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Ministries A parish of ones own in deaf
community
By ARTHUR JONES
NCR Staff Vernon, Calif.
Fr. Tom Schweitzer, baseball cap on
head, a statue of an angel in the shrubbery behind him, tipped back slightly in
the plastic chair. The chair was one of two dozen around little white tables on
the canopy-shielded courtyard, an outdoor area behind the church that
accommodates the overflow crowds from breakfast, lunch and religious education
classes.
You know what deaf Catholics most want in their own Catholic
church? Schweitzer asked rhetorically. The keys. In every other
parish, deaf people always have to ask for the keys when they want to use the
rooms.
Not at Holy Angels, he said. Lots of people have keys.
Schweitzer understands. Born hearing, he was 10 when his hearing
began to deteriorate. By the time he was in high school he was seriously
hard-of-hearing; in seminary he was deaf. The difference between
hard-of-hearing and deaf, he said, is that once you can no longer
use the telephone, youre deaf. He stopped using the phone in
1982.
Now 45, the Los Angeles-born priest was deaf for 18 years. Then,
four months ago, he had a cochlear implant, a minute electronic device that has
given him some of his hearing back. Not complaining but explaining, he said,
It sounds like youre listening to people on a cheap, 1960s plastic
transistor radio: ra-ra-ra. Im just now beginning to distinguish voices
again.
The city of Vernon, where Schweitzer is pastor of Holy Angels
Church of the Deaf, is an enigma even by Los Angeles County standards. It has
58 residents in its five-square miles. A dismal area of metal and brick
flat-front industrial sheds and buildings, Vernon is given over to warehouses,
machine shops, auto body shops and other enterprises operated by its 5,500
daytime workers who pour into it off the nearby freeways. Eighty years ago,
this was all farmland. Thats when St. Marthas Church was built. As
the city industrialized and the population dwindled, so did St. Marthas
congregation.
Then, in the 1980s, Fr. Brian Doran, who worked in deaf ministry
in Los Angeles, successfully proposed to the then-new archbishop (now
cardinal), Roger Mahony, that the archdiocese establish a deaf parish. Mahony
bought it. There are an estimated 30,000 deaf Catholics, 1 percent of the total
Catholic population of 3 million in the archdiocese.
Doran looked around for possibilities. The location had to be
physically safe, because the deaf are particularly vulnerable to street
violence. St. Marthas, though a small church, was convenient to several
key interstates. That was vital in an auto-oriented, sprawling archdiocese that
covers 8,700 square miles. The old parishs few remaining parishioners
were incorporated into a new church nearby, and the existing structure was
announced as Holy Angels in 1987.
Why the name Holy Angels? Why not Frances de Sales, patron saint
of the deaf? Schweitzer laughed. Well, he replied, Holy
Angels is easier to sign than St. Francis de Sales.
After refurbishing, the church reopened in 1988 with Doran as
pastor. By the early 1990s, Brian and I were co-pastors, Schweitzer
said. Doran transferred out in 1998 when he felt hed helped build the
community to a sustainable level. Hes now archdiocesan director for
clergy formation and helps with deaf ministry in Orange County.
Schweitzer led a conducted tour through the compact, 180-seat
church, which has two Masses in American Sign Language -- one at 8:45 a.m. that
is spoken in English; another at 11:15 a.m. spoken in Spanish. Between 200 and
300 attend the Masses each Sunday.
The major sanctuary furnishings -- the altar, the pulpit stand --
are lower than in the usual church to allow the congregation to easily see the
priests and readers hands. The walls behind the altar are in a
muted burgundy material, dark and nonreflective.
Schweitzer explained there should be no strong light or glare
behind a person signing because over time someone watching would get a
headache.
The churchs artwork is subtle. A Bernini crucifix in the
center and a portrait of Our Lady of Sorrows to the right are etched in glass
and lighted from the side. That means the illustrations have an art deco-like
soft-green glow. There is an etched window to the left revealing the room where
an ornate tabernacle stands.
Probably 65 percent of the parishioners are immigrants, primarily
Mexican- and Central-American, said the priest, and the ornate tabernacle would
be a comforting visual reminder of the church furnishings theyre
accustomed to. The church has solid oak floors with stout wooden-legged chairs
to help conduct the sound, or at least vibrations, of taped liturgical music.
The music is coordinated during Mass in the former choir loft by Larry McGloin.
Hes the husband of Jan McGloin, Holy Angels parish administrator.
Shes hearing impaired.
Holy Angels deacon-in-preparation, David Rose, who does some
of the readings at the signed English Mass, will be the archdioceses
first deaf person to go through the regular diaconate program. Other key parish
staffers include Christina Jimenez, liturgical coordinator, Jim Sweeney,
whos served on the finance committee, the parish council and other
groups, and Hilda Jimenez, hall manager and liaison with the Spanish-speaking
parents.
The hall is where massgoers can buy breakfast and lunch. Sundays
at Holy Angels are an all-day family affair. It is the weekly opportunity for
deaf and hearing-impaired Catholics, along with their hearing family members,
to gather and learn.
The small parish centers few rooms are crowded as deaf and
hearing-impaired children prepare for first Communion and confirmation, or
attend Sunday school. Equally important, there is Sunday school for their
hearing siblings, for Holy Angels is essentially a family gathering, and
usually only one member of a family is deaf.
I think our common goal as hearing and deaf, native born and
immigrant, high educated and low educated, is to try to make Holy Angels a
place where everyone is family and is comfortable being here. I know that may
sound like a cliché, said Schweitzer, but it is a real thing
for us.
Schweitzer has visions beyond Sunday Eucharist and lunchtime
burritos at Holy Angels. There is a major academic program for the deaf in
the Valley (San Fernando Valley) at CalState Northridge.
The priest would like to make the connection between the two
communities -- Holy Angels and Northridge, with some sort of outreach program.
It would take a major commitment from a Valley parish to make it work, he
said.
Also on Schweitzers wish list is a transportation system.
Ninety percent of the deaf are unchurched, he said, and we
need to evangelize beyond ourselves, bringing witness to the larger deaf
community. We need to be able to pick up the older and younger deaf who
dont have transportation.
An acute transportation bind, he explained, is that deaf drivers
cannot get the Class B licenses to carry more than 12 passengers. You
have to be able to hear a whisper five feet away.
So some people say, Why not have interpreters in all
the churches? But the deaf arent much interested in that, he said.
They want community. With two or three vans and drivers, he said,
he could bring into the Holy Angels community dozens more deaf people from the
surrounding towns.
He rubbed his chin and smiled. Something about his half grin said,
dont rule it out.
Mass at Holy Angels joyful,
reverent |
The priest was unyielding. He gripped the wheel, gritted his
teeth and wouldnt slow down so the driver to his left could cut in ahead
to exit the freeway. The congregation laughed knowingly.
Fr. Tom Schweitzer was on the altar signing and speaking --
describing the highway scene to make the point that what goes around
comes around. If we slow down for others and let them in, maybe the next time
someone will slow down and let us in.
From that example, he built up the homily to the many ways
of caring and watching out for the needs of others. He led to the point that
Christians dont always see the results of their compassion and caring.
Schweitzer stressed they should not necessarily look for results. Give, act and
do because it is the right thing, he said.
Many in the congregation at the Holy Angels Church of the
Deaf in Vernon, Calif., silently raised hands and gestured -- they were
applauding.
A Mass for the deaf is different, in some respects more
reverential. When the deaf sign God, they look heavenwards. Hearing people, by
contrast, say God and generally look ahead to the altar or down to the pages of
their missals.
The quiet interludes at a deaf Mass are intriguing -- the
children happily signing during the petitions for prayers for family and
friends with birthdays. Adults more somberly sign for prayers for those who are
sick and in need.
The music, felt rather than heard, offers a homily of its
own.
One selection Larry McGloin played was a tape-recorded
liturgical plainsong. The medieval chant-master who inspired it could never
have imagined his work wafting out electronically -- particularly to an
audience that could not hear it because they are deaf.
They enjoyed it, nonetheless. |
National Catholic Reporter, January 19,
2001
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