St. Peter's - Charlotte, NC
Not surprising that St. Peters Catholic Church, the large place where we went on Sundays has been dwarfed by progress. Thankful for my memories.
Not surprising that St. Peters Catholic Church, the large place where we went on Sundays has been dwarfed by progress. Thankful for my memories.
When ever I go to Charlotte, NC I stop by St. Peter’s Catholic Church. It is the church of my childhood and connects me to my Lonergan ancestors.
I did not learn their story until I was 55 years beyond my Baptism at St. Peters. They were Irish immigrants and stone cutters. They gave their tithe to build St. Peter’s on land James Lonergran sold to the Church.
Four Lonergan men from Tipperary raised the original brick walls with their own hands. One of the men, Edward Lonergan, was my four great grandfather. In 1850 most of the small band of Catholics in Charlotte lived in the shadow of the modest spire of this small red brick church.
I step off the sidewalk of South Tryon Street, up the few brick steps and into the vestibule. I feel at home in the colored light which fills the santuary. I recognize the warm earthy hues cast by the stained glass windows as the light shines through them. The centered figures of saints on the glass still stand serenely in arched niches surrounded by geometric patterned panels.
These windows had fascinated me when, as a child, I lay on the hard oak pew next to Daddy and waited impatiently for Mass to end. I absorbed the glowing colors and simple shapes and they formed the aesthetic that guides my eyes and hands today when I compose bits of colored paper and fabric into abstract compositions that suggest backlit stained glass windows.
These comfortable mysterious spaces speak to me of the sacred -- the sweet fragrance of beeswax candles -- pungent incense -- the echoes of Latin chants.
Back on the sidewalk the sight of the near-by new pride of Charlotte, a behemoth sports arena and tall buildings which loom over the city like menacing towers, yanks me back to the present - into the presence of progress.
Four Lonergan men from Tipperary raised the original brick walls with their own hands. One of the men, Edward Lonergan, was my four great grandfather. In 1850 most of the small band of Catholics in Charlotte lived in the shadow of the modest spire of this small red brick church.
I step off the sidewalk of South Tryon Street, up the few brick steps and into the vestibule. I feel at home in the colored light which fills the santuary. I recognize the warm earthy hues cast by the stained glass windows as the light shines through them. The centered figures of saints on the glass still stand serenely in arched niches surrounded by geometric patterned panels.
These windows had fascinated me when, as a child, I lay on the hard oak pew next to Daddy and waited impatiently for Mass to end. I absorbed the glowing colors and simple shapes and they formed the aesthetic that guides my eyes and hands today when I compose bits of colored paper and fabric into abstract compositions that suggest backlit stained glass windows.
These comfortable mysterious spaces speak to me of the sacred -- the sweet fragrance of beeswax candles -- pungent incense -- the echoes of Latin chants.
Back on the sidewalk the sight of the near-by new pride of Charlotte, a behemoth sports arena and tall buildings which loom over the city like menacing towers, yanks me back to the present - into the presence of progress.
First Posted on 11.8.2003 at 12:59 AM
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