Church of St. Ann 110 E. 12th St. (betw. 3rd & 4th Aves.), 477-2030
Now that the Pope has revealed the Third Secret of Fatima ("A man in white robes...falls to the ground..."; was the Virgin Mary talking about Liberace?), I figured that any chance for some Catholic mysticism in my lifetime was gone. I'm not asking for much. I just want what Vatican II so cruelly took away from me: the fishsticks on Friday, the paten, the scapular, a candle to bless my throat on St. Blaise Day, the bells ringing at the Transubstantiation, the chance to wear a veil and a Trinity that includes the Holy Ghost. (Now that would have scared a little piety into me, more than that lame Holy Spirit stuff, which was about as scary as something on Scooby-Doo.) I wanted the priest with his back to me, muttering in some ancient language, and what did I get? Guitar mass and women in polyester pantsuits handing out Pepperidge Farm croutons in cheap plastic breadbaskets. (I also wanted to become a tormented, twisted soul by attending parochial school for 12 years; instead I had to take the more mundane route of drinking cherry cough syrup and getting hopped up on goofballs with boys who carried zip guns, but that's another story.)
Luckily, I stumbled on the Church of St. Ann, where they hold a service in Latin every Saturday at 2 p.m. Now instead of being an F.A. (Fallen Away) Catholic, I can make my peace with God and not gamble on that Extreme Unction thing (why hasn't some band used Extreme Unction for a name?) right before I die. The Vatican, in recent years, has recognized that a lot of the faithful preferred the old liturgy and decreed that parishes could have a Latin Mass if enough people wanted it. The services I attended were dignified, stately and so very Catholic, with a capital C. I was a little disturbed by seeing some people in shorts, but there were a few (bless them) old ladies in veils. If I can just find a store that sells lace mantillas, I'll be all set. I may even join the Altar Guild.