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by Jim Holman.
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SAN CONRADO MISSION

Where a Saint Said Mass

By Charles A. Coulombe

San Conrado Mission, at 1820 Bouett Street, lies in a small neighborhood tucked away off the Academy exit of the 110 freeway. It is an unusual area, sort of an urban island created when Dodger Stadium was built where the Hispanic neighborhood of Chavez Ravine stood, a skullduggery-filled event recounted by James Ellroy in his novel The Big Nowhere. A Claretian missionary, Father Tomas Matin, built San Conrado in 1966. Over the nine succeeding years, culminating in his death, the "saint of Bouett Street," as some have called Matin, built a reputation as a holy man among his parishioners. Father Matin was perhaps the last priest in Los Angeles to wear the biretta and cassock on a daily basis. People still go to pray at his grave at San Gabriel Mission.

One of Father Matin's successors at San Conrado was the late Father John McKenna, a devotee of Blessed Padre Pio, who had told McKenna (while he was a soldier in Italy during World War II) that he would become a priest. Father McKenna used to preside over the Padre Pio and Mercy Sunday celebrations in Los Angeles, and in addition to his work at San Conrado, was renowned as a saver of souls in the various hospitals where he worked.

At present, San Conrado is a mission of St. Peter's Italian Catholic Church on North Broadway. But the Scalabrinian Fathers there have jobbed San Conrado back to the Claretians who, in the person of one Father Richard Estrada, administer the sacraments there.

I made my way to San Conrado on April 21, 2002, the fourth Sunday after Easter, for the 9:30 a.m. English Mass (there is a Spanish Mass at 11 a.m., and every last Sunday of the month, a native American Mass at 12:20 p.m.). The mission, set in a neighborhood of generally well-kept houses with chickens in their front yards, is a stucco structure in the functional yet pious mode common in Los Angeles during the church building boom of the 1950s and 60s. While the interior is simple, its walls are thronged with statues of the saints, before whom a few people were already praying. There was no altar rail, but the tabernacle was in the center, accompanied by sanctuary lamps; the table was a lovely mensa (probably brought forward from the former high altar) adorned with a chi rho, and covered with a lace cloth.

Soon, the music team appeared, and set up their keyboard and guitar in the left-hand corner of the worship space. Three casually dressed Latino men and one nun sans veil (but wearing a gray skirt suit) served as ministers of music. The congregation was sparse, but of all ages. A plump Latina, poured into tight pants, came out, bowed to the tabernacle, and covered the table with two rainbow-colored horse blankets. She wrapped a similar bit of fabric around the lectern. A diminutive altar boy in cassock and surplice bustled about, but apparently did not notice the tabernacle.

The processional hymn, like most of the music, was a sort of Ventures-meets-Eagles medley. Two female altar servers, clad in skirts and bearing candles, led the procession. Behind the altar girls came the little altar boy, carrying a crucifix. Then came Father Estrada, his head covered by a mound of gun-metal gray curls, bearing aloft the lectionary. Once all had nodded at the tabernacle and taken their places, Father Estrada informed us that it was Vocations Sunday, that each of us have our callings, and that this is a good thing. The penitential rite was a spoken "Lord Have Mercy," with appropriate tropes, and the Gloria was the Latin-and-English alternating piece by Schiavoni.

A lectoress read from the book of Acts about St. Peter calling upon the multitude to repent and be baptized. She was followed by an Anglo gentleman in a suit, who declaimed, from the first epistle of St. Peter, how to be like Christ, patient and forgiving. Lastly, Father Estrada read Jesus' warning, in the Gospel of St. John, against false shepherds.

The priest began his remarks by asking the two birthday girls in the congregation to rise, for whom the congregation sang "Happy Birthday." His sermon dealt primarily with Christ being the leader of the people of God, among whom, he said, were numbered those in the congregation. Father said that the Christian way is not the way of domination and power, as was the Roman way and the way of certain corporations, governments, and families. Instead, the Christian way is the way of community and knowing each other, and so it is important for the members of San Conrado to know each other. Moreover, it was important for them to work for justice and peace, and so the newly made parish banner would be carried later that day in a procession for the homeless, downtown. Furthering this aim, Father asked for two volunteers to go to an archdiocesan day of liturgical formation (like one the Mission reported on in 1998 in "The Day the Liturgists Danced") to be held at St. John Baptist de la Salle High School. This was necessary, he said, "because there is a way to do liturgy."

Sermon concluded, the money was collected and Father proceeded to the second Eucharistic prayer. Using a golden chalice and two pieces of stemware, he performed the consecration devoutly, genuflecting and gazing at the elements as he elevated them.

The remainder of the Mass proceeded pretty much along the lines of the Missal. After the announcements, the sanctuary party recessed, and the congregation gave a round of applause.

In place of coffee and doughnuts, the congregation trooped downstairs to the social hall for a Mexican brunch.

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