Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish 25TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION

November 1, 1992 to November 1, 2017

Contents Page

Message from Bishop Zubik 5

Mother Seton by Janet McKenzie 7

Triptych of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton by Eric Armusik 10

Reliefs: “Widowing…” and “Revelation…” 12

Pietà by Frank DeAndrea 16

Pipe Organ 19

St. Cecilia by Ralph LeCompte 20

St. Maximilian Kolbe & the Holocaust 22

Windows of the Former St. Ignatius Church 23

Former Holy Souls Church 24

Former Immaculate Conception Church 26

Former St. Joseph Church 27

New Statuary & Window Extensions 28

Sanctuary Furnishings of the Former St. Luke Church 31

Other Articles 32

In Memoriam 34

MOTHER SETON by Janet McKenzie

At left you see the painting Mother Seton, commissioned for St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church.

The artist is Janet McKenzie, a native New Yorker now living in Vermont. She studied at the Fashion Institute of Technology and the Art Students League in New York City. She has devoted her life to the imagery of women, and for the past twenty years has attended also to ethnic diversity and children. Janet McKenzie’s painting, “Jesus of the People”, was selected winner of the National Catholic Reporter’s competition for a new image of Jesus at the Millennium by judge, Sister Wendy Beckett, art historian and BBC television host. In the words of Sister Wendy, “This is a haunting image of a peasant Jesus – dark, thick-lipped, looking out on us with ineffable dignity, with sadness but with confidence. Over His white robe He draws the darkness of our lack of love, holding it to Himself, prepared to transform all sorrows if we will let Him.”

The painting was first unveiled at Carlow University, in connection with a university project on feminine spirituality. Below is Fr. David Poecking’s statement from the unveiling.

Three years ago, I buried a young man, Joseph, only twenty years old. I recall Joseph lying in his casket, especially his facial features—unmistakably Native American, even emphatically so. He looked every inch the Native Peruvian he was, adopted from an orphanage there while still a toddler. We don’t know much about Joseph’s infancy. He may have been well cared-for in his orphanage, but it is easy to speculate otherwise. As Joseph aged, he displayed symptoms of serious mental and emotional illness, not entirely manageable by Joseph or his family or his physicians. Joseph’s struggle with his very hard feelings was never fully successful. His mother Carol says that among other pains, Joseph suffered from an acute self- consciousness about his racial background. Joseph felt his Native American features alienated him from other youth. He most closely identified with African-Americans because of their special experience of the link between race and social condition. Joseph’s struggle was compounded by his perception that other children and youth were happy in a way he couldn’t appreciate. Their smiling faces, the upbeat music in

7 church, the facile promise of fun and friendship—all these things made Joseph feel he didn’t belong. Carol speaks touchingly of one of the last acquaintances in Joseph’s life—an older man named Steve. Steve is an African-American with hard patches in his own life history, and so he’s learned something about grace and godly hope. Steve shared his hard-earned spiritual wisdom with Joseph. Joseph ultimately succumbed to his various illnesses, but before he died Steve helped Joseph experience a hope that transcended his bitter moods—a hope beyond hope, as St. Paul described it. A little more than a year after Joseph’s death, Carol was advising me on artworks for the new St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church in Carnegie. Janet McKenzie had submitted a proposal for a portrait of Mother Seton. Carol was immediately attracted to McKenzie’s commitment to racial inclusion—important for Joseph’s sake—but the attraction ran deeper than race and skin color. Carol, the mother of an unhappy son, saw the respectful gravity with which McKenzie paints her subjects—without any trace of artificial happiness, but instead with a sincerity and sometimes ambiguity that Joseph might have liked. When McKenzie paints joy into her figures, even her children, it is not a superficial joy ignorant of sorrow, but a mature joy that knows the truth of human suffering. You see the portrait of Mother Seton that Janet McKenzie painted for St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church. The artist deserves all the praise she has received for the warm realism of her figures, for her creative and inviting palette, for her sensitive portrayal of race, and for her insight into femininity; all these virtues are well represented in her painting of Mother Seton. Here the racial diversity is especially important, because Mother Seton is in a certain sense the mother of American educational history. The diversity of McKenzie’s figures boasts education’s real achievements in racial, ethnic, and sexual inclusion, even as it highlights Mother Church’s promise & hope of universal reconciliation. But please notice also the traces of medieval iconography in McKenzie’s painting— Mother Seton’s formal pose and halo, her central position as the vertical axis of the painting, and the supernatural solemnity of the faces—all pointing to a godliness that transcends more superficial fortunes, misfortunes. The cluster of children forms a secondary halo around Mother Seton—a tribute to her triple sanctity as mother of her own children, mother-foundress of the Sisters of Charity, and mother-teacher to the students of her schools. These solemn forms and faces may not be as immediately accessible as a tumble of smiling, playful children. But real children have real pain as well as real joy, just as Mother Seton faced the untimely death of her mother and sister, and the break-up of her step-family, and then in adulthood the untimely death of her husband and

8 two of her daughters, and the scorn of those who resented her newfound Catholic faith. And McKenzie’s painting honors all moods. The viewer can discern joy, but sorrow, fear, curiosity, and caution are equally evident. All these feelings are subsumed under the figures’ solemn holiness. McKenzie reminds us that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is not only for those who are happy, secure, and prosperous, but also for the sad, the weak, and those who are filled with longing. McKenzie’s painting extends Mother Seton’s holy embrace to Joseph, Carol, Steve, and all God’s children.

From left to right: Fr. Dave Poecking, Janet McKenzie, Steve, Carol, & Pat at the unveiling of Mother Seton at Carlow University, September 17, 2012, for the exhibit, “Holiness and the Feminine Spirit.”

ST. ELIZABETH ANN SETON by Eric Armusik

A triptych hangs on the northwest wall of the church nave, for which it was commissioned. The center depicts St. Elizabeth Ann Seton iconically as Mother Seton, and is dedicated to the memory of Norine Jolly and William Clancy. On the left, she is shown as a young widow, becoming Roman Catholic and receiving her first Holy Communion. On the right, she is teaching children to receive their first Holy Communion. The right page is meant to embrace the saint’s dual role as the mother of her own children and also the foundress of a religious order dedicated to teaching children—the Sisters of Charity.

The artist, Eric Armusik, was born in 1973 and grew up in northeastern Pennsylvania. His first experiences of art were in churches. The traditions and academic realism of Catholic religious paintings and artwork made a permanent impression that continues to influence his work today. Eric holds a B.F.A from Penn State, with a minor in art history focusing on Baroque art. In 2010 he won the Chairman's Award for the Sixth International Art Renewal Center. He has displayed works around the world, including the Holy See in Rome. Eric is married to Gothic novelist Rebekah Armusik, and they have three children.

THE WIDOWING OF ST. ELIZABETH ANN SETON THE REVELATION OF THE VICTORIOUS CHRIST TO THE HOLY SOULS by Anna Koh-Varilla and Jeffrey Varilla

See pages 14-15. Hanging on the apse wall of the church, to the left and right of the sanctuary, are two large reliefs: The left is entitled, “The Widowing of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton,” the right “The Revelation of the Victorious Christ to the Holy Souls in Purgatory.” Chicago artists Ann Koh-Varilla and Jeffrey Varilla sculpted the reliefs. Their best-known work may be Tribute to Freedom, a large outdoor relief gracing the main entrance to Soldier Field, Chicago’s football stadium. Their commission is made possible by a donation from the Italian Sons & Daughters of America, Imperial Lodge #42, now dissolved but of happy memory for patrons of the erstwhile Holy Souls Church.

Widowing: To the left of the organ pipes, St. Elizabeth Ann Bayley holds her dying husband, William Seton. When William fell ill in 1803, they emigrated to Italy, where it was believed that the climate would heal him. Italian authorities, however, held both of them in immigrant quarantine—an offshore prison—until William was beyond hope. He died shortly after release into Tuscany. William and Elizabeth were at that time members of the new Episcopal Church in the United States, but William’s Catholic friends Antonio & Amabilia Filicchi cared for them during their suffering. Their support, including their rosary prayers for William, prompted Elizabeth’s interest in the Catholic faith. She entered the full communion of the Catholic Church after returning to the United States.

Holy Souls: At right, on Holy Saturday, while Jesus’ human body lies in the tomb, his human soul descends to “Hell.” Hell here is understood not as the place of eternal damnation, but instead as the ancient Jewish Sheol—a kind of Purgatory. There Jesus encounters the souls of all the just who preceded him in death and who, like Jesus himself, await the resurrection. These holy souls are represented by Adam and Eve, in whom sin occasioned sorrow, suffering, and death. Christ, however, reveals himself to them even in death, so that they can receive his embrace and rise with him to Heaven. (See the Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§631-635.) The rising of their souls to Heaven is intended as an allusion to the “Holy Souls” of Purgatory who await the vision of God, and hence also an allusion to the former Holy Souls Church. These two images—one of sorrow, one of joy—complement the sanctuary crucifix and Paschal Candle as images evoking the death and resurrection of the Lord and his disciples. By the composition of their figures, the reliefs subtly point to the altar as

12 the place where the mysteries of man’s suffering, death, salvation, and resurrection are celebrated. The reliefs evoke the corporal and spiritual works of mercy:

Corporal Works of Mercy Spiritual Works of Mercy

Feed the hungry Instruct the ignorant

Give drink to the thirsty Counsel the doubtful

Clothe the naked Admonish sinners House the homeless Bear wrongs patiently Visit the sick Forgive offenses willingly Ransom prisoners Comfort the afflicted Bury the dead Pray for the living and the dead

The Filicchis administered all the corporal and some of the spiritual works of mercy to William and Elizabeth. According to an ancient reflection on Holy Saturday, Jesus at his descent into Sheol administered the spiritual works of mercy to Adam and Eve and the other souls there.

Together with the new statuary, the reliefs evoke the trifold ecclesiology of Church Pilgrim, Church Suffering, and Church Triumphant: • The Church Triumphant is the fellowship of saints who already enjoy the vision of God—represented by statues of Ss. Ignatius, Mary, Joseph, Luke, and Vincent de Paul (who, with the Holy Souls image, also represent all the predecessor churches of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish). • The Church Suffering is the dead in Purgatory who are preparing for that blessed vision, represented here on the left by William and on the right by Adam and Eve. • The Church Pilgrim is the earthly Church still “on the way,” represented here by St. Elizabeth and the Filicchis, and all the worshipers at Mass.

The reliefs also include a sacramental motif. The sanctuary already contains the font and altar as the place for Baptism and Eucharist, but these anchor sacraments are echoed in the reliefs by the waters of Italy to the left, and the soul of the crucified Christ to the right. The Setons, Filicchis, and Adam and Eve suggest Matrimony, while the figure of Christ again suggests Holy Orders. William’s illness reminds us of the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. The Mediterranean olive tree at the right of the Widowing frame hints not only at the oil of the sick, but also at the sacred Chrism with which Elizabeth will soon receive Confirmation. Jesus’ posture of blessing and absolution in relation to Adam and Eve, accompanied by the fruit and serpent as tokens of their sin, invites consideration of the Sacrament of Penance.

Left: Elizabeth holds her dying husband William. They moved to Italy to try to prolong William’s life, but were held in immigrant quarantine until William was beyond hope. He died upon their release into Leghorn in Tuscany. During their suffering, William’s friends Antonio & Amabilia Filicchi ministered to them. This panel graces the upper left apse wall, above and behind the choir. Corporal works of mercy: Feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, house the homeless, visit the sick, ransom prisoners, bury the dead.

Right: Having just died on the cross, Christ’s human soul descends to the realm of the dead. There he encounters all the souls of the just—represented here by Adam and Eve— who preceded him in death. He reveals himself to them so that they can receive his embrace and rise with him to Heaven. This panel graces the upper right apse wall, above the bell tower door and baptismal font. Spiritual works of mercy: Instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, admonish sinners, bear wrongs patiently, forgive offenses willingly, comfort the afflicted, pray for the living and the dead.

PIETÀ by Frank DeAndrea

All depictions of the Pietà show the dead body of the Lord Jesus in the arms of his mother. Usually, the figures are set against what the artist imagines to be the historical Jerusalem, or in a landscape contemporary to the artist.

The version which hangs in the St. Maximilian Kolbe Room of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish detaches this image from any earthly or historical setting and instead fashions a context of nebulous lines and orbs, evocative of outer space. The artist seems to suggest the cosmic importance of the image—that the death of the Lord Jesus and the grief of his mother condition all time and space, and perhaps transcend even these.

The artist, Frank DeAndrea, was born and raised in the Bloomfield neighborhood of Pittsburgh. He served in the US Navy during World War II and graduated from the Art Institute of Pittsburgh before studying painting and design at Carnegie Tech.

He painted the murals for many churches, including—at no charge—the interior of the former Holy Souls Church, Carnegie. He accepted commissions for many private and professional portraits, and directed advertising and commercial art at advertising firms, including Marsteller Inc. and Jay Reich Inc. in Pittsburgh, and became a partner at the latter until his retirement in 1987.

He died in 2006, survived by six sons, one of whom is St. Elizabeth Ann Seton parishioner Mark DeAndrea.

From the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, October 8, 2012, “Church Fair in Carnegie,” by Bob Podurgiel:

The late Frank DeAndrea of Fox Chapel was noted for his generous spirit and easygoing manner, and the same could be said for his son, Mark.

Mark DeAndrea, a Scott resident and parishioner at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton parish in Carnegie, recently donated to the parish one of his fathers' paintings -- a modern interpretation of the Pieta, the Renaissance

sculpture of Mary and Jesus by Michelangelo Buonarroti.

"I wanted more people to be able to see the painting," said Mr. DeAndrea of his father's work, which now hangs in the St. Maximilian Kolbe Room at the church.

"My father was a good man who was very generous to many people. He also painted a lot of portraits of priests," said Mr. DeAndrea.

At the request of a benefactor, the pipe organ is dedicated to “my mother, a musician.” 18

PIPE ORGAN

The origin of the pipe organ lay in ancient Greece. Used in outdoor events and ceremonies, it remained popular throughout the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. In the eighth century, pipe organs began to find homes in cathedrals and churches, where through their immense size and sonic capabilities, they called worshipers’ attention to the majesty of God. After more than a millennium of liturgical use in Western Christianity, the pipe organ is nearly inseparable from Western ecclesiastical culture, and numerous popes have praised its usefulness and propriety. Indeed, the Second Vatican Council stated, “In the Latin Church the pipe organ is to be held in high esteem, for it is the traditional musical instrument which adds a wonderful splendor to the Church's ceremonies and powerfully lifts up man's mind to God and to higher things.” The organ for St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish was built in 2012 by Patrick Murphy & Associates of Stowe, Pennsylvania, part of a long, illustrious tradition of organbuilding fostered by the Church. It's a three manual and pedal instrument comprised of 28 ranks (sets) of pipes, totaling 1422 in all. The longest pipes, in the Pedal division, are sixteen feet long, and the shortest roughly the size of a pencil. The console, where the organist plays, is newly constructed of the finest materials and utilizes the latest technological advances in organbuilding, tailored to harmonize with the rest of the ecclesiastical architecture in the church. Like most organs built today, the design of the instrument reflects influences from a variety of organbuilding periods, but maintain a distinctly American flavor. The organ is voiced to have a full and rich sound, with variations of color provided by a number of reed stops. Together, the stoplist and voicing of the instrument make it well-suited for the special demands of liturgical organ playing—i.e., improvisation and the accompaniment of congregational and choral singing. Additionally, the disposition of the organ enables it to play a considerable portion of the vast body of organ literature written over the past 500 years. As one of the finer liturgical and concert instruments in the region, it has drawn the attention of organists, teachers, musicians, and organbuilders throughout the region. In an age when dedication to quality and beauty is often lacking in society, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish has, in the rebuilding of its worship space, made a conscious decision to follow the example that the Church has set since Her inception, offering God the very best of our work and art.

—Nicholas Will Director of Music & Lay Liturgical Ministries St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish

SAINT CECILIA by Ralph LeCompte

Fr. David Poecking’s commentary, as published in The Liturgical Singer (Volume 14:1):

In an office hallway in the new St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church hangs a portrait of St. Cecilia. The painting by artist and Catholic school principal Ralph LeCompte portrays Cecilia as a voluptuous woman holding a banner of musical notation—the first bars of the Notre Dame fight song, Victory March.

The image elicits mostly clouded remarks from passersby. “She looks biracial.” “The artist forgot Cecilia was a virgin.” “I wouldn’t want my husband near her.” “She’s just staring into empty sky.” “The Notre Dame fight song—silly!” “The moonlight halo is pietistic.” “She’s fantastically ugly.” “She’s way too sexy.”

For now, though, St. Cecilia stays on the wall. The speedy judgments irritate me, but I appreciate the ambiguity. The uncertain and negative reviews serve as a shibboleth for the reviewers’ feelings about liturgical music. Is the music too otherworldly, or too worldly? Too solemn, or too sensual?

Most of us have suffered excessively flamboyant liturgical music—say, the woman soloist in the latest mega-church auditorium, passionately heaving her chest and singing into her microphone, “Jesus, come to me! Jesus, take me! Jesus, fill me!” At the other extreme, even the most solemn monk chanting the Divine Office in Latin can garnish his chant with the subtlest tremor or flourish. His heart, though subtle, contains the same potential for self-indulgence as the mega-church soloist. So long as we offer “something beautiful for God,” we will be tempted to take more pleasure in the beauty than in God.

And the tension between solemnity and sensuality is just the beginning. Ought liturgical singing express the spirituality of the singer, or should it be carefully regulated by a prescribed text, pitch, meter, and so forth? Somehow, it must do both. Ought liturgical singing be strictly subordinate to the sacred text, or ought it add

20 something beyond the text? Again, somehow, both. Is music a gift to God, or a form of communication among worshipers? Yet again, both. Ought music be faithful to an original or even primitive tradition, or must it be adapted to the vagaries of culture and generation? You know the answer.

Until we all worship together in Heaven as the complete assembly of angels and saints, we’re not going to resolve these dialectics inherent in liturgical singing. No law will make people good; no policy will make liturgical singers into selfless lovers of God. We’ll have to settle for something less than resolution—perhaps simply a way forward, a way to live with the tension.

Ironically, the Church’s legends about St. Cecilia, thin though they be, point out a way. The stories suggest that people around Cecilia reacted to her as they do to LeCompte’s painting. Her parents saw her merely as a nubile young woman whose sexuality needed to be yoked in marriage. Cecilia’s husband, after some initial frustration, found a colorful mystery and finally faith. Her fellow Christians found in her a lofty but challenging vocation to martyrdom, while the authorities no doubt continued to think of Cecilia as a dangerously silly girl.

The Acts of St. Cecilia say that during her wedding, “she sang in her heart to the Lord alone.” So while her husband anticipated their wedding night, and her family accepted Cecilia’s cooperation with the wedding ceremony, Cecilia’s song was both bridal cooperation and something more. The holy young woman oriented herself toward God’s purposes, even while others’ purposes fell short of the divine plan. She gave herself wholeheartedly to God, but happily accompanied others so long as they did not divide her heart. Only when her husband approached her did she disclose to him her vocation to virginity; only when the authorities pressed her to renounce Christ did she fully defy them.

If Cecilia’s grace was to fold the ambitions and anxieties of her own family and her husband’s family into God’s plan, then we might do well to follow her heroic example. If others display crude taste or ignorance, let us find what good they have to offer and, in good time, teach them to offer more. If others display a manner of liturgical singing tainted by self-gratification, let us not scorn them, but instead rejoice to sing with them so long as our hearts remain undivided.

Liturgical music, like LeCompte’s Cecilia, is “biracial”—a braiding of traditions from pre-Christian Judaism, Roman antiquity, and more. Liturgical singing is the virginal Church’s worship of God, offered by men and women whose hearts are still divided, still sensual. In liturgy, worldly strains become the songs of Christ’s victory. Aware of our imperfections, let us nevertheless strive to sing in our hearts to God alone. 21

ST. MAXIMILIAN KOLBE & THE HOLOCAUST

A room at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church enjoys a statue of St. Maximilian Kolbe, the gift of His Holiness, Pope John Paul II, to the former St. Ignatius de Loyola Parish, an ethnically Polish parish.

Germany, under the government of the National Socialists from 1933 to 1945, conducted a campaign to eliminate the Jewish race and also to clear Eastern Europe for a greater population of ethnic Germans. Concentration camps were established for undesired people to be imprisoned, forced into slave labor, and executed. About 6 million European Jews and nearly 3 million non-Jewish Poles were murdered.

Fr. Maksymilian Maria (né Rajmund) Kolbe, a Polish priest and Conventual Franciscan Friar, was interned at the Auschwitz concentration camp, along with many Poles, Jews and others. One day in 1941, while looking for prisoners to execute, a camp commander selected Franciszek Gajowniczek. When Gajowniczek cried out in grief for his wife and children, Fr. Kolbe volunteered to take his place, and was ultimately executed.

St. Maximilian was canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1982.

    

“The Church, mindful of the patrimony she shares with the Jews and moved not by political reasons but by the Gospel's spiritual love, decries hatred, persecutions, displays of anti-Semitism, directed against Jews at any time and by anyone.” —Pope Paul VI, 1965

WINDOWS FROM THE FORMER ST. IGNATIUS

The former St. Ignatius Church boasted six beautiful stained glass windows depicting the life of the Lord Jesus and the blessed virgin Mary. The two photographed in situ above—the Annunciation and Pentecost—have been refitted and installed in the Immaculate Conception Chapel at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church. The others were transferred to the new Ave Maria Chapel in the Diocese of Altoona-Johnstown.

The expense of refitting and installation in Immaculate Conception Chapel was borne in tribute to parishioner Marion Mazur, now residing in a long-term care facility. Sto lat!

Archangel Michael ? St. Peter the Apostle St. Paul the Apostle

THE FORMER HOLY SOULS CHURCH The former Holy Souls Church enjoyed abundant stained glass and wood carvings, too much to include in the new church. A carving of the Holy Family (facing page) and six windows were salvaged for Holy Family Hall. To this day, no one is quite sure which windows were delivered by the designer.

St. Francis of Assisi ? St. Thomas More St. Antony of Padua?

THE FORMER IMMACULATE CONCEPTION CHURCH

Little remains from the former Immaculate Conception Church, but St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish inherited sixteen copper reliefs for her patrimony. Fourteen of these make up the tradition Stations of the Cross and are installed in Immaculate Conception Chapel, also used as a “cry room” on Sundays. One is a relief of the risen Lord Jesus, and is installed at the main entrance to the new church. The last is a relief of Pope John Paul II, now a canonized saint, and is installed in the room bearing his name, at the request of donors William & Ann Karpinski.

THE FORMER ST. JOSEPH CHURCH

Little remains also of the patrimony of the former St. Joseph Church, but this statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary was serendipitously restored to St. Elizabeth Ann Seton after the construction of the new church. As it happened, the sculptor who had been commissioned to prepare five images—the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, St. Luke, St. Ignatius, and St. Vincent de Paul—cancelled her contract, so the new church now includes this statue as the primary image of the Blessed Mother.

Restorers of the statue estimate that it was carved in Germany in 1895 and shipped to the United States specifically to be installed at St. Joseph Church, which was ethnically German.

Having this unexpected statue might prove better than the plan to have all the statues behind the altar in the sanctuary. With the Blessed Mother now below and accessible from the nave, it’s possible for brides at weddings to pay their devotions to Holy Mary, in the transition from virginity to motherhood.

NEW STATUARY & WINDOW EXTENSIONS All of the predecessor parishes are represented in the church. Two are represented by the Holy Souls relief (page 15) representing the former Holy Souls Parish and the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary (page 27) representing the former Immaculate Conception Parish. Others are represented by statuary at the altar, sculpted by the King Richard Studios: • St. Ignatius of Loyola, in memory of Eric; • St. Joseph, in loving honor of John & Alice Ann Rudzinski; • St. Luke the Evangelist, in memory of John E. “Jack” McCarty; and • St. Vincent de Paul, in memory of Michael & Antoinette Marra, Sr., and the Marra family. The expansion of the church nave for the 2011 reconstruction required the original 1881 windows to be extended by Rex Glass Studios: • in honor of the Lamonde & Bleggi families; • in loving honor of John & Evah Dry-Henich; and • in memory of Carl & Roberta Stein.

St. Ignatius of Loyola St. Joseph

St. Luke the Evangelist St. Vincent de Paul

SANCTUARY FURNISHINGS OF THE FORMER ST. LUKE CHURCH

On November 7, 1982, then-pastor Fr. Michael MacVeigh completed a renovation of the former St. Luke Church, which included a new ambo, altar, tabernacle altar, and baptismal font made of Connemara marble from County Galway, Ireland, and carved by Dave Korns. These furnishings were salvaged after the 2004 flood and have been reconsecrated and included in the new St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church.

No matching chair was available, so in 2011 Patricia Schirripa of PHS Office Solutions, providing interior design services during the construction of the new church, explored possibilities. She was able to take the marble feet of the 1982 baptismal font and re-carve them into the legs and seats of the new priest’s and deacon’s chairs for the sanctuary. The Knights of Columbus Council #11143 paid for the necessary stone and marble-work.