In the most anticipated Easter church visit in the last century … Barack Obama attended St. John’s Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C.
In slightly less noteworthy news, I chose Holy Cross Immaculata in Mt. Adams—one of my favorite Cincinnati communities.
In other words: Catholicism, part two. This time, no hangover.
I wrestled with the decision all week, and then settled on Holy Cross when I realized how fitting the visit would be.
I became a Christian a couple hundred feet from my seat Sunday. In November of 2000, while living in a studio apartment in Mt. Adams, I prayed God would change my life. That first year, I walked up the Immaculata steps (the same ones thousands of people use every year to “pray the steps”) and talked to God. The view of downtown Cincinnati is amazing from that spot. There is also a statue of Jesus nailed to the cross that I stared at for long stretches of time, contemplating my new faith.
In other words, if there is one spot on this planet I would retreat to if I needed time alone with God, it would be Holy Cross Immaculata in Mt. Adams. It felt like the perfect place to spend Easter Sunday during my experiment.
Ironically, I had never actually been inside their building. Thankfully, the interior matched the exterior—lots of beautiful paintings, sculptures, stained glass windows, and statues. Traditional pews sat approximately 350 people, and it was standing room only. In fact, there had to be well over 400 people in attendance.
Obviously, it’s hard to judge any church based on its Easter service. I assume attendance spiked. Almost everyone was white, but there was a wide range of ages. Was this a normal thing for Holy Cross, or did the surge of families on Easter Sunday skew the diversity? Either way, there aren’t many sights more adorable than little girls and boys dressed up in dresses and suits for Easter.
As we (Liz, my girlfriend, joined me this week) walked in, the choir was already singing. It was a nice touch. Quality music in church now holds a special place in my heart. After attending a couple of services without music (Church of Scientology, Jehovah’s Witnesses), I realize I have taken worship for granted all these years. The Holy Cross choir was pretty talented, but one of the soloists sounded exactly like Willie Nelson, which was both distracting and amazing.
Sometimes I wonder if Catholics want new people visiting their churches. Rituals in a Catholic Church are difficult to follow. They make newcomers feel like outsiders. There seems to be a vibe (especially on Easter) that visitors are disrupting a private club meeting. Ritual can be a good thing, but one man’s ritual is another man’s barrier.
In fact, Liz told me a story after the service about a woman from her salon. This woman is Catholic and was complaining that all of the visitors on Easter ruin their service. She even told Liz that she asked the priest if he could reserve seats for the regulars! Yikes. Is there some underlying tension between Catholics who attend church regularly and Catholics who only show up on holidays? Easter seems like the day you would want to be most welcoming, not hyper-territorial.
I needed a cheat sheet to keep up with everything. How do Catholics remember all of the sayings? And when to kneel? And when to sit or stand? It’s exhausting.
Also, could communion be any weirder for someone who isn’t Catholic? I never go up front during a Catholic service because I am pretty sure they don’t want me to. Nothing makes you feel like a bigger sinner than having to scoot out of the way while people in your row pass to take communion. It’s like I was wearing a huge neon sign flashing, “Not a Catholic!”
There were two highlights during the seventy-five minute service:
1) The congregation actually sang the Lord’s Prayer. Holy Cross Immaculata was the first place I have visiting that did this. I loved it.
2) I think I got baptized into the Catholic Church. After the congregation answered “yes” to a bunch of questions (for example, “Do you reject Satan in your life?”), the priest walked down the main aisle flicking water on everyone. That is a Catholic baptism, right? Maybe I could have taken communion after all.
Overall, it seemed to be a traditional Catholic service. I knew nothing crazy would happen. Nothing overly exciting to write about. I had already attended a Catholic Church, so I basically knew what to expect. But none of that mattered, because this week was about worshipping in a place that has been an important part of my journey.
I still remember the nights I sat atop Mt. Adams, Holy Cross Immaculata over my shoulder, the lights of downtown Cincinnati on the horizon. I watched the river rush by and dreamt of possibilities. I was a mess back in 2000, and no matter what you think about organized religion, one fact cannot be debated—Jesus saved me from a lifetime of cheap thrills and empty accomplishments.
I have told my story enough that most people know how true that statement is. The last nine years have been filled with ups and downs, and God knows, I have failed numerous times. I have had some very low lows since that prayer in November of 2000 just a stone’s throw from my seat Easter morning, but I have been consistently moving in a healthier direction. At times sprinting, mostly crawling, but definitely moving.
Despite the flawed man that I still am, I know who I would have become, and I know in my heart who I am becoming.
And this week, being reminded of that truth is enough.
Despite the flaws of organized religion, I hope we all remember how our lives have been forever changed by the man we celebrate every Easter Sunday.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
In slightly less noteworthy news, I chose Holy Cross Immaculata in Mt. Adams—one of my favorite Cincinnati communities.
In other words: Catholicism, part two. This time, no hangover.
I wrestled with the decision all week, and then settled on Holy Cross when I realized how fitting the visit would be.
I became a Christian a couple hundred feet from my seat Sunday. In November of 2000, while living in a studio apartment in Mt. Adams, I prayed God would change my life. That first year, I walked up the Immaculata steps (the same ones thousands of people use every year to “pray the steps”) and talked to God. The view of downtown Cincinnati is amazing from that spot. There is also a statue of Jesus nailed to the cross that I stared at for long stretches of time, contemplating my new faith.
In other words, if there is one spot on this planet I would retreat to if I needed time alone with God, it would be Holy Cross Immaculata in Mt. Adams. It felt like the perfect place to spend Easter Sunday during my experiment.
Ironically, I had never actually been inside their building. Thankfully, the interior matched the exterior—lots of beautiful paintings, sculptures, stained glass windows, and statues. Traditional pews sat approximately 350 people, and it was standing room only. In fact, there had to be well over 400 people in attendance.
Obviously, it’s hard to judge any church based on its Easter service. I assume attendance spiked. Almost everyone was white, but there was a wide range of ages. Was this a normal thing for Holy Cross, or did the surge of families on Easter Sunday skew the diversity? Either way, there aren’t many sights more adorable than little girls and boys dressed up in dresses and suits for Easter.
As we (Liz, my girlfriend, joined me this week) walked in, the choir was already singing. It was a nice touch. Quality music in church now holds a special place in my heart. After attending a couple of services without music (Church of Scientology, Jehovah’s Witnesses), I realize I have taken worship for granted all these years. The Holy Cross choir was pretty talented, but one of the soloists sounded exactly like Willie Nelson, which was both distracting and amazing.
Sometimes I wonder if Catholics want new people visiting their churches. Rituals in a Catholic Church are difficult to follow. They make newcomers feel like outsiders. There seems to be a vibe (especially on Easter) that visitors are disrupting a private club meeting. Ritual can be a good thing, but one man’s ritual is another man’s barrier.
In fact, Liz told me a story after the service about a woman from her salon. This woman is Catholic and was complaining that all of the visitors on Easter ruin their service. She even told Liz that she asked the priest if he could reserve seats for the regulars! Yikes. Is there some underlying tension between Catholics who attend church regularly and Catholics who only show up on holidays? Easter seems like the day you would want to be most welcoming, not hyper-territorial.
I needed a cheat sheet to keep up with everything. How do Catholics remember all of the sayings? And when to kneel? And when to sit or stand? It’s exhausting.
Also, could communion be any weirder for someone who isn’t Catholic? I never go up front during a Catholic service because I am pretty sure they don’t want me to. Nothing makes you feel like a bigger sinner than having to scoot out of the way while people in your row pass to take communion. It’s like I was wearing a huge neon sign flashing, “Not a Catholic!”
There were two highlights during the seventy-five minute service:
1) The congregation actually sang the Lord’s Prayer. Holy Cross Immaculata was the first place I have visiting that did this. I loved it.
2) I think I got baptized into the Catholic Church. After the congregation answered “yes” to a bunch of questions (for example, “Do you reject Satan in your life?”), the priest walked down the main aisle flicking water on everyone. That is a Catholic baptism, right? Maybe I could have taken communion after all.
Overall, it seemed to be a traditional Catholic service. I knew nothing crazy would happen. Nothing overly exciting to write about. I had already attended a Catholic Church, so I basically knew what to expect. But none of that mattered, because this week was about worshipping in a place that has been an important part of my journey.
I still remember the nights I sat atop Mt. Adams, Holy Cross Immaculata over my shoulder, the lights of downtown Cincinnati on the horizon. I watched the river rush by and dreamt of possibilities. I was a mess back in 2000, and no matter what you think about organized religion, one fact cannot be debated—Jesus saved me from a lifetime of cheap thrills and empty accomplishments.
I have told my story enough that most people know how true that statement is. The last nine years have been filled with ups and downs, and God knows, I have failed numerous times. I have had some very low lows since that prayer in November of 2000 just a stone’s throw from my seat Easter morning, but I have been consistently moving in a healthier direction. At times sprinting, mostly crawling, but definitely moving.
Despite the flawed man that I still am, I know who I would have become, and I know in my heart who I am becoming.
And this week, being reminded of that truth is enough.
Despite the flaws of organized religion, I hope we all remember how our lives have been forever changed by the man we celebrate every Easter Sunday.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
