuts, I headed for the welcoming vending machines, joining the amiable line to them, which had already formed.

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