The Belltower of St. Agnes

Three main thoroughfares connect the "Uptown" and "Downtown" of the City of Cleveland. They are, in order from north to south: Chester, Euclid, and Carnegie Avenues. Of these, the middle one is my least preferred way of driving downtown, because unlike the other two, this avenue has a lane reserved for the HealthLine buses (which fills the streetcar-shaped hole in the city's psyche somewhat), leaving only one precarious lane for cars. On the bright side, the grandest and stateliest dilapidating buildings of Cleveland's East Side adorn this road. Among these is a bell-tower, which sticks out of the wasteland like a sore thumb. The tower exudes an aura bloated with historical significance, yet is wedged incongruously between a pharmacy and sweet fuckall. I remember being quite distracted from my driving to wonder just how the heck it had gotten there. Obviously, I wasn't going to take a picture from the driver's seat, so here's a picture courtesy of the Google car:

(2050 East 81st Street)

After reaching home, it only took a straightforward snoop to find out that the tower had a name (St. Agnes Bell Tower) and that an entire church building used to go with it. Then came the story of the Parish of St. Agnes, as told by Sarah Nemeth, Bard extraordinaire. I loved the story, because it felt to me to hold a mirror to the story of Cleveland at large in the past century, and to the state of the Catholic Church in America, then as well as now. Here, I shall attempt a short summary of the story as told by Ms. Nemeth for your pleasure, with the intention to serve heaps of mirthful sarcasm on the side.

In 1893, a group of women began to harass the Bishop of Cleveland, Ignatius Horstmann. Your Grace! they clamoured. Do you realize that there are only two parishes in Cleveland that hold Mass in the English language? For verily, Catholicism in Northeast Ohio, the frontier of the civilized world, was formed by a hodgepodge of peoples, a potpourri of sweat-stench from all the tribes of Christendom. Year after year, the ladies were dismayed, flummoxed, and absolutely overtaken by vexation at the sight of these Poles, these Italians, these Slovenians, these Lithuanians, these Bohemians, and othersuch exotic types ranking barely above the barbarians of the Asiatic steppes; They resented the sight of those who have audaciously come to Cleveland with their strange guttural tongues, their loud music, their raucous street parades, and their edible cuisine in tow.

Bishop Horstmann gave in at last, for before opinionated Catholic women there is absolutely no defense. A survey of the Diocese confirmed the need for a third English parish, and construction of St. Agnes commenced on Euclid Avenue. The church was built so grand as to upstage the Cathedral itself; Aye, for the prospect that the Bishop will live among the gazillionaires of Euclid Avenue, it will surely raise the stature of the Faith of Ages; Their tithes will ever fill the coffers of the parsonage, and even Catholicism itself will be exalted! No longer a "church for the poor", nor a "sanctuary for the stranger", but part of the fabric of mainstream American identity. Yes! A bright future awaits the browbeaten and discouraged Catholic faithful, who thus far have had their loyalty to America constantly put to question, on account of their strangeness and their popery. On the contrary, the bishops of days to come will take their place in the exalted halls of public governance, sipping tea daintily with fellow dignitaries on Sunday afternoons, under the benevolent gaze of the Founding Fathers.

But big changes are afoot. Good times, to everyone's utter surprise, do not last forever. Industry collapsed following the Depression, and steel mills faded into obsolescence. Where are the rich and powerful now? Where have they gone? Alas, they have fled the sinking ship of Cleveland, as rats astutely sniff out the first signs of trouble. With great prejudice, they have beaten a retreat into tree-covered fortresses in the countryside. They have cast away their mansions in Hough, in Glenville, and in East Cleveland, and left them in the mercy of creepers and moss. Then, in their heels, came the Black Americans: They have fled the South after generations of servitude, and were led to the promised land of Cleve, where supposedly flowed an abundance of milk, honey, and gainful employment — but, alas, the Sceptre of Poverty left no prisoners in Cleveland.

Bishop Floyd Begin, the new pastor of St. Agnes, was unfazed by such adversity. By God, he declared. St. Agnes parish is right where it needs to be, among the people! He sensed opportunity in reaching out to his new neighbours. He began the radical and erstwhile unthinkable initiative to treat the Blacks as human beings, thereby bringing them into the flock. One day, during a memorable homily, he went as far as to say: Adam and Eve themselves were Black! Upon this bold statement, the parishioners were shook to the core; they had never heard anything so outrageous; for everyone knew, as a self-evident fact, that Adam and Eve were genteel Anglo-Saxon folk, who loved yoga and cupcakes and expensive but pointless vacations to the beach, and who raised a son so wicked that he would livestream a murder for social media clout (as he inevitably did).

Present-day St. Agnes parish
(6808 Lexington Avenue)

The Bard's story ends with Fr. Begin's sad failure to turn around the fortunes of St. Agnes; her plaintive final notes heralds the emptying of the coffers and the demolition of the main church building. But as she weeps for the memories of a gilded past, should we not also look for a silver lining in the clouds? Sarah Nemeth had thought of a church as stone and mortar, where in fact it is blood and flesh. Thus, St. Agnes has not perished under the demolition ball, but instead has commenced a new life forthwith in the interior of Hough, where they have become a full-fledged parish of the Black community, thriving even to the present day. Even bold Bishop Floyd Begin, whose ventures were met with such misfortune in Cleveland, later received a calling as Bishop of Oakland, and continued a long and fruitful career. And neither has Catholicism in Cleveland finally succumbed to the honey-trap of gentility, as it remains after all a Church for the Poor, and a light for all the nations; and under her wings the motley rabble of Christendom will continue to dance; they will dance!