My Grandparents’ Wedding

My grandparents were married in St. James church at 38th and Chestnut, in 1918, during the flu epidemic. Theaters, churches, all places where people congregated were closed for fear of spreading infection. The priest who presided at the wedding had been an Episcopal minister. Five or six converted at one time and he was one of them.

Marriages were being conducted in rectories, but the priest said it would be a shame for such a devout couple to be married in the rectory. He told my grandfather that he would marry them in the church, and would leave the side door open for them. Only the wedding party was to be there, though, just as if the wedding were being held in the rectory, and they were to tell no one that they were being married in church.

When they got there on the day of the wedding, the church was filled with people. My grandmother said she looked out, saw all the people, and was never so embarrassed in her life.

The people were there to visit the Blessed Sacrament in the tabernacle. They were not there for Mass. This was before Nuptial Masses were common. In those days, other than the epidemic, Catholic churches were never closed. People visited the Blessed Sacrament at all hours. This is from Christopher Morley’s essay “The Parkway, Henry Ford and Billy the Bean Man,” published in 1920 in his book Travels in Philadelphia, originally written for his column in the Public Ledger.

The great churches of the Roman communion are always an inspiration to visit. At almost all hours of the day or night you will find worshippers slipping quietly in and out, generally of the humblest classes. I slipped into the Cathedral for a few minutes and sat there watching the shimmer of color and blended shadows as the vivid sunlight streamed through the semicircular windows above the nave. The body of the church is steeped in that soft dusk described once for all as “a dim religious light,” but the great cream-colored pillars with their heavy gold ornaments lift the eyes upward to the arched ceiling with its small tablets of blue and shining knots of gold. In the dome hung a faint lilac haze of intermingled gentle hues, sifting through the ring of stained windows. The eastern window over the high altar shows one brilliant note of rich blue in the folds of the Madonna’s gown. Over the gleaming terrace of white marble steps hangs a great golden lamp with a small ruby spark glowing through the twilight. Below these steps a plainly dressed little man knelt in prayer all the time I was in the church. The air was faintly fragrant with incense, having almost the aroma of burning cedar wood. A constant patter of hushed footfalls on the marble floor was due to the entrance and exit of stealthy worshipers coming in for a few minutes of silence in the noon recess.

The next one is from 1923 and “A Shrine Amid the Skyscrapers” in Little Journeys Around Old Philadelphia, by George Barton. It’s about old St. Joseph’s church. I include Mr. Barton’s quotation from London Magazine, from the 1730s, which begins the excerpt:

“A small specimen of a notable step which the people of that profession have taken toward the propagation of Popery abroad has come to my notice, and I have it from a gentleman who has lived for many years in Pennsylvania, I confide in the truth of it. In the town of Philadelphia, in that colony, is a public Popish chapel, where that religion has free and open exercise and in all the superstitious rites of that church are as avowedly performed as those of the Church of England are in the Royal Chapel of St. James. And this chapel is not only open upon fasts and festivals, but is so all day and every day in the week, and exceedingly frequented at all hours either for private or public devotion. . . .”

It is interesting to note that old St. Joseph’s is still open “all day and every day in the week.” . . .

As the gossipy and not altogether good-natured correspondent of the London newspaper wrote nearly two hundred years ago it is frequented at “all hours” by those who wish a few minutes of solitude and prayer. The old-fashioned galleries, and the plain pulpit bespeak earlier generations, but the tranquility found there is the atmosphere that has always been characteristic of the place. The red lamp burns always before the tabernacle, and the wayfarer who enters here finds himself far removed from the noise and bustle of the modern world.

When I first heard the wedding story, the explanation was that people saw that the church was open, and they just went in. Eventually I heard a different theory, that somebody, despite the priest’s instructions, talked. Uncle Bun was suspected. However it happened, I’m pretty sure the church was full.


It may surprise some readers to hear this, but I try to avoid fights. Libertarianism versus distributism, iPhone versus Android, Extraordinary form versus Novus Ordo, these are all fights I try to stay out of. I don’t mind saying good things about either side of these disputes, but I try to avoid discussing the issue of which one is better. But I’ve decided that WordPress is better than Blogger. I am going to try to move all my posts over to this blog, then make it my primary blog.