Sunday is an interesting day. Sometimes it’s pretty bad. Sometimes it’s good. Today was pretty good. I went to mass, which is something these days I get a great deal of joy doing, especially at my home church.

My home church and mass are quite interesting – ot’s a unique place.

First off, we are celebrating our Hundredth Anniversary. The church was built in 1909 , with dark bricks with a belltower; mostly rectangular with rows of multi-story stained glass windows, which depict the glorious and joyful mysteries of the Rosary. Inside, the ceiling is decorated, and old wooden pews and a traditional marble communion rail give it character.

However, it’s the people there that give it the most character. The church is down near the hospital district, and the population is almost entirely Hispanic. Fewer than half of the masses are in Spanish, however. Every Sunday one of the prayer groups serves breakfast, gorditas and tacos to die for, after mass, in the basement of the old school building.  The ushers, none of whom I know but all of whom I have a special appreciation for, are mostly  in the Knights of Columbus;  many wear jackets that say “Knights on Bikes.”

Yes, I’m serious! They have their leather jackets and boots and keys hanging at the belt-line, as they carry the offering baskets and stand at the ends of the pews to direct communion traffic, and stand at the back of the church, like sentinels. They are a small but significant presence. They stand tall and proud, and for me, all the ushers and leaders in the church represent a certain stability as they are there, week after week, fulfilling their duty. There is also a complement of others serving on the altar: the Deacon, our current Seminarian, and a few others who are always there, dressed in white or beige, directing the altar servers and aiding in the mass.

There are a lot of children and babies in the congregation every week. It’s gotten better, but the noise used to be a problem – it’s a large church and the rustlings and movements and whispered conversations of so many can get quite loud. Father Bristow, the pastor and sole priest, chastised us repeatedly a while back and now it’s better.

And there lies one of the most important aspects of the parish, Father. He’s unique in that he is married ( in fact today he mentioned his grandson goes to TCU, and was on TV yesterday when ESPN Gameday came to there – yes, mention of football came before the homily, as he began with the Horned Frogs hand sign). A converted Anglican, Father Bristow grew up in a little town in Texas, which I know because almost every homily begins “when I was young growing up…” He is now the pastor of a church of thousands, and sometimes I wonder how he has the time to take care of all the administrative and care tasks integral to his position.

His homilies and general attitude blend, for me at least, taking religion seriously while considering the reality of people’s lives. He doesn’t tell us to never listen to the radio and put bags over our heads, but he doesn’t ignore that there are real issues and real problems in the world, obstacles for religious and moral people.

Also, he is intent on restoring St. Mary’s to its former grandeur. We are in the process of cleaning all of the stained glass, installing a hundred-year old pulpit, and, hopefully soon, peeling back the paint on the vestibule to uncover what mystery lays behind. In fact, the proceeds of a recent carnival were all for the continuing restoration.

Part of me wonders at this – is it prodigal? how can this money be spent on paint and windows when there are other causes, other philanthropies? Then I see the church, and know how important it is to have pride in your faith and your place of worship. To respect it, and to respect the past. One window has been redone, and now the light shines through, faint shadows of the trees can be seen waving behind St. Matthew. It brings me great joy, and it brings me here. It is important work. If we don’t take care of our building, our history, the importance of it, of coming here,  could slip away, sand through fingers. My Faith, the Catholic Faith, is one with a long history; without that history, there is little left. I am glad I can be a part of its continuity.