#catholicism connoiseur

[catholicism-connoiseur]

St Augustine's

Following the experience of confession in St Peter's, I was naturally curious to see how other local churches treated the sacred practice. The next church by distance was Saint Augustine's Catholic Church; colloquially "the Augustinian". A smaller church, far from the cathedral-like scale of St. Peter's, the Augustinian hosts a far cozier and homely atmosphere than the imposing stone structure that maintains a centrepiece of the town. It hosts a significantly more community-focused and welcoming mass than most that I have seen elsewhere, and includes (by comparison to most churches' narratives, quite radically) forward thinking themes and choice interpretations of scripture in its teachings. They even have gluten-free communion bread!

In matters of exterior presentation, the church features a Victorian Gothic façade established at the same time as the church itself, in the years 1859-1866. The church has no such grand spires that reach great heights as other churches in town, rather is a humble and unobtrusive structure that sits neatly on Shop Street between an antiquated bar and a local clothing store. A gift shop inhabits part of the church's entrance, providing an information desk as well as sale of religious paraphernalia.

Entering the church, one can feel a stark and noticeable contrast in the environment to that of St. Peter's, St. Mary's and many other churches. Simple changes in interior decoration make enormous difference to the ambience: for example, the carpeted floors and cushioned pews create not only a more directly comfortable and welcoming place of worship, they also aid in removing the cold air and echoes found in more barren, abstemious churches that seem to almost pride themselves on their lack of comfort. By comparison, the Augustinian's interior is akin to walking into someone's (albeit massively spacious and oddly furnished) home. The air is warm but not stale; the lower ceiling creates an easier space to heat than enormously tall cathedral-style roofs, but maintains enough height for good circulation. (A more extensive catalogue of the church’s interior and exterior architecture can be found at the National Inventory of Architectural Heritage, including specifications on the nave, roof, walling, gables, rafters and most every other facet of the building.)

One attribute that draws attention though, is the unique stained glass windows adorning the church’s front face and behind the altar. Best seen from the inside to fully appreciate the use of colour and the intricate idiosyncrasies of the craftwork, one of the church’s windows depicts an elegant visage of the titular St Augustine as well as St Monica. The Passion Window, fitted in 1928 and restored in 1994, was created by a Harry Clarke, an acclaimed Irish artist of stained glass. Before his untimely death in 1931, Clarke had crafted over 130 stained glass windows, many religious but many others secular: his expression was not solely based in Catholicism and often featured flora, fauna, commentary on social issues and macabre characters and details that even juxtaposed traditional Catholic stained glass depictions. His work featured in the Augustinian is a beautiful, complex piece and is a treasure to the parish and town alike.

Another feature that grants this church a more communal and welcoming atmosphere is the adjoined Garden of Remembrance. This secluded garden adjoining the church's southern wall is found through a (wheelchair accessible) walkway into the main patio, where stand five stone slabs surround a water feature memorial. The slabs, and a portion of the southern wall too, hold plaques bearing names of loved ones to those in the parish, be it family, friends or pets. The area can be visited as a tranquil and sacred place to honour and remember those who have passed. There are wooden benches and soft lighting that creates a cozy and comforting atmosphere. Lush foliage adorns the enclosure, including holly, juniper and some fruit trees among many other aromatic plants. The garden is also a frequent haunt of the church's resident cat, Monica (after the Saint).

Continuing to the Confessional portion of this review, though: A dark marble plaque at the entrance informs of the church's mass, vigil and confession times. Inquiring at the small shop inside the church, I was advised to arrive punctually, as confessions tended to be busy, and so the next Friday at noon, I sat quietly in line behind a half dozen or so people. As the priest approached and the line began moving, I was admittedly elated to see that the confessional booth built into the wall of the church was in fact being used! This brought into question why, despite having a booth present, the previous church, St. Peters, elected instead for a face-to-face confessional. But for the moment, my own turn had arrived, and I entered the booth.

The box was small but not too restrictively so. A short kneeling bar on the floor faced the panel through which one speaks to the priest. It was dim and slightly difficult to see, but I figured this to be largely intentional to maintain the environment of anonymity and confidentiality. I confessed my "sin" to the priest, and was met with a decidedly calm and composed response. He seemed somewhat amused at the tameness of the sin in question, and prescribed but a single Hail Mary as penance. Funnily enough, this remarkably lax repentance granted some credulity to the idea (proposed during the drunken group brainstorming session) that perhaps those who frequented confessionals would go to one church over another for a lighter penance.

To conclude, the Augustinian is a church that many could take notes from. With such a mass exodus (pun intended) from the faith in recent decades, it's become more clear than ever that in our modern social climate, staunch rigidity to dogmatic doctrine and antiquated ideologies is pathetically ineffective at maintaining a dedicated following, much less at encouraging greater numbers to join. Some churches around the town (and country) have even been repurposed into art galleries and secular community halls due to insufficient patronage. For the religion to find any kind of long-term support from this and future generations, the path to follow is that which the Augustinian seems to set out. A church that serves and uplifts the people, not the reverse.

St Augustine's Drogheda Church gets a solid 8.5/10. Hell yeah.

[catholicism-connoiseur]

Saint Peter's Roman Catholic Church

In my initial meander into the church, I took no notes or observations as I had not yet formed any intention to create a larger opinion of the church than what I'd already seen. This time though, my purpose was one of documentation and journalistic investigation. To begin, I took note of the physical structure and aesthetics of the church.

From the exterior, the church has been a stark and imposing landmark of Drogheda since its present building's façade was completed in 1884 (incorporating in part the original 1793 building, constructed following the repeal of Penal Law prohibiting a Catholic church within town walls). Nestled amongst the many other churches and historical buildings of the town, it reflects a centuries-old culture of religious architecture. The largest spire reaches far above the rest of the town's rooftops at an impressive 222ft, and boasts ornate decoration from top to bottom, fitting with the rest of the church's face. Multiple statues and carvings adorn the 19th century stonework, an undeniably intricate and imposing visage.

Before the church's three entrance archways (two smaller on either side to a larger) lies stone steps leading up to the doors. Notably, there does not seem to be any present accessibility accommodations for those with mobility-based disabilities. The church has offered webcam footage of masses since lockdowns in 2020, so there is a degree of resource provision for those unable to make it into the church in person, but the only wheelchair-accessible entrance appears to be behind an oft-locked gate and a carpark for church staff and maintenance. This entrance should ideally be marked more visibly and be unobstructed for a more disability-friendly and equitable environment.

Journeying within, the tall, iron-plated wooden doors give way to a marble-tiled porch, which hosts a stoup of holy water, again carved with decorative detail. Passing through another set of doors, we enter the nave: polished, mosaic-patterned brown stone lines the walkway, bordered by the two rows of wooden pews. Wide marble pillars joined with white carved arches fortify the domed, portioned ceiling of the aisles, which is a humble shade of midnight blue and embellished with stars. Resting above the narthex is the organ, an enormous instrument enshrined in colour by the beauty of the stained glass window that resides above and behind it, the centerpiece of the exterior face.

Proceeding through the church, the elaborate reredos and sanctuary bring attention to the altar area. The altar's white stone face is decorated with a carved image of Jesus and the disciples, likely a depiction of the Last Supper. Behind this, the rather large reredos hosts further statues and carvings of saints and holy figures, and is often festooned with bouquets of flowers. The three spires of the reredos reach a decent vertical height and humbly mimic those on the church's exterior in design.

Continuing to the left of the altar, the church hosts its unique relic and point of local historical interest: the severed and preserved head of one (Saint) Oliver Plunkett (Note: the use of "preserved" here is an entirely too generous a description; the poor man looks like a raisin). Plunkett himself was summarily executed (hanged, drawn and quartered) by the British in 1681, after being found guilty of high treason for "promoting the Roman faith".

The head only arrived in Drogheda in 1921, having spent the years between travelling around Ireland, England and even visiting Rome, an undeniably impressive travel catalogue for a decapitated head. Accompanying his head at his shrine in the church is a small collection of (unlabeled, but what one can only assume are his) bones and the door to the prison cell he was kept in prior to his execution.

In more atmospheric regards, the church is not the most comfortable. Partially due to the ceiling's height, a constant, almost damp chill remains in the air within, and there does not appear to be a great effort to heat the interior. This could be due to understandable economical reasons: it would be tremendously inefficient to heat such a structure, but nonetheless creates a less-than-welcoming embrace upon entering the church. The pews are similar in nature; hard, bare, carved wood and thinly carpeted kneelers. The hard stone floor and enormous size of the interior also create a distinct echo to any sound, one amplified by how frequently the church is almost (if not entirely) empty: perhaps a poetic enunciation of the changing attitudes of the people toward the Church as a whole.

All said, the church ranks highly in terms of surface-level aesthetic, but drops significantly in areas of patronage (or lack thereof), accessibility and interior comfort. Now though, to focus on the confessional investigation, this time with more deliberate purpose and clear criteria.

In this second experience of this church's confessional, I was more prepared on how the proceeding would take place. I had my "sin" in question at the ready, taking mental notes of the experience as I went. The wait was short, a line of three or four people before me. Again, no confessional box was used: I had hoped it was perhaps a once-off, perhaps the booth had been under maintenance? Alas, I sat down opposite the priest (a different one from the week before) and gave my confession. A stolen umbrella apparently warranted a practiced, neutral tone of indifference and recited absolution. Not bored, not interested, simply a rehearsed procedure and a distanced air of almost artificial compassion. Now, admittedly, this reaction could be due to the decidedly pedestrian nature of the presented "sin", and a neutral, non-judgmental attitude is no doubt preferable in an environment of confession, so a verdict on the experience couldn't be made on this basis.

The penance given was a trivial two Hail Mary's and a suggestion that I donate some money to charity, supposedly to balance the cost of the theft. I felt this was a rather sensible and conscientious prescription, and so for the sake of authenticity, completed the request in due time.

As a disclaimer, to give the overall church and confessional experience a categorical or nominal rating could possibly be seen as disrespectful, callous, a mockery of the church, perhaps even some form of blasphemy. I, of course, took this into serious consideration with the utmost respect and reverence when writing this. I would never deign to assume that such a varied and sacred practice as religious worship could be so objectively reduced to a mere 1-10 rating.

That said, St. Peter's Church gets a 6.5/10. Wouldn't confess there again tbh.