I must confess, I am a little obsessed with front porches. I trace this back to 1980 and my college friend’s roommate, a history major, who wrote a Senior thesis entitled “The American Front Porch” and its significance to American culture. As a biochemistry major, I had no idea you could write an entire thesis on the American front porch. In fact, I was quite jealous, struggling as I was to prove that one could map the complete energy cycle of the slime mold on a prototype of the future MRI machine. I asked the author for a copy of her work, which she gladly provided. I read it and immediately fell in love with the American front porch. It is an architectural gem, combining function and aesthetics. It was an iconic symbol that lined countless main streets and rural roads from the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth centuries. It has been said that for at least a generation or two, the ideals of American life surrounding the family, community and nature were sown, cultivated, and grown on the American front porch.
To this day I get a nostalgic, pleasant feeling when I step onto a front porch. My pace slows as I reach the bottom step, and I take my time getting to the top where the porch in all its glory spreads out in front of me. I can’t help but linger and “harken back” to a time when the front porch post held up a farmer for a quick bit of shade and a few gulps of lemonade, a brief respite from a scorching mid-summer day’s work. Shelling peas, humming, and swinging to the rhythm of a favorite melody, a mother and daughter pause to wave to neighbors as they pass by. I imagine the after-dinner ritual, when tired bodies ease into yielding porch chairs, to stare into the darkness, to listen to and be lulled by the songs of nightbirds and frogs. Soon everyone is counting fireflies and stars, almost forgetting another arduous day is just hours away. Heads bow and night prayers are offered on the front porch on evenings so hot no one wants to move until every last breeze is absorbed to cool off the waiting bed. I’m convinced finding repose while keeping one’s hands busy, watching the “same old, same old” day after day while always noticing something new, or talking about anything and everything, interrupted by long pauses no one finds awkward, are all best accomplished on a front porch.
There is a house in Rye, NY that has, over many years, been home to beloved communities of priests of The Legionaries of Christ and the lay consecrated women of Regnum Christi. It is always a delight to visit there. Warm welcomes, nurturing friendships, food for the body and abundant spiritual nourishment for the soul continue to be served up at that house. Sometimes all that goodness spills out onto the spacious, well-worn porch that wraps around it like a protective and comforting hug. Such was the case two months ago. The LC Fathers who currently serve our Regnum Christi NY Tri-state locale offered to host a “Spiritual Summer Sendoff” for our RC family and friends at their home on the afternoon of June 24th. Their hospitality would include the celebration of an outdoor Mass that “counted” for Sunday, followed by a good old-fashioned barbecue.
As the day of the event arrived, fifty guests were expected. The beautiful grounds around the home would provide ample room for gathering, socializing, relaxing, and dining al fresco. And the exciting terrain would be a bonus draw for the dozen or so children intent on running
around, jumping, climbing, and partaking in fun and games. That Saturday was warm, and the air was “hazy, hot and humid”, the perfect summer trifecta that New Yorkers who live “on the water” love to endure so they can then brag about! Thankfully, there was a light breeze, and it was comfortable. The forecast indicated a threat of rain for the late afternoon, so the decision had been made a few days earlier to have the Mass inside. It was with obvious surprise and delight that the guests, including myself, reached the landing of the porch and saw the altar set up at its far end. The familiar, comfortable, blue-cushioned porch furniture flanked the altar. Facing the altar and reaching back along most of the porch’s rail side were neat rows of attractive folding chairs, clearly placed with great care and more than a little effort. The food and drink tables, adorned with bright flowers and all the accompaniments for a feast, were set up in the shady area just beyond the chairs. As people took their seats for Mass there were smiles and gentle murmurings of contentment and gratitude. As Mass began there was standing room only for the last half-dozen people who came. As I turned around in my seat for one last look, to make sure all was well with the view from the porch, I caught a quick glimpse of a lone, faded, wooden rocking chair. It was placed nonchalantly at an angle, next to the house. It was lost from view as our priests processed reverently from their front door to the altar as we sang the opening hymn.
We were blessed to have Father Eric Nielsen, our NY Tri-state Regnum Christi Chaplain, and Father Mark Haydu and Father Francisco Sunderland as concelebrants of the Mass. Father Daniel Ray (Superior of the community) and Father Jorge Obregon were out serving elsewhere but were there in spirit. As the priests gathered around the altar, gathering us into His Word, a holy silence filled the porch space, from floorboards to eaves. In his opening remarks Fr. Eric reminded us it was the vigil Mass for the Solemnity of the Nativity of John the Baptist. He emphasized that the importance of the birth of Jesus’ cousin should not be overlooked. John the Baptist, though rarely heard from, is one of the most significant figures in the Bible. As the last prophet to the Messiah, he was indispensable to Jesus’ ministry and mission on earth, foretelling in his preaching of our salvation through the forgiveness of sins. He spent most of his life in the desert and led a relatively solitary existence. Deserts are scorching hot, harsh, and hostile but most are not completely desolate. Each has its own unique fauna and flora, with the calls and songs, gruntings and stirrings of God’s desert creations as they live and die. There is the unmistakable rush of dry wind over the sand and the thud of raindrops on hard-packed earth, even when no one is present to hear. We can’t forget that the desert is where the prophets of old walked with their trials and tribulations and heard God speak, loud and clear. Even John the Baptist could not remain completely alone in the desert. His disciples wandered in and sought him out, disrupting his “alone time” with their clamoring and shouting, begging to hear “the voice of one crying out in the desert”, to fill their ears and hearts with the promise of the Messiah. Jesus himself willingly allowed the Holy Spirit to lead him into the desert to endure the ranting temptations of the devil.
As if on cue, just as one of our Regnum Christi members took up the first reading, noise from the street rose up and filled our silence! The whooshing and rumble of passing cars and trucks, honking horns, and voices from the sports field across the way, increased to the point where it became difficult to hear the lector. People leaned forward in their seats and some of us
resorted to reading lips. In that moment there was an awareness that as Christians we very much live in this world. Our deep desire and the practices we keep to “be not of this world” will constantly be challenged. At times it will be impossible to avoid the din of everyday life, even tucked away on a secluded porch on a hill. But the Good News implores “do not be afraid”, a phrase mentioned in the Gospels once for every day of the year. We all knew the words being read that day. We had heard them so many times before, so with just a few clearly audible snippets we could put together the whole story, our story, what we needed to hear. By the time Fr. Eric reached the lectern for the reading of the Gospel, quiet returned. As the Eucharistic prayer started, I looked up and noticed a large brown hawk circling in the sky above us. Somehow the hawk caught the attention of a few others with front row porch seats, a captive audience to this impromptu show of nature’s wonder and awe. Very quickly however, everyone’s focus was forward, on the altar, eager instead for the wonder and awe of the coming to us of Christ, body and blood, through the outpouring of the Holy Spirit and the words of consecration. All too soon, the Mass was over. As we dispersed, I saw that the rocking chair had remained empty.
Within seconds of the Mass concluding, the porch erupted into joyful noise. It was a symphony of many voices, young and old greeting each other, conversing, and laughing, along with the sounds of chairs scraping, ice cubes crunching in coolers and serving spoons clinking against bowls of delicious foods. I filled my plate and turned to socialize through the crowd. It was then I noticed the rocking chair was occupied by one of our New Jersey RC sisters. She was beaming, her ebullience radiating as she served as the perfect greeter from her iconic perch, which had finally found its right purpose! Everything truly does have its own time and place under heaven, even on a porch. As the guests mingled or made their way from the porch to the lawn, I marveled at the unexpected mix of those gathered. For each familiar face of veteran RC members, Lumen couples and long-standing friends of Regnum Christi, there were new faces. Some had recently been to a healing retreat with Father Jorge Obregon, a Saturday morning of reflection with Fr. Eric or this year’s Christ the King Day celebration. The presence of so many young children and teens who seemed to be having a wonderful time was truly heartwarming. The afternoon lingered on pleasantly, no one wanting to be the first to leave.
The whole day was a beautiful reminder that Jesus Christ truly creates a “sacred space” for us whenever and wherever He draws us to himself. This can be on a crowded mountainside, walking through a wheat field, in a wave-tossed boat on a stormy sea, or on a front porch in suburban America, wherever two or more are gathered in His name. We are so blessed to belong to the Regnum Christi movement, in which opportunities to encounter Christ in grace- filled and transformative ways are abundant. As this glorious summer comes to a close, let us commit to reuniting as a faith community, a spiritual family and good friends in that special space that draws us in. The LC priests of the Rye community are again offering their home for a Fall Kick Off Opening Mass, Dinner and Fellowship on September 16th. All are welcome!
Two weeks after our summer send off, the New York Times ran an article in its real estate section on the latest architectural fad for luxury homes-the modern farmhouse. This current style of home combines a modern vibe with all the iconic external features of a farmhouse-
white boards and batten vertical siding, a stone foundation, wood beams and a covered front porch complete with swing and Adirondack chairs (no mention of rocking chairs). It was fascinating to note that the reporter had written in small print just under the article’s title a lead-in line that read, “in a divided country… a neutral color palette is the aesthetic comforting communities around the country”. [1] Of course, WE know it is “the God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction” (2 Corinthians 1:3). More importantly, on that day in June, Father Eric had reminded us that If there is one thing our Lord asks it is that we not be “neutral” or indifferent or complacent in our Faith. Father challenged us to be like John the Baptist, to commit to our faith with the tenacity of a true herald and follower of Christ. Jesus expects us to get up off our rockers! With our faith all AFIRE from what we have seen and heard, let us heed his call to bound off that porch and run to build His kingdom!
1. Kaysen,Ronda. “The Modern Farmhouse Is Today’s McMansion. And It’s Here to Stay.” The New York Times, July 7, 2023.
