The sky was about as blue as blue could be, and rising above
the thin gray inversion layer in the Truckee Meadows felt like a veil
was lifted off my eyes.
I’d wanted to check out the renovation of the Catholic church
in Virginia City for a while now, and I’d actually made the
effort once or twice (see “The mountain of the sun,”
RN&R, Sept. 3, 2009). But random factors aligned, Joy and Hunter
were up for the trip, and there we were, walking down V.C.’s
vertical streets in the oddly comfortable winter morning. Despite all
the websites to the contrary, St. Mary’s in the Mountains
Catholic Church’s Sunday mass is at 11:30 a.m., and so was
perfectly timed for people who stayed up late watching movies on
Saturday night.
I’d been in the church before, as a tourist, but long before I
became a connoisseur, and I realized as I glanced around and listened
to the hidden choir, I could literally write a column speculating about
the nuances of design in this church. I think the sensitivities of
church designers were different in the 1860s. (The original cornerstone
was laid in August 1868.) That unseen choir is a great example. The
choir was situated on the balcony above and behind the sanctuary. The
choir and organ, which in modern churches are an integral part of the
chancel, made the music seem as though it was coming from nowhere and
everywhere—heaven, if you will. Modern people are accustomed to
hearing disembodied music; for instance, a radio in a car regularly
offers symphonic sound. But back in those mining days, when there
wasn’t even stereo radio, that choir must have been
awe-inspiring. This modern technology we have sure can make regular old
human skill seem naïve.
The sanctuary architecture was the same way. Those ceiling trusses
or rafters showed incredible woodworking artistry, but in modern
churches, the magic is hidden behind smooth ceilings or shaved down to
its least expensive, utilitarian design. Also gone are the days when
pews had individual doors to enter and non-hinged kneelers. Hard to
believe I find myself thinking the old school churches might have had
something right by investing in the structure, which often surpasses
the lives of the constructing congregation. At any rate, I’ve
gone on too long about the design. Suffice it to say that just about
anyone, even non-religious types, could find things to think about
during one of the quaint Sunday services. The chancel, Stations of the
Cross, the bronze baptistery, the peculiar but beautiful stained glass
panels—the design gets a five out of five in my book.
This particular Sunday celebrated the Feast of the
Epiphany—when the three magi visited the baby Jesus with gifts of
gold, frankincense and myrrh, according to the Bible. Father Tom
Cronin’s sermon, which followed the reading from Matthew 2:1-12,
spoke of the modern Epiphany compared to how the church celebrated it
in the past—a sermon that seemed to perfectly mirror my headspace
that morning.
It seems back in the day and in other places in modern times,
Epiphany was and is a bigger holiday than Christmas, and it was always
celebrated on Jan. 6. But the story has changed in the last 20
centuries. For example, the Catholic church celebrated 12 magi in the
second century. Father Cronin said it was uncertain whether there were
really even three astrologers, and the story may have been a metaphor
to establish certain things about the coming of Jesus: “The magi
were not Jewish, not from the area. The point is that Jesus came for
everyone. … Jesus came to save everyone, not just a few, not just
people like us. He came to save everyone. Jesus came not looking for
power or money. He came in a stable.”
MUSIC
none
mellow
traditional
rockin’
SERMON
none
thought-provoking
informative
inspirational
FELLOWSHIP
cordial
friendly
welcoming