St. Mark’s, church of my childhood

[media-credit id=3 align=”alignright” width=”225″][/media-credit]This year marks the 100th anniversary of St. Mark’s Church on West Street, a place that remains an indelible part of my entire childhood and is a storehouse of memories.

Since returning to The Berkshires after living away for decades, I’ve also returned to the church of my youth, St. Mark’s.

My four sisters and I all made our First Holy Communions there, each of us dressed in lace and pearl-covered white dresses that came with matching shiny white shoes and socks.

Wearing white gloves made me feel like the Queen of England, but I‘ve never worn them since.

After the ceremonies, we all marched dutifully to a grotto in the church side yard that holds a statue of the Blessed Mother of Christ to take a zillion photos.

My late mother and both grandmothers remained dedicated to the Blessed Mother all of their lives.

As kids, we attended more catechism classes at the church than I care to remember.

A very long time ago there was even a program at St. Mark’s called the Militia of Mary. All the children formed a living rosary on the side yard of the church and said dozens of prayers during this unique activity.

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(For those unfamiliar with rosaries, they are beads with five decades of prayers attached.) To a kid, the time it took to say the rosary seemed like a year or two.

My oldest sister got to sing “On This Day Oh Beautiful Mother” as a solo on Living Rosary Day, and boy, did she ever belt it out.

She’s now a grandmother living in California and still sings, many decades later,  in her church choir.

For years as a teenager, I sang in the St. Mark’s choir. Masses were still said in Latin in those days!

Three of my sisters took their marriage vows at the church. My husband and I were married outside the good old USA, in a church far away.

Once we had children, however, we came back both times to have them baptized at St. Mark’s.

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It’s a gorgeous church built in a Gothic style. The aisle is long and rather regal. The upper stained glass windows could easily be in a cathedral, and the smaller ones are equally breathtaking in color and design. Many depict saints.

My late parents as well as my late paternal grandparents were St. Mark’s members. I can still envision my grandmother in her black coat and little veiled hat, sitting in one of the front pews.

My grandfather, portly and slighty stoop-shouldered, was next to her until the day she died. After that, he sat in the pew alone.

My parents were good, decent and simple people who never missed Mass. They made all five of their daughters go, too.

There was no choice, so we did as we were told. Period.

Funerals of most of those beloved people in my life took place at St. Mark’s, too. It remains a place where many tears were shed, along with laughter and good times.

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Walking into the church today, I can almost feel the presence of loved ones who have gone to the other side and almost possible to see them still sitting in the familiar pews.

Oh, how I miss each and every one of them.

Father John Salatino, the current pastor of the church, is a hometown boy. He is a great guy and very dedicated to his flock. He’s got a good sense of humor, too, and he’s a great cook.

Walking up the sidewalk in front of St. Mark’s or glancing at the side yard grotto, I feel a deep sense of gratitude, love, nostalgia and pride.

It’s good to have a deep connection with such a beautiful church that’s filled, all the way up to the high rafters, with memories more precious than jewels.

Posted by Susan M. Wicker Guerrero on May 9, 2013. Filed under Columns,From the Heart,Opinion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry