Church Review: Holy Rosary

It has bee a while since I last wrote, I realize, and I have no good excuse aside from general exhaustion, lots of social commitments (people want me at their parties, which is still more than a bit flattering to me), and bad weather malaise.  But the weather shaped up to be gorgeous this weekend so, feeling adventurous, I checked out a new church.  Beware: this one's Italian!

Holy Rosary
595 3rd St. NW
Website  
Holy Rosary is an unassuming church from the outside, located a block from Judiciary Square (or, as they say it on the Metro, Joo-dish-ee-ary) and the National Building Museum, near where 395 plunges into the earth so it can burrow under the Capitol Reflecting Pool between 3rd St. and the Ulysses Grant monument.  It's an easy walk from my place, although I took the Metro up from Chinatown since I didn't have time to walk from home (Mass at noon, I slept late because I was out at a housewarming until two in the morning...you know how it is).  And, although the Metro decided it was fine to take 15 minutes to go three stops, and although I should by rights have been late to Mass since I didn't get there until several minutes past noon, I was still on time.  God bless the Italians and their penchant for starting things late.

Although the exterior is modest and unassuming, the interior - in typical "remember the Renaissance?" Italian style - is gorgeous.  If, of course, you like Neo-Baroque with a hint of Rococo. 

See?  Marble, gold, carved angels, stained glass - the whole nine yards.  While I like the understated Palladianism of St. Peter, anyone who knows me knows that I also have a soft spot for the Baroque (or the Neo-Baroque, which is the closest you'll ever get to the real thing in this country), and this church fits that expectation perfectly.  I am particularly delighted by some of the details:

Mosaic floors...

...vivid stained glass windows...

...and lovely mosaic stations of the cross, for example.  Even more intriguing is that this is a very small church - smallest, I've been in, in fact, perhaps half the length of St. Dominic and certainly not as wide, which makes it feel more exclusive, and allows the art to saturate the space more effectively than the same amount of art in a larger church.  It's like going to Mass in a jewel-box.  

Of course, it being an Italian church with an Italian language Mass at 10 (some day, when I'm feeling courageous...), there is a little Italian priest behind the marble altar, his English slurred and monotone, more likely not because of a stroke, but because his mother tongue is the music of la bella lingua, not flat American English.  A wiry but frail man with a touch of Parkinson's, he totters between the altar and his seat - there is no room for another podium beside the cantor, a burly man who could be a mafia enforcer, and I doubt that he (the priest) could make it up to the top of the raised ambo without considerable assistance - for the prayers, and then informs us that in place of a homily, we will listen to a recorded message from Cardinal Wuerl, since this weekend is the kickoff of the Cardinal's appeal (D.C.'s version of the yearly bishop's appeals which each diocese in the country holds at this time of year to raise money for diocesan programs).  I started tuning the message out when the cardinal mentioned that the money would support, among other things, unspecified "pro-life programs," and resolved that I would give to the various parishes in the archdiocese which need donations to stay open, rather than to the cardinal so he can lobby Congress to restrict access to family planning facilities and end federal aid for Planned Parenthood.  So there.

To soothe my affronted political sensibilities Holy Rosary kindly providing laughing children and an actual organ - the only complaint I have to level against St. Peter, which is approaching the status of home base more than any other church, is its overly-bombastic pianist - with old hymns to match.  It is surprising how many churches have dispensed entirely, it seems, with use of the organ - more than half of those that I have visited, I would say.  In certain ways, I am a traditionalist at heart.

So, how does Holy Rosary score?

Location: 4 - close enough to walk pretty easily, but not exactly in the neighborhood

Aesthetics: 5 - delightful little jewel box with charming details, a great altar, and splendid stained glass

Liturgy: 2 - although it may be better without pre-recorded sermons from the cardinal

Music: 4 - great to hear an organ again, although only for hymns; all the Mass parts were spoken

For a total of: 15 of 20, or 3.75.  I'll come back another week to hear what the liturgy is like without the cardinal "in attendance," although I may come back just to watch the children crawl in the aisles under a golden ceiling and the benevolent gaze of the Regina Sacratissimi Rosarii.

Raging Kitsch

Could I please have an alternative-punky-funky band called Raging Kitsch?  Puh-leeese?  No?  Well, fine - I'll just have to settle for three days in the weirdest hotel I have ever encountered.  I'll bet the band would be more fun. 

The problem with the Eisenhower (besides the horrible website), is that it's trying to be too much.  Or perhaps i should say was trying to be too much.  The new half is fine - it's a bland, run-of-the-mill hotel.  But whenever they built the older half, they couldn't decide if they were going to buy into the whole "historic Gettysburg" theme (a la colonial Williamsburg), or if they were going to try to be a sort of tropical resort getaway in the middle of Pennsylvania.  Unfortunately for all of us, they tried to do both.  Witness the results:

At first, I thought things looked pretty normal - even rather nice, what with the nice wooden headboard.  But then I looked a little closer and realized that this room didn't know what it wanted to be.  Did we want to go with antiques, wood, half-timbered and so on?

Or did we want to remember in vivid ways the most horrible era of design this country has ever experienced?

Oh, and if that couch isn't bad enough for you (I didn't even touch it), take a closer look at that carpet:

I feel...a bit queasy.

Now, step outside with me onto the balcony.  "Ooh, a balcony!" you say.  Just wait for it.

That's right.  It's neither the 1800s nor the 80s - it's flipping Tahiti.

Allow me to show you around the plaza below.  If you're a bit tired, just relax in these comfortable wicker chairs:

Try not to feel like a bird in a cage, and do resist the temptation to re-enact the "Sixteen, Going on Seventeen" scene from The Sound of Music - the gazebo is too small.

Now if you've been hankering for a drink, since there's nothing else to do in the evenings in rural Pennsylvania, belly-up to the tiki bar:

But don't drink too much, or you may fall in the pool, or the hot tub, (which in the interest of truth in advertising I have just renamed the "lukewarm tub").  Just step up the red carpet, folks, and mind the trees - they're real, and they shed.

Getting tired of Tahiti?  Then come on back to America, circa the gay '90s (you know, when we forcibly took over Hawaii)! Just remember, "no shirt, no shoes, no service!"  (As if I would ever want to take off my shirt or shoes in this place!)

Don't expect to find any alcohol in this wholesome little shop, though - this is Pennsylvania, remember!  (Lord, I had nearly forgotten, what with all the tropical decor and the shopfronts straight out of Disneyland.) 

On top of it all, the roof above all of this...ensemble...leaks.  So if you were to sit out in one of these wicker chairs, or out on your balcony (as I did), it's entirely possible that you could get some cold water dripped down your neck (as I did).  Just to remind you that this isn't tropical Disneyland, but Pennsylvania in the middle of the winter.  It just might be the case that most of use brought alcohol and shared it with each other on those three long, cold nights...perhaps a bit like the soldiers who spent three hot nights here back in 1863, not knowing what was going to happen to them the next day but sharing drinks nonetheless?

But anyhow, what are your thoughts on this hotel?  Ever stayed in worse?  Or is this not bad, merely "different"?  Let me know in the comments!

The Battle of Gettysburg

I'm in Gettysburg for "leadership training," but I'll willingly confess that my personal highlight of this trip is the chance to see the battlefield.  Now, the American Civil War is not my primary area of interest as far as history goes (I prefer European history, though I have a pretty wide definition of that term), but it's just a little bit important.  You know, the whole turning point in the war thing.  So the chance to walk about - even if chaperoned by well-trained guides and a bombastic consultant with bitter winter wind blowing across the fields - was kind of neat.  So if you'd like to see what it's like, you'll be glad that I have a few pictures to share.  Remember, though, that the battlefield is more of a field than anything else, and also that the actual Battle of Gettysburg happened on July 1-3 of 1863.  Right now it's January, so as far as historical accuracy...well, not in the weather.   Bearing that in mind, follow my photos for a brief tour of the historic battlefield:

At the time of the battle, Gettysburg was a small town of barely 2,000 people.  It's not much bigger now, but it was important because eight roads converged there.  The battle, however, didn't really involve the town too much.  Most of the action took place on the fields and ridges south of Gettysburg which, thanks to historic preservationists, have not been developed (though the roads have been paved - I mean, with all those tourists you've got to do that, at least).

The buildings which are present on the battlefield were there at the time of the battle.  The second and third days of the battle took place on farmland, so the related barns and farmhouses were caught up in the crossfire.  Some of the buildings here (and some of the buildings in town) still bear bullet-holes.

Of course, there are some things about the battlefield which have changed since 1863, the most prominent being the placement of numerous monuments.  This is the largest, dedicated to the sizable Pennsylvania contingent that was present.  Most of the monuments are Union - understandably, since they won - but there are some Confederate monuments, too.  They were put in much later than their Union counterparts, which began to spring up in the 1890s.

The most interesting part of our time on the battlefield, however, was walking Pickett's Charge.  You know, where a large chunk of the Confederate army charged across open ground for a mile and the troops were mowed down in droves?  That one.

The charge started here, where a memorial to General Lee now stands (sorry about the head):

The troops then left the shelter of the treeline and proceeded across open ground.

Really open ground.  Fortunately for the Confederates, they were behind a bit of a ridge, so they were out of range of the Union cannon.  The land all looks flat, but there are actually dips and ridges and flat parts which made all the difference in the battle.  To demonstrate the existence of the ridge, look here:

That dome on the right is the Pennsylvania monument - remember  it from above - and the ridge comes up between my vantage point and the site of the monument, such that I can only see the top half of the monument.  Of course, when I come up to the top of that ridge, guess what I'll be in range of?  If you said "an entire army's worth of cannon," you're right!  And if you're in my place on July 3rd, 1863, chances are you're also dead.

Beyond the ridge is a road, and once you come across the road, this is your view:

The tree marks the goal of Pickett's Charge, the middle of the Union line on Cemetery Ridge (it's a very gentle ridge, and it doesn't look like a ridge here because we're already on its slopes).  Now we're only about 30 yards from the Union lines - by the time the charge got to this point, it was well on its way to failure.  Looking out from Union lines as the bedraggled Confederates emerged from the smoke of cannon-fire, you would have seen this:

Minus these particular people, of course.  But do you see that white patch just above the line of people in the left-center?  The speck of gray above it is the Lee Monument, where our walk (and the charge) began.  That's a mile, and although the Confederates weren't able to see their goal at all times, the view from the top of Cemetery Ridge (you can tell it's a ridge now, can't you?), is pretty good.  If you want to blow an army to pieces with some cannon, that is.

So we walked the mile and "charged" the last 30 yards.  And then hustled back into the buses to return to the hotel (more on that soon) and thaw.  As we climbed over the stone wall on the ridge I took this picture.  It seems a bit apocalyptic, or perhaps like what you might see when you die - but given where I was, isn't that appropriate?

Church Review: Immaculate Conception

Church of the Immaculate Conception
1315 8th St. NW
Website

The church of the Immaculate Conception (not to be confused with the similarly-named basilica on the campus of Catholic University) is in the Shaw neighborhood, a historically black, middle-class area just north of Washington's official downtown.  The church has its own school, which actually matches the architectural style of the church itself (at least on the outside) - in the photo above the church is on the left and the school on the right (duh - how many schools have steeples?  Answer: two.  My middle school and the high school up the street from it).

Anyway.  I had gone up to Target to get lightbulbs and decided that, since Immaculate Conception is just a block away from one of the stations I passed on my way up to Columbia Heights, I could stop by after I had completed my shopping for the 5:30 Mass.  So I did, and here's my report.

I realize that a week during the Christmas season (remember, the liturgical season of Christmas is longer than the secular one) is not the best time to judge the decoration of a church, but I'll attempt to do so.  The narthex (entry way) is all white with dated (read "80's") glass doors, too much fake foliage, and a picture of the pope above the door.  Bad first impression.  But the sanctuary itself (left) looks almost...German.  I imagine that my brain made this judgment because of the wood paneling in the apse, and all the [fake] evergreen branches wound about.  I have found nothing to indicate that there was a German presence at this parish and am inclined to doubt it, as the Shaw neighborhood is traditionally black, not German, and also because Marian devotion isn't really as big a thing among Germans as other Catholic populations (and in addition to the name of the church and the main altar displaying Mary, not Jesus, there's a Lourdes chapel to the main altar's right.  Lest ye have any doubts about the fervor of the Marian devotions here).

It's not a terribly large church, and the congregation was equally small.  They seemed to know each other, though, and their informal clothing indicated that they felt quite comfortable here.  I imagine this is different on Sundays - this is one of only a handful of churches in the District which has a Mass in Latin (Novus Ordo, in this case - there are even fewer who hold Tridentine Masses).  I soon realized, however, that this was to be an informal Mass - just as well, since I had my shopping with me - because there wasn't any music.  Say what you will about music in the Catholic Church, which ranges from full organ and choir to guitars, drums, and tambourines; a lack of music, however, practically guarantees an informal Mass.  A short one, too - we were out in 35 minutes.

The priest was actually a monsignor, but spoke too quickly to be clearly understood, so I confess that after a bit I switched off and didn't listen terribly closely to the homily.  I looked around the church instead.  Although the light was fading when I arrived, I managed to get a few more pictures:

It's not an unattractive church, although the foyer needs work and the abundance of pine was distracting (4).  The sermon and liturgy were, I'm afraid, totally forgettable (3), as was the non-existent music (2, if we count it).  The location is convenient - just off my line on the Metro, but at night the neighborhood is a bit unwelcoming (4).  I'll have to come back on a Sunday, perhaps for the Novus Ordo Mass, to hear the music and maybe walk around Shaw in the daylight, but as it stands, Immaculate Conception wasn't anything to write home about.  Just a blog post.

In sum: if we discount the music, as there wasn't any, 4+3+4/3= 3.67.  Add the music in and you get 3.25.  Nothing great, but I'm willing to give it another try for the Latin Mass.  To be honest, I've become rather fond of St. Peter, because they have Vespers, and a well-attended Sunday night Mass.  No, there's no organ, and the pianist over-embellishes, but there are young people and families, and the place seems quite friendly.  I just have to avoid the folk Mass on Sunday mornings...

The Midwinter Solstice

It is the evening of December 21st, the longest night of the year, which I also like to call the Darkest Night of the Year, not for any scientific reason, but perhaps because I've been influenced by one too many fantasy authors who link the power of evil magic to the winter solstice (Susan Cooper, I'm looking at you).  This time three years ago I was somewhere over the Atlantic (flying back from studying abroad in Germany), fighting a persistent head-cold, and talking with an attractive gentleman about graduate school, while trying not to fall asleep (at least, not until the conversation was finished).  This year, to chase away the dark, so to speak, I'm headed to dinner with K&R, bringing with me a bottle of excellent wine that I got for $3.49 at Safeway.  Thank you, Safeway card and (I suspect) the power of overstock.  After that, I come home to wrap Christmas presents, and hopefully get some more blogging done.  Watch the space below this post - I have at least three more to write that should come before this one.

However, to tide you over until I put out some more posts, here are two more pictures from St. Peter, which I attended on Sunday evening again (my ratings remain essentially unchanged).  I took pictures in between the end of Vespers and the beginning of Mass, so now you can see the stained glass:

Yes, there's a dude in the way, but I didn't want to be too conspicuous, since this isn't a tourist attraction.

Trendy angle shot?  Nope - the result of trying to be a stealthy photographer.  Looks like I need practice.  (Nice stations of the cross, though, aren't they?)

Navy Yard

When my father graduated from high school, he knew he wasn't ready for real life.  He didn't know what he wanted to do with himself but he did know one thing - he didn't want college right then.  So, like any good Midwesterner who longs for adventure, he joined the Navy.  He still tells stories about his time in the Mediterranean during the early 60s - he was in Beirut before it fell to pieces, and the Balearics, and many other places.

I tell you this because I knew from a little bird (my mother) that he wanted nothing more for Christmas than a hat with "Navy" on it and, being a resident of the capital, I decided to get him one, which was harder than I expected.  My first stop was the Navy Museum at Navy Yard.  It's out of the way, but I figured surely the museum would have a hat.  It did.  But for whatever reason, some bright spark decided that having the museum shop open on the last weekend before Christmas just didn't need to happen.  (So after chasing to the Heritage Center at the Navy Memorial, which closed early for a private party, and returning two days later to discover that they had hats for just about everything else, but not for the Navy - at the Navy Memorial! - I finally ordered it from the Navy online.  For pity's sake.)

I didn't actually spend very much time in the museum, but when I was outside I took some pictures of a rather unconventional "sculpture garden" which I'd like to share below:

This is a big gun.  (Duh.)

This is a big propeller - big as in my head reached the lower edge of the blade at 3 o'clock, and I'm 5'9".

This is the conning tower of a submarine.  And yes, it is in fact sticking out of the ground.  I have no idea where the rest of the submarine is.  Nor do I know which submarine it is, though if someone enterprising wanted to look up that number (285) I'm sure you could find things out.  Leave a comment if you do.

This is a big bell (are you detecting a size theme at all?).  I don't remember why it was significant, but it's here.

Ah, but I do remember the significance of this one!  Remember the Maine?  (You know, the battleship that was blown up in Havana harbor in 1898 and that helped, along with yellow journalism, to start the Spanish-American War?  Please tell me you remember that from high school.)  This is its spare propeller, which is conveniently engraved on it.

This is another big gun.  A really big gun.  Like 30 feet long big.

 This is another series of large guns.  The one in the background is so large that I couldn't get it in a single photo without great hassle.  As you can see, it's mounted on a rail car.  Turns out its a World War I era bombard, which has its genesis in smaller bombards from the Civil War, which were given over to the purview of the Navy because, I guess, no one else thought they could handles such big...guns.  There was actually some neat footage in the museum of these things firing against the Germans in WWI - amazing stuff.

And this is: my idea of modern art/why I will never make it as an artist.  Unless you have the same non-sequitur humor that I do.  Which, if you actually follow this blog (and find it remotely funny), you just might.  Let's just say that that's one well-protected postbox and move on...

But wait - I nearly forgot the best part!

 This is a destroyer [of worlds - hee!].  It's the USS Barry [Obama?] and you can tour it when the Naval Museum is less dead.  Guess where I'm taking Dad when he comes to visit in March?

First Proper Snow!

We got our first proper snow yesterday, but a quick look at the weather forecast last night showed me that it wouldn't be around for long.  So today I decided to walk to work so I could see my first DC snow before it melted away in the days to come.  I snapped a few pictures so you, too, can see what it was like.

How many people get to walk to work and see the rising sun glinting off the dome of the Capitol on their way?

DC has a fraught relationship with snow.  You may remember last year's Snowpocalypse (or Snowmageddon - I can't seem to get people who suffered through it to agree on a name), which paralyzed the city for days.  But even smaller amounts of snow have been known to foul things up.  Portions of the Metro run above ground, and it takes just half a foot to cover the third rail and render those bits of the system useless (coincidentally, this includes the greater part of the Metro which serves northern Virginia and almost all of it in Maryland, but very little of the Metro within the District itself).  This batch of snow wasn't severe enough to snarl up Metro, but I'm waiting...

Isn't this pretty?  It was about 7:40 when I took this picture, and as you can see, nobody's out.  Long-time residents of the DC metro area are not generally fond of snow, and certainly not fond enough to go walking around in it on their way to work - not when they've got Metro, MARC, the Beltway, and the buses to take to work.  I, on the other hand, enjoy vistas like this one.  Everything seems somehow tamer with a light dusting of snow.  Take these skylights:

On a day without snow, these skylights which illuminate the tunnel linking the old and new buildings of the National Gallery of Art are sharp glass projections jutting up from the pavement.  With snow, it makes you wonder if in fact there's some spiky polyhedron buried under the snow, and just the tips are poking out.

Or maybe I'm just crazy.  But that's why you read, isn't it?

Capitol South

J is considering moving out here at the end of the academic year, but we both agree that my current apartment is not sufficiently large for two people who love having their own space as much as we do.  Not content to just move down the hall - since there's no telling if apartments in this complex will be available when we need them - I've begun feeling out different neighborhoods to see if I'd like to look for apartments elsewhere.  First up: Capitol South, the region (you guessed it) just south of the Capitol complex.  Capitol South isn't an official neighborhood - everything near the Capitol is called Capitol Hill - but I intend to carve my own regions out of this city, so if I want to divide Capitol Hill into subsections, I will.  I confined myself to a relatively small area around the Library of Congress, extending south a few blocks towards Eastern Market.  And what have I got to show for it?  Pictures, of course - and rain-damp pants.  Ah well.

The most prominent feature of this mini-neighborhood, besides Pennsylvania Ave SE, is the proliferation of charming row-houses.  These are different from the austere brick houses of other parts of the city (Georgetown); there are colors, metal-work (look at the grilles on that balcony), architectural details, and in some cases little front gardens.  Some are modest, some middle-of-the-road (above) and some, ritzy:

This bit of town is clustered around St. Peter's church (see my posts about it here and here) which is a great feature in my mind; it's also very close to the Capitol South Metro stop (Blue and Orange lines).  Pennslyvania Ave SE is the main transport arterial for those with cars, and there are plenty of good sidewalks for walkers like me.  The neighborhood is pretty, and I like being so close to Eastern Market.  And having the Library of Congress across the street is a kick too:

Downsides: there's no supermarket here - in fact, no proper grocery stores (I like my Safeway, turns out!).  There's also not that many apartment buildings here, which means that there may not be very many units available for rent and/or they may be units rented by private owners of the row-houses, which are harder to find out about (it's generally large companies on Rent.com, for example).  However, this neighborhood is close enough to Waterfront that if one had a car (and J probably will), one could simply drive to the Safeway.  Of course, that's a moot point if there aren't any apartments to be had - but I'd be willing to live here if I could!

Especially because this was in the local real estate broker's window:

I don't normally say this, but SQUEE!  I could definitely see myself walking down the damp brick-lined sidewalks of Pennsylvania Ave, in sight of the dome of the Library of Congress, perhaps carrying some things from Eastern Market for dinner and peering into brightly-lit shop windows as I go...

Church Review: St. Peter

Part 1 of the adventures of Sunday the 12th, backdated from Friday

St. Peter
313 2nd St., SE 
Website

The church on St. Peter on Capitol Hill is quite literally on the hill - it is across the street from one of the annexes of the Library of Congress, which is in turn across from the Capitol itself.  It is also a block and a half from Capitol South Metro, so getting here is no problem at all - I could probably walk it if I wanted to, but I came down to Capitol South after running some errands in Columbia Heights and intended to run more errands before Mass, so I didn't feel up to walking.  Still, this is one of not too many Catholic churches south of the Mall, and the third closest to me (give it a 4).  The other two are St. Dominic, which I've been to numerous times now, and St. Vincent de Paul, which only has one Mass in English, at 8:00am (blurgh); the other, at 10:30, is in Ge'ez, which even I'm not adventurous enough to attend.  What's Ge'ez, you ask?  I didn't know either, until I looked it up.  Turns out it's an ancient Semitic language which was once the official tongue of the Kingdom of Axum and the Imperial Court of Ethiopia; nowadays it's used just about exclusively as the religious language for Ethiopian Orthodox and, in St. Vincent de Paul's case, Ethiopian rite Catholics.  Washington has the nation's largest Ethiopian diaspora, remember, and great food to match; those which are Ethiopian rite Catholic (rather than Roman rite) must go to Mass somewhere.

Howevah, this review is not about a Ge'ez Mass on Sunday morning at St. Vincent de Paul, but an English Mass on Sunday evening at St. Peter.  The church was recommended to me by some friends of K&R (through K&R, since I haven't met these friends, although really I should), who reportedly say that it's quite tolerant.  I was afraid that tolerant meant, as it so often does, hippy and inclined to sloppy modern music, which is why I've put off going for so long (and they do have a folky Mass on Sunday mornings), but it seems silly to look farther and farther afield for new churches to visit when this one is so close.  So I arranged to do some shopping here (more on that in future posts) and then end up at the 5:30 Mass.  I have loved Sunday night Masses ever since I got in the habit of attending the 8:00pm at the cathedral in Freiburg when I studied abroad in Germany, and thought that if I could find something even half as lovely, I'd be set.

The most striking thing about the outside of St. Peter, which I realized as I came upon it after exiting the Metro into a cold rain, is how tall it feels.  There are two reasons for this - the most prominent, of course, is the tower which, as I discovered over the course of the afternoon, can be seen from several blocks away on many sides.  It's also reminiscent in more ways than one of a lighthouse, which is quite fitting for a church, I think.

Second, and less noticeable in a photo than it is in person, is how high up the main church is from the street.  Look at the front steps in the photo up top (sorry about this one - it has the full tower, but also raindrops, apparently).  It's a good five feet vertical difference between the street and where you enter the church.  This has an interesting effect - rather than just stepping into the church from street level, or climbing up a couple of steps, you have to ascend as staircase, a bit like climbing a mountain in terms of symbols.  Other churches have had this (St. Patrick, Sagrado Corazon, and the Cathedral, to name the most prominent), but because St. Peter feels so vertical already, I think the effect is heightened.

Once you step inside and past the swinging wooden doors, you find yourself face to face with something Palladio would find quite pleasant.  I have very few photos because when I entered the priest was saying Vespers (!), and by the time Mass ended I was too hungry to stick around (I was also damp from the afternoon's adventures and wanted nothing more than to go home and eat the pork and potatoes waiting for me in the refrigerator), but I intend to return to take more.  Please forgive my rather poor specimens this time around.

The church does not feel modernized - intentionally, like St. Stephen, or tragically, like St. Dominic - but neither does it feel so old, like St. Mary Mother of God, that the very walls resent the use of the vernacular.  It's very much like St. Patrick, but less grandiose (recall the size of the apse there vs. the size of the apse here).  The coloring, as you can see, is very tastefully done - cream walls with tan accents, lots of light, and a bit of colored marble and gold, but sparingly used.  There are rounded arches everywhere, but the setting off of those arches with clean straight lines (look up at the top of the apse, and the lines that run backward to the choir loft) given a feeling of airiness and clearness that I thought was refreshing.  I felt like the modernist folds of St. Stephen were trapping - this, on the other hand, felt fresh and open.  Ah, Palladio (who?) - and Brunelleschi too, come to think of it (see).

The rear of the church is also quite nice - the choir loft is one of the prettiest I've seen in this country.  Feels like it ought to be in London somewhere.

Aesthetics, a 5.  I seem to be handing those out quite a bit lately.

The liturgy itself would qualify for run of the mill.  It was a forgettable sermon, and nothing particularly interesting in the rite except that the servers -both girls, which is great - wore the old surplices, though without any patterns, rather than the typical white albs.  But I probably would have thought things pretty average had I not come in early and stumbled upon the second half of Vespers.  There was the priest, standing with the cantor, chanting Vespers, in an elaborate gold cope.   I thought - mistakenly, it would appear - that American Catholics had given up on Vespers and left it to the rich Episcopalians who could afford to hire an organist on weekday afternoons.  Turns out St. Peter has made do without the organist, and substituted in a talented pianist (!) instead.  During the Mass he did some modern but classical-feeling settings of "Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel," and I was pleased to see that the hymnal had some older hymns in it.  4s for both Liturgy (since I'm feeling generous, and since this was the best attended Sunday evening Mass I've ever seen in this country, complete with quite a few young adults) and Music.

This means that St. Peter averages 4.25 (4+5+4+4=17/4=4.25), pretty good.  I'd be interested in attending another of the Masses, though I'd be willing to make a Sunday evening Mass my tradition, just as I did in Germany.  And, you know, I have to go back so I can get some better pictures!