W
Wolseley
Guest
I had to search for three years to find a parish that actually resembled something close to a Catholic church. The parish I now attend looks like a Catholic church, right down to Stations of the Cross, prominent statues of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph; it has an ornate reredos with more statues of St. Patrick, St. Peter, and Our Lord on the Cross with His Mother and Mary Magdalene at the foot.
I should mention that our church is 150 years old, although most of the main building dates from the 1890’s. It has recently been renovated and restored. Here’s a picture below from about this time last year (the stained-glass windows were not up yet, they were out being cleaned and restored).
We also have an organist on Sunday mornings instead of either a rock band or a couple of hippies with guitars, and the “new” music is kept to a minimum, thanks be to God. Our two pastors are very orthodox, and for the first time in years—years—I have finally felt at home in a parish church.
This is a huge change from some of the parishes I’ve attended over the last several years, which were dreadful, to say the least—liturgical abuses by the score, music by loud, raucous bands that made you want to hold your hands over your ears, liberalism to the point of Unitarianism, and architecture that looked like a gymnasium crossed with a train station.
I am DELIGHTED to be where I’m at—and if God is merciful, I will never have another “Spirit of Vatican II” Mass inflicted upon me for the remainder of my life.
I should mention that our church is 150 years old, although most of the main building dates from the 1890’s. It has recently been renovated and restored. Here’s a picture below from about this time last year (the stained-glass windows were not up yet, they were out being cleaned and restored).
We also have an organist on Sunday mornings instead of either a rock band or a couple of hippies with guitars, and the “new” music is kept to a minimum, thanks be to God. Our two pastors are very orthodox, and for the first time in years—years—I have finally felt at home in a parish church.
This is a huge change from some of the parishes I’ve attended over the last several years, which were dreadful, to say the least—liturgical abuses by the score, music by loud, raucous bands that made you want to hold your hands over your ears, liberalism to the point of Unitarianism, and architecture that looked like a gymnasium crossed with a train station.
I am DELIGHTED to be where I’m at—and if God is merciful, I will never have another “Spirit of Vatican II” Mass inflicted upon me for the remainder of my life.