Last weekend I visited Holy Redeemer by the Sea in Kitty Hawk, NC. Once again on vacation in the Outer Banks, (Pine Island) I fulfilled my day of obligation at the nearest Catholic Church as per usual.

Whenever I go to a Catholic Church apart from my own I realize how “spoiled” I am in terms of beauty and orthodoxy. To make matters worse, I’ve become acquainted with the teachings of Duncan Stroik and his Journal of Sacred Architecture. I’ve become such a Mass and Church Architecture Snob as a consequence I may need to confess the sin of smugness.

The outside of Holy Redeemer was a large brick expanse that had a plain geometric cross and signage. So void of iconography and embellishment, it reminded me of the church in Qatar set up by the government as a concession to their devout foreign guests—a structure so void of art so as to not appeal to anyone outside the targeted faith.

Expecting the inside to reflect the beauty, tradition and birthright of millennia of Catholic art and liturgy, I was stiflingly disappointed. There was a loud din of chatter and movement about the large expansive area functionally designed to serve swarms of vacationers–so I imagined. The pews were more like bleachers with the drab design of modern minimalism oriented in a rather asymmetrical arrangement roughly pointing to the altar but not really. I could scarce see the altar which was a small structure covered in an artless cloth. I never found the tabernacle nor the red lamp that signals the real presence. I would normally genuflect but I wasn’t sure if there was anything front and center to honor.

I sat in the back nervously waiting for things to get underway on this Sunday of the Ascension. I hoped it wasn’t crowded because of the particular occasion and that many many Catholics (devout or otherwise) attend mass regularly even out here. The thought comforted me, especially as two young men in their twenties, attired in quasi-formal beach garb and a smattering of sleep-head, sat a few pews ahead of me. If these guys show up well there is hope for the future.

When the service began, the priest “broke the ice” by having everyone greet each other immediately in proximity. I was petrified; this would never happen at St. C.. The woman with her two unruly boys who sat in front turned, smiled and shook my hand. I regret not turning around and greeting those behind me but I wasn’t at all sure about this sort of thing. It caught me off guard.

The next thing was equally unorthodox but probably necessary. As part of the opening prayer, the priest asked that everyone pause silently and divest themselves of all the “baggage” they showed up with–worries, anger, vacation plans, whatever. I knew I needed to shed the smug orthodox Latin Mass weenie-ism that I came with. I dropped it off and lightened up. The miracle of Catholicism is it’s universality and the Mass, at the core, was going to be the Mass even here on the Outer Banks.

And it was. Among several peculiar things though was the “introduction” that the priest provided before each scripture reading. He framed the context and the purpose which, though outside the norm, I appreciated. Catholics really need this kind of Bible teaching since they are woefully ignorant of the Bible.

Another peculiar thing was the holding of hands during the Lord’s prayer. Touchy-feelie. And rather than kneel after receiving the Eucharist, everyone staid standing. Perhaps it was logistically easier in this crowded church than having people walk all over each other.

One thing never changes: the speed at which Catholics evacuate the building after “this mass is over”.  Sorry, no prayer to St. Michael. More like, yabba dabba doo.

On the way back I stopped by at Duck Donuts.