I had vowed that I would, starting today, begin each week with a religious column every Sunday. I hoped that I could come up with something uplifting once every seven days, a reflection on the readings from Church that day or what have you. Instead I find myself starting with a melancholy entry.
My wife and daughter, and me about once a month, have for the last several years been attending the 8AM Mass at a place called Alba House. It is run by the Society of St. Paul, and there are apparently several Alba House locations throughout the country. Unfortunately they learned this morning that our local one is closing.
It is a nice little chapel in an old school building. Quaint would describe it well, and I mean that in a good way. Small, unassuming, and holy in a manner which befits the proper scale of a Church. I have long believed that the best places to pray are either magnificent in scope or simple in beauty. Alba House is that kind of simple.
Our daughter wanted to be married there. My wife liked it for its simplicity; I liked the books and media store situated across the hall as well as the chapel. The store closed yesterday; I always felt Catholic when there.
To everything there is a season, it says in Ecclesiates. Undoubtedly. Still, it can leave a bad taste.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment