Mary, Mother of God

Rev. Sean Broderick, C.S.Sp., Acting Pastor
Rev. Lancelot McGrath, Parochial Vicar
Rev. Laurence Murphy, Weekend Assistant


If you ask me, I say there is nothing better than a Roman Catholic Church full of Irish priests. Not Irish-American, Irish Expats. Such is so at our parish, Mary, Mother of God.

Since I've moved to this town (full of WASPs) I've been hard-pressed to find a decent RC church. There is St. Joseph's but I just don't feel the love when a "rock band" is playing the latest holy hit-parade. Call me a traditionalist but give me at least an old Hammond organ or even a piano and I'm more apt to return.

In my desperate search I considered converting to the Dutch Reformed Church, the popular religion of choice here in Somerset County. The countryside is dotted with quaint white structures from the days of early settlers. Last names such as Staats, Frelinghuysen,Hardenburgh are proudly posted on the rural delivery mailboxes. (however, the recent Jewish and Italian transplants took over the local government...I guess they don't attend services. I've yet to see or hear of a synagogue) I attended a service at the Cloverhill Reformed Church. My son John was horrified - calling me a Calvinist.

I'd trapse over to St. Paul's in Princeton, but the parking is a nightmare. I went once to St. Magdelene in Flemington but it was too crowded. Finally, I thought to myself, I'm going to find Mary, Mother of God. I had tried to find it a few times, but its tucked away inside one of the many developments here - its not easy.

I was sick as a dog last Sunday. My mood was foul. I couldn't stand another minute and decided an hour or so with Jesus and ingestion of the Holy Eucharist couldn't hurt the situation. I pulled up Yahoo Maps, piled my feverish self into the car and set out. I don't recommend trying to find a new location while feverish. I decided to drive our Cabriot and the wipers were on. I turned them off, but apparently, I engaged the intermittent control. I couldn't figure out how to turn it off. The wipers were scraping every 20 seconds or so. Its bad enough that this car is used by my teen-aged daughter who managed to drive it through a major mud puddle. It was dotted with red clay splotches. The windshield is cracked. It was quite a humiliating experience. Low and behold I find the church.

The spitting images of Jack Neehauser and Frank Leary (straight out of St. Mickey's Knights of Columbus) were out front conducting a membership drive. Italian men in black suits and shiny shoes smoked cigarettes while their leopard clad wives in stilletto heels chatted away. Hooded, hung-over teenagers sulked in. A harried Mary Catherine Gallagher shepherds in her 6 kids under 10, pushing and yelling (Jack Gallagher don't want nuttin' to do with no church).
I'm HOME!

This is what no Prod house of worship could offer. The Irish-Italian element.
I suddenly realized how different the memberships of two denominations could be.

(to be continued...)