St. Joe's at St. E's

When I step out of my house and look up the street, I see stone towers with filigree-work windows; I see a green copper dome; I see all of this topped with crosses. (Well, mostly topped with crosses. One cross is missing one-half of its crossbar, so one tower is topped with a sideways T. But this is what happens sometimes with old churches.)
St. Elizabeth's church is a heavy presence to have in the neighborhood, dominating the skyline, drawing people in. I think people here love her the way sailors may love a ship--I know I do. She's the reason I'm here, in a way. I would not have moved to Cincinnati had I not heard of the intentional Christian community that had restored St. E's to a worship space after the old Catholic parish had merged with two others. The Vineyard Central community had situated themselves in the parish buildings--the church, the rectory, the convent. I thought if I moved in, I could help explain the symbology that was their most immediate environment--the statues, the stained glass, the sign by the bell-ringing mechanism that said "Angelus."
In truth, there wasn't much about Catholicism my new neighbors and friends didn't already know--my faith has as heavy a presence on the cultural landscape as St. E's has on the geographical one. I ended up learning lots more about the Protestant world. Many Sundays I'd start at St. E's singing worship songs at my friends' service before ducking out to drive to Mass. I called it my "Jesus progressive dinner."
The Catholic church I attend is St. Joseph's. I sing in the choir of the 11 am Mass, where the liturgy is solidly in the Black Catholic tradition. We in the choir lead gospel songs, and sway, and every few weeks or so someone is so overcome with joy she shouts and testifies to the greatness of God. I found it all a bit startling at first, as I grew up in a church that was decidedly nondemonstrative. But that church of my childhood was later the home of Vietnamese liturgies which I also attended. I've gotten used to Mass being something outside my normal cultural sphere.
My joy would be complete if my Vineyard Central friends and neighbors and my St. Joseph church family were all connected. It's tough to belong to two congregations at the same time (even if, technically, I never joined VC--I spend way too much time with folks who are VC or loosely-VC-affiliated for this to be anything more than a technicality). Some ties already bind--a VC house church has gone to Ash Wednesday Mass at St. Joe's for the last few years, for example, and I've taken choir friends for a tour of St. E's. Still, I'm always hoping for something more, so you can imagine how excited I am about this Sunday night, when the St. Joe's choir will come sing in gorgeous St. Elizabeth's, up the street from my house.
Let me say that again: St. Joe's choir is singing at St. Elizabeth's this Sunday night. A full-on gospel choir, whose director happens to have once been the rehearsal pianist for La Scala, who reveals, when he smiles, that he is actually one of the cherubim, is coming to blow the copper dome off the church up the street.
I don't know what we'll be singing. Wylie, our choir director, never tells us in advance. The decision is left to the Spirit, who's never failed us yet.
I hope my VC and loosely-VC-affiliated friends, as well as friends from other parts and curious bystanders, will sing along. I think they will.