Two weeks ago my Coolpix and I visited the St. Jude Shrine on Saratoga for the third time, and I finally captured St. Simon’s stained-glass window to my liking. But I’d also planned a long-awaited outing to Sts. Cyril and Methodius Church, so I could hardly wait to get there!
Late December 2005
We seldom drive into Corpus Christi unless we really have to, so imagine my fascination at seeing an old-style church off South Padre Island Drive during my first trip into town.
Is it Greek Orthodox? Is it Catholic? It reminds me of the church that Segy and I stumbled across in Prague.
I could hardly wait to satisfy my curiosity!
“I’m going to visit that church one day soon,” I told Steven.
At both the welcoming and the despedida Masses, a group of very talented mariachis led us in song; so Father Stembler thanked them afterwards, adding that they perform regularly at Sts. Cyril and Methodius Church.
Hearing that, Junebug, a friend who’d also wanted to visit the church for a long time, and I caught up to one of the musicians as they were leaving. We asked about the Mass schedule and, much to our delight, were enthusiastically invited to “come for twelve-thirty Mass on Sundays to hear the mariachis.”
We never made it, since obligations at our respective parishes kept us home on Sundays. Nevertheless, my desire to explore the old-world church lingered.
Two weeks ago
So here, five years later, my wish came true. Having driven into town for quite a few doctors’ appointments, I finally felt confident about venturing out on my own in Corpus and, oh, the surprises that awaited me at Sts. Cyril and Methodius.
No temas… ¿No estoy yo aquí, que soy tu madre? Do not fear… Am I not here, am I not your Mother?
A couple of years ago I’d read the same message online.
What a wonderful surprise!
Next, I walked past the glass doors into the dimly lit church.
A man and four or five women sat in silence: some with their prayer booklets, others with rosary in hand; some departing, others taking their place.
I sat in the back for a while, joyfully dialoguing with God about this new adventure before getting up to make pictorial memories for others to enjoy through my blog.
Other than my Coolpix snapping photos of the windows and the stations of the cross and flashing intermittently, I walked around soundlessly, respectful as usual, mindful of not being a distraction to the others.
“Ma’m, are you Catholic?”
Having gone full circle, I made my way to the front of the church.
Bowing in reverence to the altar as I had done each time I’d approached the front of the church, I turned to take my final three shots of the back (the entrance) of the church.
My peripheral vision caught sight of two women: one, shielding her face with a booklet as if to keep from being photographed; the other, beckoning to me with her right hand.
I acknowledged the latter smilingly and walked over thinking I should’ve had one of my calling cards with me, but the woman scowled at me.
“Ma’m, are you Catholic?” she chided.
“Yes, I am. I’m from St. Joseph’s in Port Aransas.”
“Can’t you see we’re praying here?” she scolded me in a low, rough voice.
She had fire in her eyes and, clearly, she was speaking for the others, like the woman seated close by who nodded in agreement to my being treated like an insolent child.
“Don’t you know that we’re here to pray?!!” she vehemently rebuked me.
“Yes. I understand,” I said, being shushed by the woman time and time again as I told her that I, too, had sat awhile before taking photos.
The woman was beside herself with disgust. But I remained cool, calm, and collected. Even as I patiently, succinctly, tried to explain my presence there, she avoided making eye contact and shushed me as if I were a despicable nonperson.
“I apologize for having offended you,” I told the woman in a quiet voice despite her unwillingness to stop shushing me. “Clearly, this was not my intent.”
Although I would’ve wanted one or two more photos of the back of the church, I relented.
“I apologize for having offended you, but each of us adores God in his own way,” I told the woman and walked away feeling neither one way nor the other.
Once outside I felt embraced by the warm breeze as I looked around, gauged the traffic on the frontage road, and walked to Steven’s palomino. I unlocked the door, got a couple of my calling cards, turned to take three shots of the building’s exterior, tossed the Coolpix in the vehicle, and headed back into church.
Barely touching the woman’s left shoulder, I whispered, “This is my calling card. Should you ever want to visit St. Joseph’s,” I said, pointing to the St. Joseph stained-glass icon on my card, “this is the window above our church entrance.”
The woman, still shushing me, took the cards without looking at me, placed them next to her on the pew, and gave me the cold shoulder.
“Again,” I said for the last time, “I apologize for having offended you, but each of us adores God in his own way.”
Then I walked away, undaunted.
I’d been sincere toward the woman, but she’d overly exaggerated her right to be there more than mine to visit that afternoon. Nevertheless, I knew that God understood both of us. So that was all that mattered.
As I drove off the church parking area onto a road I’d never traveled, I had time to reflect on the disquieting moments experienced at Sts. Cyril and Methodius. But even after Kostoryz connected to McArdle— a street I’m familiar with, thanks to the Catholic Shoppe— my pea brain was still trying to come to somehow.
I wasn’t annoyed or angry. I wasn’t amused or perplexed. I wasn’t even embarrassed.
I was stunned… numb… calm. Very, very calm.
I’d “never ever ever” (to quote our youngest child) been treated as an outcast in any church, much less within my own Catholic community.
This had been such a unique, unexpected experience that my system was in shock— unable to mentalize, much less verbalize, my thoughts and feelings. Yet, driving home I was sure of one thing: My visit to Sts. Cyril and Methodius Church had been part of God’s master plan. Just another of his extraordinary lessons in real time.
Breathe in me, O Holy Spirit, that my thoughts may all be holy. Act in me, O Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy. Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit, that I love but what is holy. Strengthen me, O Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy. Guard me, then, O Holy Spirit, that I always may be holy. Amen.
Grant, O Lord, your protection. And, in protection, strength; and, in strength, understanding; and, in understanding, knowledge. And, in knowledge, the knowledge of justice; and, in the knowledge of justice, the love of it; and, in the love of it, the love of all existences. And, in that love, the love of spirit and all creation. Amen.
Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight; and give your angels and saints charge over those who sleep. Tend your sick ones, O Lord Christ. Rest your weary ones. Bless your dying ones. Soothe your suffering ones. Pity your afflicted ones. Shield your joyous ones. And all for your love’s sake. Amen.
July 14, 2010
Discussing this post with a couple of friends last week, I had a momentous epiphany: I’ve experienced this exclusivity before!
I don’t know what makes people so apprehensive about strangers and not so familiar faces at church. We’re all part of the same community regardless of who we are or where we’re from, so we should be particularly accepting of each other as Catholics. But this isn’t always the case.
I know what it is to be an outsider within my own parish. This is why I started the church blog— a perfect opportunity to smilingly welcome newcomers and returning visitors as I take photos before, during, and after Mass.
I’m friendly, genuine, inclusive. I treat others as I’d like to be treated. The way we were back home. The way Segy and I experienced church when we attended Mass in Budapest, Prague, and Berlin.
Because being Catholic is more than just sitting quietly (meditating, petitioning, praising, praying, problem solving, and/or reflecting, for instance), we should embrace (engage, explore, make meaning of and/or try to understand) the diversity that is our Christian faith. After all, to be Catholic is to be universal.
June 12, 2015
If work is God’s will, it must be sanctifying; for, in ultimate analysis, sanctity is only doing the will of God. Therefore, work is a sacred thing; it is a “sacramental”— an outward sign that can give grace. Hence, you can go to work for the same reason you go to church to worship God! Work is a religious thing. It is holy (Fr. M. Raymond, OCSO, Spiritual Secrets of a Trappist Monk).
January 5, 2016
“As Christ has his work, we too have ours; as he rejoiced to do his work, we must rejoice in ours also” (St. John Neumann).
January 17, 2016
“I do take my work seriously, and the way to do that is not to take yourself too seriously,” (Alan Rickman).
January 18, 2016
God is always summoning us, calling us out of the hustle and bustle of our lives to be his companions. Developing the contemplative dimension of our Christian lives involves developing our capacity to hear this summons in whatever way it comes (“The Complete Christian“).
“It is not enough to pray thy kingdom come, but to work so that the kingdom of God will exist among us today” (St. Ursula Ledóchowska).
January 20, 2016
January 28, 2016
“We must love them both, those whose opinions we share and those whose opinions we reject; for both have labored in the search for truth and both have helped us in finding it” (St. Thomas Aquinas).
July 22, 2016
“Take care not to meddle in things which do not concern you, nor even allow them to pass through your mind; for perhaps you will not then be able to fulfill your own task” (St. John of the Cross).
January 5, 2017
We might not be able to control how people react to us, or see us, or feel about us. But we can train ourselves not to be crushed. We can learn not to take it personally— even if it’s personal (Heather King, Loaded: Money and the Spirituality of Enough).
January 10, 2017
“If you wish to arrive speedily at the summit of perfection, animate yourself to a true love of shame, insults, and calumny” (St. Ignatius).
February 17, 2017
Persevere in the exact fulfillment of the obligations of the moment. That work— humble, monotonous, small— is prayer expressed in action that prepares you to receive the grace of the other work— great and wide and deep— of which you dream (St. Josemaría Escrivá).
Links of interest… Answering the call to work… Catholic community doesn’t look the same for everyone… Complete Christian (YouTube)… Delanceyplace: archives / home / second guessing ourselves (Presence)… Everything can turn into prayer… Gift of work… Go to church, meet annoying people… Holy Infant: artifacts / history / prayers / stories… Hospitality: A forgotten virtue… Lorica of St. Patrick… Our Lady of Guadalupe… Practice of silence for lay people… Sts. Cyril & Methodius: about / apostles / enlighteners / saints… South Texas Catholic… St. Paul the Apostle Church: facebook / parishes online / website… Sts. Cyril & Methodius Church: facebook / website… Scripture speaks: The better part… Suffering for a reason: Not what Yoda would advise… We help people because we’re Catholic, not because they’re Catholic…
WP posts… Angels keeping watch… Bearing one’s crosses… Building community… Call of service… Connected tangents… Full circle… Gifts… Heart of hearts… Kindred acorns… On being Christian… Prayerful messages… A real church… Revisiting St. Simon… Right at home… St. Jude shrine (Corpus Christi)
Filed under: Child Jesus, churches, Our Lady, Sts. Cyril and Methodius | Tagged: building community, God's master plan, overcoming adversity, St. Paul the Apostle Church-Flour Bluff TX, Sts. Cyril & Methodius Church-Corpus Christi TX | 2 Comments »