Church Name: St. John Cantius Parish
Church Address: 825 N Carpenter St, Chicago, IL 60642
Date Attended: 17 April 2016
Question #1
Walking into the sanctuary of the parish was a golden encounter: washes of splendorous, coruscating beauty cascaded down soaring arches—every inch was covered with meticulously crafted symbols, lettering, and pictures—each space conveyed in a distinct and unrelenting way that this was a sacred space of otherworldly character, not to be confused with the secular. The Tridentine High Mass began with lots of Latin choir-type pieces, punctuated by Mozart and sitting, standing, kneeling, repeat. In the front, the Priest stood with his back toward the parishioners, gazing reverently at the intricate mass of golden ornaments that zeroed in on a small cross. He would occasionally light candles, stand, or move off to the side. Several helpers followed him, carrying candles. The climax of the service, unlike a typical Protestant evangelical setting, was partaking of the Eucharist—the Homily was hardly three minutes long. In general, everything about the service was different from my regular context—if we sing in a different language, it’s not Latin; it is probably Chinese or Indonesian or Spanish. Moreover, my church is a church plant and takes place in a humble school auditorium, which is the precise opposite of opulent splendor.
Question #2
The church was in every way a physical signum that pointed heavenward. For me the best analogy is that the sanctuary is like a sacred language. If one knows enough, one can decode why this is here and that is there, and what this means or what that says. Part of this sacred language is the saints: the numerous statutes and murals reminded the parishioners that their heavenly journey was in good company. Moreover, the Latin (literal sacred language) signified an altogether different type of catholicity: catholicity is not only temporal but also linguistic—one can find a Latin mass in Rome, America, and Ukraine on the same day. Catholicity is a matter of language and liturgy and living and deceased. Other aspects of catholic theology in the service included the emphasis on the Eucharist and the de-emphasis (from a Protestant perspective) on the Word of God, in the sense that it was largely conveyed in Latin or woven into the sung/spoken liturgy.
Question #3
This worship service illuminated for me the importance of physical, concrete encounters with the sacred and the importance of space. Everything about the church, from seeing it from afar to entering her doors, oozed with set-apartness (which seems to be almost synonymous with sacredness). I wondered how the adorable kids who sat in the pews felt as they gazed upward. Did they feel awe—and if so, how long? Because many of them, by the end of the hour, were shifting around, sighs abounded (mom can we go yet?) as they gazed longingly at the back doors. Despite their muffled protest, here, I found something to appreciate: an insistence on an intergenerational, family-oriented congregation. There was no youth program or “dismiss your children under 12 now.” But the service seemed to be, for many, a family encounter with the divine, not an age-tailored one. I think many evangelical churches can learn something from that.
Lastly, this service definitely illuminated the importance of language in a service. I, for one, came away with deeper conviction about how the Gospel is to be conveyed: how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? I am more convinced, in fact, that the Gospel needs to primarily be communicated in the language of the hearers, and that sacredness and universality are not strong enough reasons to omit the proclamation of the word in the laity’s language.
During my time at service, I struck up a conversation with Maria. Maria is a warm, motherly Latino lady who is a self-described “cradle Catholic.” She has faithfully attended Canticus for several decades. I asked her what she thought the Gospel was. “That’s simple,” she said, “it’s the Bible, the message of the Church.” I found Maria’s answer satisfyingly true and incredibly Protestant. There are a lot of things to agree about with our Catholic brothers and sisters: perhaps we agree more
Walking into the sanctuary of the parish was a golden encounter: washes of splendorous, coruscating beauty cascaded down soaring arches—every inch was covered with meticulously crafted symbols, lettering, and pictures—each space conveyed in a distinct and unrelenting way that this was a sacred space of otherworldly character, not to be confused with the secular. The Tridentine High Mass began with lots of Latin choir-type pieces, punctuated by Mozart and sitting, standing, kneeling, repeat. In the front, the Priest stood with his back toward the parishioners, gazing reverently at the intricate mass of golden ornaments that zeroed in on a small cross. He would occasionally light candles, stand, or move off to the side. Several helpers followed him, carrying candles. The climax of the service, unlike a typical Protestant evangelical setting, was partaking of the Eucharist—the Homily was hardly three minutes long. In general, everything about the service was different from my regular context—if we sing in a different language, it’s not Latin; it is probably Chinese or Indonesian or Spanish. Moreover, my church is a church plant and takes place in a humble school auditorium, which is the precise opposite of opulent splendor.
Question #2
The church was in every way a physical signum that pointed heavenward. For me the best analogy is that the sanctuary is like a sacred language. If one knows enough, one can decode why this is here and that is there, and what this means or what that says. Part of this sacred language is the saints: the numerous statutes and murals reminded the parishioners that their heavenly journey was in good company. Moreover, the Latin (literal sacred language) signified an altogether different type of catholicity: catholicity is not only temporal but also linguistic—one can find a Latin mass in Rome, America, and Ukraine on the same day. Catholicity is a matter of language and liturgy and living and deceased. Other aspects of catholic theology in the service included the emphasis on the Eucharist and the de-emphasis (from a Protestant perspective) on the Word of God, in the sense that it was largely conveyed in Latin or woven into the sung/spoken liturgy.
Question #3
This worship service illuminated for me the importance of physical, concrete encounters with the sacred and the importance of space. Everything about the church, from seeing it from afar to entering her doors, oozed with set-apartness (which seems to be almost synonymous with sacredness). I wondered how the adorable kids who sat in the pews felt as they gazed upward. Did they feel awe—and if so, how long? Because many of them, by the end of the hour, were shifting around, sighs abounded (mom can we go yet?) as they gazed longingly at the back doors. Despite their muffled protest, here, I found something to appreciate: an insistence on an intergenerational, family-oriented congregation. There was no youth program or “dismiss your children under 12 now.” But the service seemed to be, for many, a family encounter with the divine, not an age-tailored one. I think many evangelical churches can learn something from that.
Lastly, this service definitely illuminated the importance of language in a service. I, for one, came away with deeper conviction about how the Gospel is to be conveyed: how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? I am more convinced, in fact, that the Gospel needs to primarily be communicated in the language of the hearers, and that sacredness and universality are not strong enough reasons to omit the proclamation of the word in the laity’s language.
During my time at service, I struck up a conversation with Maria. Maria is a warm, motherly Latino lady who is a self-described “cradle Catholic.” She has faithfully attended Canticus for several decades. I asked her what she thought the Gospel was. “That’s simple,” she said, “it’s the Bible, the message of the Church.” I found Maria’s answer satisfyingly true and incredibly Protestant. There are a lot of things to agree about with our Catholic brothers and sisters: perhaps we agree more
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