It was a
rainy spring morning in Wallingford, a charming grey stone market town
in Oxfordshire, bordering the meandering Thames. I slipped out of a
friend’s house on foot, headed for morning Mass. The wet streets were
practically empty, save for a few early Sunday shoppers.
Finding
the church was a little tricky, as its location in an un-charming,
new-brick edifice around the corner from a street ATM was more than
discrete; a tiny sign was the only indication of its presence. Inside,
however, were pews filled with Catholics, standing room only. I looked
around me in wonder – the place was filled with people from every
continent and walk of life. From my cramped seat in the back, I listened
carefully. The priest was an Irishman, and his homily was forceful and
direct.
In the
last 15 years, I have attended Masses all over England, and what has
struck me most about English Catholics in the pews is how similar they
are to Catholics in the United States today. In the suburbs, you find
the churches filled with older people, there out of long habit and young
families, trying to pass on the Faith. There are almost no single young
people. In the big city churches, a grand mix of types of all races and
nationalities – singles, couples, old and young, plus a sprinkling of
tourists. And in the solemn Latin Masses, the pews are filled with a
creative minority of intellectuals, artists, entrepreneurs and young
families with lots of children.
So who are they, G.K. Chesterton’s ‘Secret People,’ the Catholics of England?
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