St. Peters in Rosendale

I was nervous going to a Roman Catholic service. Roman Catholics were an ancient enemy in Britain, the sworn enemies of the fledgling protestant Church of England; the Spanish Armada and all that. But eleven years ago, returning after the closing to take possession of my house nearby in Tillson, I stopped off at a craft fair in the grounds of the church, had a great time, and took it for a warm welcome to the neighborhood.

I had never been to a RC service, knew that until a few decades ago it was conducted in Latin, and expected it would be full of incomprehensible ceremonies carried out in the distance by robed priests, accompanied by dreary chanting. Instead I found it a very rich experience. Just an hour, and plenty to see and listen to, to admire and enjoy. A good crowd of people, very involved. Overall, though, I wouldn't recommend the experience to other non-Catholics. I resented the constant accusations that I was irremediably sinful, and I was put off by the constant gruesome references to God's blood being shed and it was my fault. I discovered I'm just too far over the secular horizon to resonate with this.

Saint Peter's in Rosendale is an imposing warm red brick building on an eminence above the western end of town. Plenty of parking in a lot facing the church and in neighboring streets.

Entering the church brought to mind what an ancient temple must have been like. Bustle. Things for sale in the lobby: tote bags, doll figurines, cards, and lots more I didn't recognize (though no one behind the counter selling). People sitting on chairs around the back of the church, next to painted full size statues of St. Francis and Christ. Christ had his heart exposed, and was fingering it, which I found gruesome. Concentration on Christ's bleeding heart was a Victorian innovation, I've read. It seemed way beyond sentimentality to me.

The church is beautiful. It's quite large, seating probably 500 people max. Today it was about half full, an impressive turn out. People were spread out from front to back. I sat to one side, near the back.

The modern structure aims straightforwardly to be a church. It has a high main nave with a peaked roof, and two side aisles with ceilings slanting down away from the nave, in traditional Gothic style. Painted wooden gothic arches have been added to the nave and side aisles to increase the traditional feeling of a church, and worked well for me. Nave and side aisles had ornamented tinned ceilings, effective without being pretentious. The floor was simple linoleum tile. Walls and ceiling were painted light cream. The construction was relentlessly symmetrical. A door on one side at the front of the nave was matched by an alcove the same size and position on the other side. A very effective adaptation of traditional church design to simple modern construction. I felt uplifted and comfortable at the same time.

All the windows are stained glass, but there are so many of them that the church is very light. The window next to me had pictures of a key and a flail, presumably symbols of imprisonment and torture. On the wall next to me was a carving representing one of the stations of the cross, in which hands seemed to be undressing a sorrowing Christ. Quite a downer. So I turned my attention to a band of painting running high around the nave.

I knew the Roman Catholic service would be a very class-bound. Here's how the building reflected that. The band of painting running around the cream-painted nave was in renaissance Italian style, of (I presume) the twelve apostles. Excellent quality, though a little mawkish. Grave, heroic, but earthbound. Worth attention.

But the chancel was all gold leaf, heavily spotlit. Running around it was a tall band of paintings of angels, in traditional Byzantine style. In the center is a gleaming white altar that rises against the back of the chancel, a gleaming white church- or castle-scape that towers up to around 15 foot, surmounted by a cross. It is lit inside, so it looks like a mystery building even further removed from us, a celestial building, impossibly elevated and remote. And above it, high in the chancel, a round window with the three persons of the trinity. Gorgeous. Obviously, we were on earth, but the chancel was heaven. The allure of that glittering chancel was overwhelming. We would never be allowed up there. A vast separation loomed between our mere earthly virtue and the priest's heavenly privilege and connection to God.

11.02, promptly, announcements. I don't know the names of the personnel in a RC service, so I'll call everyone in regular dress a deacon. A woman deacon addresses us. "Good morning." No one answers. "This is the festival of the trinity." She delivers announcements in a formal voice, reading from a script. Then I hear a hymn announced, and glorious music. It took me quite a while to realize voice and music were coming from an organ and choir loft at the back of the church.

Last week I went to a big-band dance at the Holiday Inn in Kingston. $20 admission, I think it was. There, where the sound was so central to the experience, the sound system was terrible, no treble at all, just raucous booming. Here, in a house of worship, the sound system was excellent. We were being treated to a solo by a soprano. I glanced back, and saw a very attractive young women singing at a microphone. Excellent voice.

Entrance of priest, plus a youth dressed in what looked to me like a monk's habit, but gleaming white. Youth came first, with crucifix. Pretty cross, but with Christ hanging on it. Church and service are peppered with references to Christ's blood and suffering.

The procession of the priest up the main aisle emphasizes his ascension from our earthly realm up into the celestial chancel. He takes his place behind a long table, in front of the gleaming white altar.

The long table appears to be white marble. It is ornamented with classical columns, with gothic arches between them. Behind it are three very ornate chairs, thrones really. The table has a white cloth on it. The priest prays standing behind it, his arms in the ancient "ora" position, stretched out to the side. A nice touch. His prayers center around references to "our sins" and need for mercy.

When the priest addresses us directly, he steps forward to the pulpit. The pulpit extends out of the chancel into the nave. Clearly he has to leave the chancel to address us, then when he's finished he retreats back into the chancel to address God. Several times he reads prayers from a large book about two feet tall and a yard wide that is held open for him by the youth. We, however, have to hold our own books open, and find our own place. I'm actually enjoying this carefully orchestrated distance erected between priest and audience. We are obviously all conspiring to maintain it. Such a distance would be unthinkable in any other institution today.

He preaches. The sermon is about the trinity. Few denominations care about the trinity any more, but the catholic church still does, has to justify all those bloody battles fought over it back in the fourth and fifth centuries I suppose. The priest has a very pleasant voice. He uses a sermon voice, as my father did back in the old C of E, rhythmic, grave, somber, easy to ignore. I look around, enjoying the paintings, surfacing occasional to hear references to "our sins" and "forgiveness" and wander off again. Sooner than I thought possible, it's over. Not at all unpleasant. I never liked sermons in the old days.

The congregation is very attentive, knows its role very well, sings heartily and speaks out the responses clearly. The priest has a very pleasant singing voice, almost Welsh, almost rabbi like.

There's a pervasive catering aspect to the service I'm not used to. At the back of the church there's a metal urn with a spigot for holy water. The long table the priest sits at doubles as a serving table. Tumblers and platters are placed on this table during the service, and several times through the service the priest calls down blessing on them, like an extended grace. Then half a dozen people go up from the nave and are given wafer and wine, then they stand at the head of the aisles. Nearly everybody in the congregation files into the aisles, with their hands in prayer, and stands in line for wafer and wine. To one side of the chancel is a doorway with what looks like a samovar in it. What's left of the wafers and wine is put in this. I know that's for people unable to attend, in hospitals and nursing homes etc.

I was surprised to be reminded of how far modern Christian practice is from the shared meal of the original house church. What had been communal is now individual--one eats alone, while standing, passing no food to others, in silence. The holiness of it comes not from the community, but from a direct link of the individual to God through the consuming of a blest portion. This was true in the protestant Church of England, too, though communion was not part of the general service. You could leave after the service and never know some people stayed on for communion.

Collection is taken. They come around with big baskets on long poles. Talk about being fishers of men! But the choir is singing. Up in the gallery there's both a piano and an organ. The organ is plugged directly into the sound system, no organ pipes. The quality is excellent. But just now someone is playing the piano. Someone else is conducting the choir. The music has a swing, some rhythm to it. Semi-revivalist. Very approachable. And the soloist is superb.

Some more prayers. I am relaxed, happy with my distance from the action, and my passive role. Then, to my surprise, the priest says, "Share the peace with your neighbors," and I see everyone reaching out to people around them, smiling and shaking hands. I do the same. Another nice touch. A recent innovation, I suspect.

And, sooner than I expected, the service is concluding. No Te deum, no Magnificat, no chanting, in many ways a very pleasant service. The final piece of music is announced, the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and to the swelling tones of the organ and the best efforts of the choir, youth holding crucifix aloft and priest return slowly back down the nave. This ceremonial return is purely symbolic. The youth at once returns to the chancel, the priest exits role and prepares to chat to people on their way out.

It's not comfortable being an observer at such a service. It notably induces a deep reverence in those attending. Before and after, people are relaxed--once the priest has exited the nave after the service, people leaving the church glance up and applaud the choir. But during the service, equality and casualness are suspended. People seem unaware of each other. The feeling isn't communal, it's of each individual being linked directly to the priest, who represents him/her to God. Worshippers face front only, always towards that gleaming chancel. They cross themselves. Old time religion is alive and well at St. Peters. I was very impressed by the intensity of the worship.

Having been away from the church experience for thirty years, I was struck by how differently the Catholic church treats people from how all other modern institutions have learned to treat people. Other institutions all tell you how great you are. Courtesy rules. The customer is always right. Even the IRS is having its wrists slapped for being impolite to taxpayers.

The RC church tells you you're utterly debased, hopelessly mired in sin, with no hope in this life of ever getting to be OK. See how Jesus' suffers, that's your fault. Ask for mercy, over and over, but you probably won't get it, you're so bad.

And the continual references and depictions of blood! I'd always assumed death from crucifixion came from heat stroke, not blood loss, but in this church service you were virtually spattered in blood. It felt like an advertising campaign gone haywire. God's--blood--shed--for you. Wow!

Dress is fairly casual, but no jeans or sneakers. Some women wear pants, but skirts seem more common. Men can wear casual shirts, but with trousers and shoes. Almost no jackets, no ties. The congregation was all ages, seemed very pleasant people. You can slip in and out easily. No one's looking to hound strangers to come again, hey, why would you be here if you weren't already catholic? Point taken.

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