Churches and Faith Communities as Third Places/ Third Place Stories
I was immediately struck after stumbling into St. Ann’s in Hoboken, New Jersey two summers ago. The space is bright and beautiful but unpretentious. People were genuinely happy and excited to be there, but not in the overwrought, unattractive ways that even (and especially) well-intended Catholics too often fall into. The homily broke open the beauty, depth, and richness of the tradition and spoke directly to my own “joys and hopes” and “griefs and anxieties,” as the majestic opening of Gaudium et Spes puts it. A penetrating duet of Curtis Stephan’s “Miracle of Grace” moved me to tears and left all in stunned silence. The parish’s commitment to Jesus’s “Nonna” evoked fond memories of my own Italian grandmother from North Jersey, who took her rightful place in the communion of saints seventeen years ago. The priest and parishioners were more than happy to chat with me after mass (especially after I felt safe enough to divulge that I am a theologian!). Most of all, the warmth, energy, dynamism, and life of the gospel were palpable. It is not difficult to understand why St. Ann’s engenders so much love from so many – even for a newcomer like me, it felt like home.
St. Ann’s offers tremendous hope for our Church, if only we would heed its greatest lesson. People don’t want to feel relief, anger, or indifference when they leave mass. They want to feel seen, renewed, and alive. They want to feel fire – the type of fire that I encountered at St. Ann’s. Give people that fire, and they’ll find themselves asking, as I did upon leaving mass two summers ago, “were not our hearts burning within us” while we gathered together as one (Lk. 24:32)?
-Peter K. Fay, Ph.D.