Finding a Parish Home, Redux
M.Z. probably would have been more sympathetic had I mentioned the parish was about as WASPy as a Catholic parish can get. Indeed, her Novus Ordo Missae was identical to what you might expect at any Mainline Protestant Sunday service, only probably a tad worse.
In contrast St. Jerome's, in a working-class neighborhood a full half-mile closer to the home I'll be moving into with my extended family, is ethnic. Poles, Italians, and Irish may not count anymore as ethnic by the official census-takers, but the small Nuyorican presence surely would. What matters is that the Sacrifice of the Mass was devoid of pretension. No piano. No Broadway-style show tunes for the Eucharistic Prayers.
They used the organ. There was some chanting. Even two words of Latin, "Mysterium fidei," found their way in, spoken by the elderly Italian priest, who was the spitting image of Archbishop Oscar Romero. Speaking of whom, even Dorothy Day was mentioned in the deacon's homily! The hymns of Marty Haugen, however, were painfully present.
I never did make it to St. Josaphat's Ukrainian Catholic Church for the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom or St. Stanislaus Kostka Church for the Traditional Latin Mass, but this humble, shrinking, graying parish dedicated to St. Jerome looks like she'll make a good home for us.