Even Oakland has Sanctuary

*St. Margaret Mary's Catholic Church: Oakland, Cal.

It was too dark outside, even for an overcast day. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and mass started at five. Usually, the old ladies came in first about an hour before mass. They had their rosaries to pray and since they didn't have jobs to get off from, they could make it early. Others were either getting off work just in time for mass or hoping off the 54 bus which dropped them off at the stop on the corner.

I don't remember what I did earlier that day. I just remember I couldn't get past the darkness outside. It was surreal. Even summers had over cast cold days. Oakland could get just as cold in the summer as San Francisco could. Nothing outside made a sound as I walked towards the greystone church with heavy oak doors.

I yanked on the brass door handle exherting force to open the door. I expected to be greeted by the feeling of refreshment from the burdens of my life in the world. The vestibule was empty and dark. The damp church smell of stale incense and dusty bees wax candles filled my nose. That was the only thing that was familiar as I entered the church I had been a part of for the past year or two.

There was no refreshment inside. The familiar spiritual sense of sanctuary was gone. I wondered, as I walked into the vestibule, if it had ever really been there before. I was used to it so it had to have been there before.

I looked into the church through the clear cross on the frosted glass of the doors leading from the vestibule to the interior. The pews were in unison like soldiers before a leader. No votive candles were lit inside. The lights were out. The entire church was empty. No old people praying their rosaries or thumbing through old devotional books they must have had since they were children. I thought that opening the door and walking into the holy presence would refresh me from my burdens. The interior of the church was so dark, but I could still see.

By this time, there should have been at least a few pious souls praying before God. Mass was suppose to begin soon. There was no priest and no altar boys scurrying around the altar to get things ready. The sanctuary was bear. The pews were completely empty. The statues were absent. I couldn't sense a holy presence in the least. It did not feel like church. But as I crossed the barrier from the vestibule, there was a presence.

I realized that I wasn't walking at all. I was floating. My floating seemed both willing on my part yet through no effort of mine. I floated straight towards the sanctuary. The dark deep red carpet underneath me seemed dull. The white stone walls and pillars didn't glow like they normally did. And in their shadows, small imps or devils, apprehensive and intolerant, hid themselves from me.

I didn't see a sanctuary lamp letting the world know that the creator was there. The darkness wasn't scary- it was sad.

I stopped floating just as I came to the front of the sanctuary. It was blockaded by a communion rail which I wouldn't have dared cross under any circumstance. I wouldn't have dared stepped over if I was control my own motion. I turned to my left and began to float over the pews towards a stained glass window.

A bishop dressed in white garments standing by a pillar was portrayed in the window. I couldn't see his face but I knew this image was looking right at me. His face was too bright to see its features. Though I didn't know who he was, I knew he was a bishop. I expected him to step out of the window. I wasn't scared at the sight of him doing so.

Though still suspended, I crawled up to him and cowered behind his robes. I wouldn't leave him and I knew he wasn't going to push me aside. The thought didn't even occur to me. He wanted me where I was and I knew I was supposed to stay.

My burdens lifted and the presence of holiness was there. I don't recall leaving the church but I do recall not leaving the bishops side. The thought hasn't ever occured to me, nor will it ever.


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St. Margaret Mary's is where I first attended the traditional Catholic mass. My dad took me there as a child from time to time, but it didn't make much of an impression. It wasn't until my parents divorce that it finally did. Since then, I;ve drawn to it like a bug is drawn to light.

It's where a lot of Catholics in the Bay area became found tradition. And many of those Catholics have gone on to spread the fruits they received.

A lot of people owe a great deal to Fr. Vladamir Kozina, the former pastor of St. Margaret Marys, who started the traditional mass in Oakland back in the mid to late 80's.

Pictured here in vestments is Fr. Kozina. He was a dear friend to my grandfather, Felix Bongiorno, and was the first priest ever to make me realize just how necessary being Catholic is.

Next to him is the current pastor of St. Margaret Marys, Fr. Stanislaw Zak.

Fr. Zak brought my grandfather back to the church after he had been absent from her for over 30 years. He heard my grandfather's death bed confession and had made sure all his spiritual necessities were met before he parted our company. I'm forever grateful to Fr. Zak and to Fr. Kozina.

*Photo taken from www.stmargmaryoak.org/photos.htm