ST. LOUIS (MO)
Patch
John Hoffmann
During the rehearsal for my wife’s wedding back in 1981 (I learned early on it was her wedding, I was just an attendee) the priest shook his head and walked over to my best man (a county judge with an Irish last name) and then me.
The priest informed us quietly, in his Irish brogue, that we were what he called Roaming Catholics. It’s that we had roamed so far from the church that we no longer even knew when to kneel or stand during mass.
He had a point. Before and after my marriage, about the only time I attended Mass was for a wedding or a funeral, both usually involving cops.
Then in late 2005, just before we moved back to St. Louis from the Washington, D.C. area, I read and followed with interest the story of St. Stanislaus Kostka Church.
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