By Lizette Alvarez
New York Times
January 29, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/31/nyregion/31church.html?pagewanted=1
NEW JERSEY -- ELEANOR MEDANY remembers when South Jersey was in thrall to Roman Catholicism. There was a church every mile, or so it seemed, and priests were as common as Chevrolets. Churches like her own, Most Holy Redeemer, were built by parishioners who showed up, hammer in hand, and who hosted countless spaghetti fests and tea bag sales to buy the kneelers and the windows.
That was in 1958. As the years passed, Most Holy Redeemer took root in this town about 20 minutes outside of Philadelphia. The congregation grew fast, and in 1961, members built a school behind their unassuming church to educate their children in the faith.
But next month, Most Holy Redeemer Parish will offer its final Sunday Mass. After that, the building will go mostly unused, reflecting an era of dwindling churchgoers and vanishing priests.
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| UPHEAVAL The Rev. Robert Kantz of Most Holy Redeemer Parish in the Diocese of Camden said, “Other dioceses are not going through pain at this level.” Photo by Laura Pedrick |
"There is so much blood and sweat in that church," said Mrs. Medany, who raised four children in the parish, including Deptford's current mayor, Paul Medany. "We have a church here we busted our humps for. It's gorgeous and we love it. And we are very upset."
Most Holy Redeemer is one of 124 parishes in the Diocese of Camden that by year's end will be merged and whittled to about 70. It is a vast, and painful, undertaking for the area's 500,000 worshipers.
The Camden consolidation is part of a wave of diocesan retrenchments in the Northeast; just last week, for example, the Diocese of Rockville Centre on Long Island announced that it would offer buyouts to 1,500 workers. But given Camden's reduction of parishes by 40 percent or more, few other plans have been as far-reaching. The Diocese of Albany announced last year that it would merge or close 20 percent of its 164 parishes. In the Diocese of Buffalo, a bit more than 25 percent of the parishes will no longer offer regular worship. And in the Diocese of Allentown, in Pennsylvania, the figure is 31 percent.
"Other dioceses are not going through pain at this level," said the Rev. Robert Kantz, Most Holy Redeemer's administrator.
Several factors explain the scope of the Camden plan. For one, the diocese is dense with churches. Averaging 3,752 members each, Camden's parishes are smaller than those of any other New Jersey diocese and smaller than many outside the state. The Diocese of Trenton, for example, has 6,932 parishioners on average in each parish; the Diocese of Rockville Center has 11,230.
The Camden Diocese is also particularly frail. A report in 2007 by InsideCatholic.com ranked it 167th out of 176 dioceses in terms of overall health, using measures like the number of priests, ordinations and adult converts to Catholicism. In 1969, for example, Camden had 351 priests; today, it has 150, and by 2015, it is expected to have 85.
The one bit of good news for Camden is that only a couple of churches will be closed outright, unlike in many other shrinking dioceses. The bulk will remain open — at least for now — either for Sunday Mass or, as with Most Holy Redeemer, upon request for weddings and funerals. (Most Holy Redeemer will also be used as a school chapel.) But these designated churches will lose their individual parish priests and parish activities like religious education and youth ministry.
In the diocese, 22 percent to 24 percent of Catholics celebrate Mass regularly, which mirrors the national figure. With such sparse attendance, one-third of its 124 parishes — including Most Holy Redeemer — could not meet their basic financial obligations, said Andy Walton, a diocese spokesman.
Bishop Joseph A. Galante, head of the Camden Diocese since 2004, said his decision to consolidate parishes, although difficult, was pivotal to revitalizing Catholicism in South Jersey.
"With all these individual parishes, effectively we've lost 76 to 78 percent of our people who don't practice the faith," the bishop said. "To keep doing the same thing over and over again in the same way and expect different results, as you know, is a sign of insanity."
He said that parishes needed a critical mass of worshipers to attract young people and immigrants, two points that parishioners have made to him. Parishes must also be big enough to pay staff members and not rely on volunteers.
After an analysis of location and other factors, Most Holy Redeemer was merged with St. Matthew's and St. Patrick's, both nearby. The new parish, to be called Holy Angels, will be based at St. Patrick's, which is using its gym as a revamped worship site to accommodate the new parishioners. Two other parishes will also serve Deptford residents.
Most Holy Redeemer "was not able, on its own, to be strong enough to provide the kind of outreach and ministries that are needed," Bishop Galante said.
But its parishioners are bewildered that their fast-growing township of 30,000 can absorb two Wal-Marts but not a parish. They also do not understand why their parish — with a school, ample parking and many volunteers — was cast aside for one where worshipers will sit on a refashioned basketball court for Mass.
About one-third to half of the worshipers at Most Holy Redeemer are expected to shift to the new parish. Nobody is sure where the rest will go, or if they will stop showing up for Mass altogether.
"To be honest, this is driving me away from the church," said Karen Countryman, 63, a parishioner since she was 10.
For Denise Mungiole, moving to a new parish after 21 years is akin to a "death," a fact that the bishop is doing little to allay, she said. "This is my church, my faith," she said. "You get invested."
Pamala Messina, who grew up at Most Holy Redeemer, forced herself to go to Mass recently at St. Patrick's. She was so shaken up, she said, she left in tears.
"I want to go to St. Pat's," she said. "I can't do it."
Nothing can shake her faith, Mrs. Medany said. She will celebrate Mass — not at Holy Angels, because she cannot set foot in there, she said, but somewhere. Nobody should be surprised, though, if she takes a piece of her church with her. Her family donated a pew decades ago to honor her brother, who died fighting in World War II.
"When you see in the papers a story about an old woman who was walking down Delsea Drive with a pew on her back, you'll know it's me," she said.
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