Here's the beginning of an article I wrote the other day about a priest with depression and a sad past. This bit ended up cut but it described this memorable (but difficult to easily digest) church service in a Catholic Church in the October grey in Brooklyn:

Sunday morning in Sunset Park. The streets are quiet. St Agatha’s fills the block from 48th to 49th streets on 7th Avenue. There is a murmur audible from the big grey-white church. Open the door and it catches a worshipper’s elbow. It’s gloomy inside. Standing room only. The sudden proximity of the loudspeaker:

“LA PAZ DE SEÑOR ESTE SIEMPRE CON VOSOTROS…”

“It’s an enjoyable liturgy,” said Father Lou, a Catholic priest at St Agatha’s, the day before, “it has a lot of atmosphere. You should come.”

The benches are full and the crowd has spilled through to the gallery at the back of the church. There must be a thousand people inside. Mainly Mexican, wearing coats and suits, shaking hands everywhere, hugs and kisses. Fingers waving making Vs, sharing the peace. Framed in the panels of glass which separate the gallery and the nave, the priest is visible, raised by the altar, hands high, dressed in white. The choir sounds like a pop group, voices railing, coursing with Latin-disco love. The peace ends and the crowd settles but now the pastor is building them up again to the Eucharist.

The Eucharist is a conga, couples and families filing around, mouthing the words, “senor jesus, cual es tu misterio?” to a crooning song.

Soon the service is over and the church empties and the steps of St Agatha’s are full of conversation and gossip. Flowers are sold out of shopping trolleys, not for lovers, but for the statue of the Virgin.

“We want this to be relevant,” Father Lou had said, “we want them walking out saying ‘Yes, I feel peace, I have experienced the challenge to live better my life.’”

Father Lou Maynard is 61, tall and with big hands. He has an open, honest face and glasses that sit on the end of his nose. He is big but delicate and he shambles around. He was eating an omelette as he spoke. In front of him there were three cups with spoons inside, and, on a napkin, a pile of brightly colored pills.