I spent most of my short New York City time downtown, and as I happened upon a Catholic church, would check the doors, hoping for a look inside. Most of the time I was unsuccessful, for the doors were locked.
Yes, I understand security issues, and they are real. But still, isn’t it sad to come across locked Catholic churches?
Well, one one of my forays uptown, I came across an open church, at last – the Church of Our Saviour, more widely known as “Fr. Rutler’s church.” It was interesting to go in and look around – the church is smaller than I had expected, and quite lovely, which was not unexpected. There were perhaps six people praying inside at the time – about 3 on a Thursday afternoon - two people were tending to the candles, and the doors were wide, wide open onto Park Avenue.
(I took photos but they are awful, blurry and useless. So I won’t burden this space with them.)
Yesterday morning I was taking one more stroll around the Lower East Side where I was staying and which totally won me over, by the way, and got to St. Mary’s on Grand which let you know what it was all about loud and clear:
St. Mary’s also had a small religious goods store, open on a Friday morning (again unusual – most in suburban parishes would only be open after Sunday Mass). An older woman and a younger man (son, maybe) were crowded in there, looking at rosaries and such, chatting, when the younger man knocked over a display. “Muchacho de Dios!” the woman exclaimed, an expression I fully plan to appropriate and regularly exclaim myself.
But anyway. How often is a parish that blathers on the most about “hospitality” also one that is locked up tight during the week?
Here’s the real Catholic “ministry of hospitality” at work: an open church, decorated in a way that renders the Church, past and present, militant and triumphant, present – in the images of saints, in telling stories – in a way that you can just walk in and be in the midst of it, even in a small way if that’s all that can be managed - the crucifix, the Mary and Joseph statues, the Ways of the Cross, a statue of the of the parish’s patron, and some candles and the holy water, of course. All there in the Real Presence of Christ. Welcoming. If that’s all there can be, so be it. But it’s a start – to hospitality – that is, welcoming whoever walks in into the Church.
And you add to that some reading material – missalettes or whatever the parish uses, an explanation of the church’s interior, some pamphlets, contact information, a pile of rosaries.
The disdain for this kind of fundamental, traditional “ministry of hospitality,” I think, can be ideological, and comes from people who are not so much concerned about safety and security but who want people to move beyond the physicality and concreteness and who lock up churches for the same reason they hide the Blessed Sacrament – because they want you to be all focused on the Sunday Gathering where the Spirit Moves and not get all fixated on God in a Box or Mystery on the Cheap.
Eh. Here’s what I saw at Our Saviour.
Most of the people scattered in the pews were praying – some, from their physical posture – rather intensely.
(And there’s another value of the open church – you go in, you see someone obviously praying deeply, perhaps suffering, and you’re reminded that it’s not all about you, and you’re moved, in the presence of the saints and the Lord, to pray for someone else besides yourself. Hospitality.)
But then one woman drifted in, and just sat there, looking around. Interested. Curious.
She picked up a missalette, riffed the pages rather quickly, then turned back to the beginning of the book and began again, turning the pages more slowly. Then she turned back to the beginning again and started reading, glancing up at the images around her, at the others praying as she read.
Who knows why or what will happen. Only God, and that’s okay. All I know is that the Church did its part.
Because..well, um, please join me in singing: all are welcome here!
(I did happen upon one more open church – several doors wide open – Transfiguration - but it was surrounded by a fence, and I couldn’t figure out how to get in. I’m sure there was a way, but I couldn’t see it, and I needed to get back across to Manhattan. This was on my brief adventure in Williamsburg, about which I will write more later…)
Beautifully put Amy. Couldn’t agree more. And your writing itself moves the soul.
Greetings from Italia !
I stopped at the little Catholic Church in Green Cover Springs a couple of years ago; I’d always wanted to see what it was like inside, but it was consistently locked. However, this time the door was open, so I walked in, lit a candle, prayed, and sat in the pew for a while. Imagine my surprise to hear a sound behind me, turn, and find a policeman there, hand on gun.
Somehow I had sat off an alarm that alerted not only the secretary but the police!
To make a long story short, he wanted to know what I was doing ……praying didn’t seem a good enough reason. He asked how I got in…I said through the door. We went outside, where a crowd had gathered. Everyone agreed that Father locked the door every time the church was empty. Someone wondered if I climbed through the window….
FINALLY, when I was trying to decide to whom my one call would be, the secretary said she recognized me from a Bible study we both had attended in Starke years ago.
I still go by that little Church on the way to St Augustine, and sometimes I still try the door; so far I’ve never found it open again.
In my Brooklyn days, our church had sign-up lists for “church sitting”, simply being in the church for a couple of hours so we could leave the doors unlocked. People wandered in, walked around, prayed. Or not. It’s a lot easier to fathom walking into a church if you’ve been away for years if the doors are open.
In midtown Manhattan most of the churches are open all day, and virtually every Catholic church will have midday and evening masses. It’s one of the great things about living in New York.
I like that idea, JuliaA.
I love that sign “Why Catholic? Ask Us!” I saw it on the way home the other night.. and it made me smile. I’m glad that you saw it too!
The other wonderful and unique thing about Our Saviour Parish is that the lines for confession seem endless…in fact, they offer reconciliation after the 9am Mass and the line continues throughout the 11am. What a great parish.
Glad you are home safe!!
I was just in Manhattan earlier this week, and dropped by Our Savior (for the first time) while there. It was truly a house of prayer – so many souls, midafternoon, and they all seemed to be deep in prayer. I was inspired to pray longer because so many were there.
The whole locked Catholic church thing is sad to me. I’m only 43 and I remember when this just wasn’t the norm. When I was in Ireland for a week in 2006, driving around the countryside, I sort of made it a point to stop in almost every little town I drove through, at the local Catholic church. They were ALL open – every one – from the giant Cathedral in Killarney to the smallest little church in Clare that would hold maybe 100 people. Some of them with no one around at all – just open. I’d go in, sit, pray a bit, take some photos. It was a great little part of my trip. But what a difference.
a locked church is sad. Getting robbed and raped by the homeless man hiding in the pews is sadder.
Very true. Which is why in many unlocked churches, there are attendants of some sort. In Europe, they’re often sitting at a table near the front. Nice to see you here, Dymphna.
Our former pastor made a habit of unlocking the front doors, and leaving them wide open so everyone could see the church was open, on a regular basis. I’m glad to have noticed the doors open a few times I’ve driven by since the new pastor has taken over as well. I’ve not really taken advantage of the opportunity since I’m usually on my way somewhere with a bunch of kids in tow; but I love the idea and should stop by sometime even with the kids. I should also remember to thank him for it.
I am blessed to have a church that is unlocked all day and most of the evening. It is a grace to sit in the darkness before the tabernacle, sometimes feeling the presence of others praying, sometimes I can hear them praying fervently in Spanish, other times muffled tears in the darkness. You are right, Amy, it is true hospitality to give us a chance in the midst of the workday to step away from the world for awhile and be alone with Jesus.
I have never heard of anyone getting robbed and raped (neither by a homeless person nor by a homeowner) in a church. I suppose it would make the headlines if it happened (at least the rape part). But I have heard about valuable pieces of art, antique candle holders etc that have been stolen from churches. In Europe. In the US I suppose that particular risk is smaller.
I used to attend a Methodist church that lost a somewhat valuable cross off of the altar we believed from a homeless person who hid in the cavernous, Gothic style church for several days.
It’s been a few years, but when I converted to Catholicism, one of the factors was the opportunity I had had to go into St. Paul’s on Columbus Avenue, admire the church, and shop in the church bookstore. Nowadays, when I’m in New York, I like to go to St. John the Baptist just south of Madison Square Garden. I don’t know whether it’s open off hours.