At Last, A Return to St. Patrick

This morning, after an absence of almost 21 months, we're returning to church at St. Patrick. 

The four of us, fully vaccinated, and Jude and I fully boostered, plan to be in our regular spot - near the front on the right side - for the 11 a.m. Sunday morning service.  Soon to be 150 years old, St. Patrick Catholic Church hold a special place in our lives for more than 15 years.  

I've sung my favorite hymns, tears of happiness in my eyes, while I watched Jude take communion, looking radiant to me eight plus months pregnant with J.P. and later, Joe.  

I've sat in the crying room, upstairs, and watched J.P. stand on his tiptoes to peak over the lower edge of the window to see Father David (Perkin) delivery his homily.  

Countless times at the end of a church service, I've watched Father David pause at our row as he walked toward the narthex to greet parishioners, and shake hands with J.P. and Joe (standing at the end of the church pew).  As Father David smiled down at Joe, shook his hand, then walked on, Joe always scampered along the pew back to Jude, who enveloped him in a hug).  That might be my favorite, and most enduring, memory of St. Patrick.

I've shaken hands and given peace, and watched my boys do the same, to fellow parishioners, near and dear to our hearts.  Some have moved away, like Ann Kuklinski.  Some are no longer of this earth, like Dennis Donovan.

I've watched both of my boys baptized in the Catholic Church, J.P. by Father Eric (Fowlkes) and Joe by Father David, as our extended family shared our joy.

I've watched my boys hunt Easter eggs with other children in the front and back of our venerable old church.  

I've patrolled the parking lot during with my father-in-law, Jim, in the early days, before the neighborhood changed, to make sure parishioners' cars were not broken into during the Sunday morning service.

I've attended many, many Finance Committee meetings in the Rectory, my favorite being the December meetings with Father David when, at my suggestion, the members of the Committee shared wine, cheese, and other snacks, in our last meeting of the year.

I've received communion, with my family, what seems like a thousand times, and felt closer to God - even for a moment, every time.

I've watched with pride as J.P. received communion for the first time at St. Patrick, after his official First Communion at Cathedral of the Incarnation.  Today, I'll watch Joe receive communion for the first time at St. Patrick.

The boys and I have brought donuts from Krispy Kreme and set them up in the cafeteria for a little fellowship after church, too many times to count.  It was our family tradition.

I've grown to know, and love, three priests.  Father Eric, Father David, and Father (John) Hammond.

I've lit candles and prayed to our Lord for peace, health, and strength.  First, for my mother, as she was ravaged by Alzheimer's disease, and later, for me, as I grappled with the emotional reality of her death.

I could go on and on.  St. Patrick has been everything to me.  My North Star.  My compass.  It's centered me, weekly, in good times and in troubled times.  

Today, my family and I will return, masked up, to the place we belong on Sunday mornings and missed so badly.  St. Patrick.  Our church home.