Clare and I just returned from Mass at Sacred Heart Church tucked in a tough neighborhood hinterland between Morgan Park and Washington Heights at 116th & Church Street.
For my trio of readers, Sacred Heart Church is my house of worship, though I live in St. Cajetan Parish. Sacred Heart is an old French Mission Church that was saved from Cardinal Bernardin's wrecking ball years ago, thanks to Father Veder and the many people who worship and support this gem of humility, simplicity, and traditional Catholic worship in Chicago.
Sacred Heart is served by Father Flynn and a cadre of great priests like Fathers McKenna and Gallagher. Father McKenna is a classically trained musician. Father Gallagher spent most of his life as a missionary in Mexico. Father Gallgher is, in my opinion, the best homilist I have ever listened to - I have heard many homilists and listened to very few.
Father Gallagher springs out of the Gospel. He is in his late seventies and beset by rusty joints and struggles up the almost vertical stairs to the chapel itself. No set-backs or stumbles once the man bows at the altar - he is spiritually athletic. He springs out of the Gospel with words that actually connect with the people in pews - the Church: cops, firemen, teachers, lawyers, radio hosts, City workers, housewives and many, many, many babies and toddlers -today in particular.
I love watching the little guys (gender neutral) at Mass - duked up in a sharp vest and maybe a man-guy tie; gorgeously turned out little heart-breakers in white anklettes, purses and straw bonnets with white prayer books, or kid friendly rosaries; toddlers with zip-lock bags of Capt. Crunch or more wholesome treats. There is no crying room at Sacred Heart, but plenty of room for crying. Today, the wee-ones matched the Baritone Boom-Box Voxed Terry McEldowney at Pange Lingua and Panis Angelicus. The Wave of Toddler Outrage swept the Church sinister et dextra from Virgin Mary side to St. Joseph and back and seemed to be rooted in the stuffed Easter Bunnies dropped in the pew behind, or in the chubby mitts of peers some rows removed. The rolling wave of infantile thunder Tsunamied to me and Clare as Communion got under way. The noise was exquisite.
Easter Bunnies! Easter bunnies were pointed to, recoiled from, tossed, or clutched amid wailing and gnashing of gums!
Easter bunnies always creeped me out, too.
Clare was freaked out by a surprise visit from Chip and Dale at Disney world when she was two and a half. From two-through six years of age, Clare remained in mortal horror of anyone in costume -Chip, or Dale, Sylvester or Tweety, Bugs or Buss Lightyear, Clowns or Mimes ( the girl always had great sense) any costumed counterfeit character set her lungs on fire and her chubby cheeks contorted and cascading with tears.
We came home and I found a link to Daily Caller's great article by Ms. Alyssa Moody -The Creepiest Easter Bunnies
Those ears. Those teeth. That frozen, menacing smile. It’s no wonder children often scream in fear and flee from this frightening furry character, better known as the Easter Bunny. The holiday may be nice for those celebrating, but bunnies don’t always heighten the experience in a positive way. If you’ve ever encountered a scary bunny, you’ll recognize the pain of the poor souls below. Enjoy these pictures of the creepiest bunnies in the bunch and be sure to avoid sketchy Easter rabbits during all future Easter egg hunts!Click my post title for more really creepy Easter Bunnies.
Father Gallagher placed baskets of candy (red licorice for the bigger greyer babies) in vestibule. Things quieted nicely. Easter is all about the Joy that follows the Tears.