Sacred Heart

For the last decade, Lisa Wittmeyer has come to know Sacred Heart and Ascension Parish as her home church, and she is not about to give it up easily, she says.

Although the Catholic Diocese of Buffalo had issued orders to close the parish in November, Friends of Ascension filed an appeal -- and are "packing the mass" --to stall that measure in an effort to remain open permanently. 

“We had written the first appeal, and the time expired for the bishop to answer, and we have 10 to 15 days for the next appeal … we are to file that next week.  We are still packing the mass; there’s one mass at noon on Sunday, the worst possible time, but there’s 200 in attendance; it’s been standing room only,” Wittmeyer said Thursday to The Batavian. “We’re still supporting the church, we just had a bake sale, we’re still hosting Bingo. We do have a lot of revenue, we were very fiscally responsible with our money. Right now we are kind of in a wait-and-pray; they can’t close us while we’re in appeal. We’re doing what we can to ‘Pack the Mass. We’re wearing the buttons.”

Almost immediately, the Friends of Ascension was formed after the Diocese began announcing local closures, which originally did not include Sacred Heart. Once that Southside parish was placed on the chopping block, members rallied to form the group and began to file paperwork for a nonprofit organization.

They wanted to ensure that mass and church events were continued to be supported, which has included faith formation for kids and adults, although it has mostly been kids in attendance, getting them ready for their sacraments, Wittmeyer said. 

“We’re still doing holy communion, baptisms, weddings, funerals, all of that is till going on,” she said. 

Confirmation class is part of church school for grades two through 11, and includes penance, communion and confirmation, so nothing is getting lost in the shuffle of the Diocese and appeal actions, she said. 

As a child, Wittmeyer attended St. Joseph’s School and Church. After graduating from high school, she eventually moved to her father’s home parish, St. Anthony’s. It was there that she got married and had her boys baptized, so she has already experienced the closure of a church that meant something to her and many other members. 

Wittmeyer then discovered Sacred Heart and doesn’t want to see this gem close or go back to St. Joe’s, she said. 

“As long as we are in the appeal, they cannot close us. The surprising part was, we were not on the chopping block, that’s the surprising part, it wasn’t part of the original plan … (and later) they said then why not close Ascension, and we can go to Resurrection, which is St. Joe’s. But we’re two very different churches. St. Joe’s doesn’t have a church hall. I think the difference in our churches is that we’re smaller, we’re very welcoming, we’re very homey, we are like a church family,” she said. “At St. Joe’s, the acoustics are horrible, it’s hard to hear in there. It’s not aesthetically pleasing … it’s not as personable as Ascension. There’s no hall to fellowship in. I don’t want to lose another church. There is room for two Catholic churches. We used to have four, so I think we can definitely have two.” 

The Diocese had given reasons of lack of financial means and participants as potential reasons for closure, both of which are not true at Ascension Parish, she said. The 4 p.m. Saturday mass was taken away, and it was “very popular,” leaving only the one Sunday mass, which people have steadfastly attended, even having to set up chairs in front when the pews fill up, she said. 

“We are using the church, supporting the church, hosting activities. We are still fighting the fight,” she said. “I have hosted for the past three years the lenten soup supper on Wednesdays. It’s open to the public, and it’s very popular. We donate the funds to different charities. I hope to do it again, and I’m sure we’ll be open through then.”

A cocoa and caroling event scheduled for Thursday was canceled due to the snow that blew in Wednesday night. Members hope to reschedule it. 

In the meantime, the second step in the appeal process is to send it on to the Holy See, which has 90 days to respond. Suppose Ascension receives a denial or no response. In that case, it can appeal to the Church's Supreme Court, the Apostolic Signatura, which follows its own regulations “in a different process that requires appellants to hire an advocate in Rome approved by the Signatura.” That means use of funds likely for an attorney to represent Friends of Ascension. There is no strict timeline or constraint for the response, and the Signatura may give extensions during this process. 

Ascension Parish is not alone with its appeal to the Diocese. St. Brigid’s in Bergen has also filed an appeal, which has kept its doors open to date. Church member John Cummings didn’t want to comment too much about that process, other than it could take a year, and that it “has to really be fought for.”

He has been more immersed in a project to bring solace to the congregation and world at large with a musical production inspired by his son Ryan, who came up with the idea in time for Christmas. 

The Cummings family formed a namesake band with family and friends 10 years ago, performing barbershop type and 50s-60s melodies, and this year Ryan suggested a more universally comforting number to embrace all that’s going on in the world today: “Let There be Peace on Earth.”

A video was recorded at St. Brigid’s with the Cummings family, including son Johnny on piano, community members, Byron-Bergen Central School music teacher Joe Paris conducting the group, and school students and alums.

“It’s just a conglomeration of people in general in the Byron-Bergen community,” the elder John said. “It’s just for everything in the world, life in general. Ryan just thought it would be a great song to do right now. They used the church to do it; it gave a beautiful background.”

The Cummings Family and Friends band performs annually and invites the community to attend, whether it’s at their home or at the Bergen park.

Around 1915, my father's family moved from Mendon, New York, to Batavia. My grandparents, James D. and Catherine Nussbaumer Reilly, raised five children at 27 Cedar Street in the east end of town. My grandfather was a railroad man ( Workin' On The Railroad,The Batavian, 11/20/2020), so the house they purchased was directly next to the four lines of the New York Central.

The family was Catholic, so they attended St. Joseph's Church on East Main Street, and the children attended St. Joseph's School. The Reverend T. Bernard Kelly was the administrator of the church and school and, for some reason, passed my father ahead two grades, so he ended up graduating from Batavia High School at the age of 15. He always regretted this as he later realized he was too young and immature to be a high school grad. Well-known Batavia newspaper columnist Dan Winegar even wrote a story about it.

My dad and his family continued to be parishioners at St. Joseph's, and in 1944, when he was an officer in the Army Air Corps, he and my mom were married there with Father Kelly as the officiant. My mother had grown up as a non-practicing Protestant but converted to Catholicism when she married my dad.

Switching Churches
I was born in 1947 and after a year of renting an old mill house at Seven Springs my parents bought a house on Thomas Avenue more toward the west end of the city. This area was in St. Mary's Church Parish and when it started an elementary school in 1952 that sealed the deal for us to change churches and we stayed as congregants of that Church at least until I graduated from the school following 8th grade in 1960.

St. Mary's Church is on Ellicott Street near the corner of Evans. It was built there and opened in 1907. Msgr. Edward Ferger became the pastor of St. Mary's in 1939, and around 1950, he decided to proceed with his idea to start a Catholic High School in Batavia and build an elementary school for the Church on the same property.

Land was purchased on Union Street, which parcel went through to Woodrow Road, and in 1952, Notre Dame High School opened there. St. Mary's Elementary School was being constructed next door to the high school, so for the first two years of its existence, the grammar school held classes in the basement of Notre Dame. 

In 1954, St. Mary's School officially opened in its own building with 8 classrooms and a combination Gym/lunchroom. One difference between St. Mary's and the other 3 Batavia Catholic schools was that the church and school were approximately a mile apart, while St. Joseph's, St. Anthony's and Sacred Heart were adjacent to the churches. This led to some interesting situations, which will come up later in my story.

I went to St. Mary's for first and second grade in the basement of Notre Dame ( I had attended Kindergarten at the public Washington School) and then moved to the new building for Grade 3 and continued there until I graduated from eighth grade on moved on to the Catholic high school.

In 1957, we moved to North Spruce Street on the east end of town, but my parents agreed to let me finish grades 6, 7, and 8 at St. Mary's, even though it caused some transportation problems. However, my three-year-younger brother Dan, who was just starting third grade, transferred to the closer St. Joseph's on Summit Street.

Serving At St. Mary's
Those readers who are Roman Catholic know that in the past, young boys, usually in their early teens, were chosen as altar servers, and their duties were to assist the priests with the Mass ( Catholic service) and also to aid in other church ceremonies, especially weddings and funerals. As time passed and some traditions changed girls were allowed to assist the priest. Today, with the shortage of priests and Catholic schools it is often an adult who assists the celebrant.

I don't recall why I was chosen to be an altar boy at St. Mary's in the seventh and eighth grade, but I'm positive it wasn't for my stellar academics or outstanding behavior ( I wasn't a bad kid, but if you've read some of my previous stories you know I could be mischievous). It could have had something to do with some pushing ( both of me and the priests) by my mom, who was very active in the church and school. At one point, she was president of the school “ Mother's Club,” which was St. Mary's equivalent of the PTA ( weren't dads involved in the school back then?) She also worked in the lunchroom.

In those late 1950's years the priests at St. Mary's were the older Monsignor David Cahill who had been born in Ireland and still had a bit of a brogue and a younger Father George Brennan. Most , if not all , of my my altar boy duties were with one or the other of them. Both priests were regular visitors to the school also.

As has been the case with many of my stories, for some reason, I tend to remember the humorous and odd incidents rather than the regular and mundane events that others do. The same is true with my altar boy days.

Altar Boy Escapades
One thing that will always be a mystery is why I almost passed out a number of times while serving Mass. It always happened while kneeling (almost the entire service) and usually before Communion time. I would start getting dizzy and lightheaded, break out in a sweat and would have to exit the altar. I would go through the sacristy ( the room where the priests and servers would get ready for the service), down the stairs, and then I would sit outside in the fresh air with my head between my legs. After about five minutes, I would start feeling better and could return to the altar.

My suspicion is that it was a combination of not eating ( back then, you had to fast before Communion) and the position my body was in while kneeling. Almost always, there were two altar boys, so my leaving briefly didn't really have any effect on the service. I know the priests asked me several times if I was okay and the odd thing is that it never has happened to me at any other time in my life. Of course, unless you install carpets or something, most people don't spend much time kneeling. ( That time you felt faint while proposing to your wife was probably for other reasons).

I am not a gambler, but I would bet that anyone who was an altar boy sampled some of the Sacramental wine at some point. There have been movies which depicted boys making off with a bunch of the wine and getting sloppy drunk , but I'm pretty sure that's exaggerated. I personally thought it tasted like watered down cough medicine when my friends and I snuck a sip or two.

Even though weddings usually took place on a Saturday morning we altar boys were glad to assist at them even though it was our weekend off from school. The reason was that it was a tradition for us to receive an envelope with some cash in it from the bride and groom for our service. I think it was usually $5, but in 1959 or 1960, that was a lot of money for a 12 or 13-year-old. I could buy a bunch of candy and some packs of baseball or football cards with that. I wish I had an exciting wedding story like the ending of the movie The Graduate, but the best I can do is the Best Man dropping the ring when he goes to hand it to the Groom.

Unless you were an altar boy you might be surprised that we liked funerals. No we weren't macabre, ghoulish or unfeeling. And we only liked them on school days. That was because we got out of school to go assist at the funeral mass. If the weather was nice enough we got to ride our bikes too because as I mentioned earlier the church was about a mile from the school.

Being 12 and 13-year-old boys, we took full advantage of this perk. At least until we got caught. When the funeral was over we took our sweet time getting back to school. Of course, our bike tires were low on air, so we had to stop at the gas station nearby to fill them up. Then we had to take a detour off West Main by crossing the Walnut Street bridge over the Tonawanda Creek and riding down South Main to recross the South Lyon Street bridge. Naturally we were scientifically curious so on both bridges we had to stop and study the flowing creek for signs of wildlife and observe the water flow.

Once we got back to West Main we were pretty tired and thirsty from our excursion so we might stop at Peters Delicatessen for a bottle of pop ( when I got to college at St. John Fisher I was made fun of by downstaters who insisted it was called soda). My favorite was Vernor 's “Va-Va Voom” Ginger ale. Finally we would arrive back at school just in time for lunch.

This was all great fun until Msgr. Cahill had some business at the school after a funeral and beat us back there by about an hour. We got a pretty good tongue-lashing, including some words in his Irish brogue that might have been a bit “off-color.” From then on, we were transported to and from the church in one of the priest's cars.

Speaking of getting lectured, there was another occasion that shows how immature 12—and 13-year-old boys can be. It was at a funeral, I think, for an elderly person, so fortunately, there weren't many attendees. A few of us got the giggles over something. You know, the kind where you should not in any way be laughing, but once you start, you can't control it? The Monsignor let us have it after the funeral was over, and we deserved it.

The final instance I can recall of getting berated by a priest as an altar boy I don't think was warranted at all. The Reverend ( I don't recall which one) was dispensing Holy Communion. My job was to walk next to him and place the paten (a gold plate) under the communicant's chin so the Eucharist ( a thin wafer also called the Host) wouldn't fall as it was placed on the person's tongue.

As Father reached into the Ciborium, a container that held the Hosts ( I never knew it was called that until I looked it up for this story), he dropped one on the floor. Out of reflex, I bent to pick it up. “Don't you dare touch that," he roared. “That's the Body of Christ”! Whoa! I thought a lightning bolt would come down and zap me into a million pieces. The person about to receive communion's mouth dropped open.

As the priest picked it up, my face must have turned 10 shades of red. I was so embarrassed in front of all the people.

Wouldn't something like, “ Dave, I got that, only priests are allowed to touch the Eucharist” have been kinder? He never said anything about it after Mass, either. And by the way, at today's Communion the people receiving it are allowed to indicate that the priest should place it in their hands so they can put it on their own tongue if they'd rather. You can file that with fasting, eating meat on Friday , girls being altar servers and some others under the category “ Once Forbidden Things That Aren't Any More”.

Herding Cats
One of my previous stories ( Bad Habits at St. Mary's School: the nuns who wore them, Kids Who Learned Them Aug. 8, 2019) detailed my elementary school career from grades 1-8. However I wanted to add a couple experiences which involved traveling to the church which, again, was a mile away.

I was a 5th and 6th-grade teacher for 32 years, and in that time, I took some classes on walking trips to nearby destinations in the City of Rochester, such as a movie theater, the Memorial Art Gallery, and The Rochester Museum and Science Center. So, I know that walking a bunch of kids somewhere takes patience and organization, such as enlisting parents to act as chaperones. But I never had to walk a mile wearing a habit and a pair of “nun shoes,” as we used to call them. Also, my classes usually had about 25 students, not the 45 or 50 that the nuns had to deal with at St. Mary's.

On occasion, the nuns would walk us to the church if practice was required for something which couldn't be duplicated at the school, such as May Crowning or the Confirmation ceremony. This required walking on Woodrow Road to West Main Street and the a pretty long trek down Main to the intersection at Dellinger Avenue/Walnut Street where we would cross at the traffic light and continue on the South side of Main past the E. N. Rowell Box Factory to Ellicott St. and then to the church.

I'm not sure how the girls behaved during these excursions on foot, but most of the boys would amuse themselves by slapping each other in the back of the head, trying to give each other “wedgies,” and other assorted childishness. If the nun happened to spot this misbehavior, you might end up walking with her, grasping you by the hand. This, of course, would subject you to ridiculing and snickers from the other guys. 

On one occasion, when whatever we were practicing for was done and it was time to head back to school, I hatched a plan to avoid the walk. Of course, it was foolish, but that fact evaded my thinking until later. As we exited the church, I quickly ducked into an alcove beneath the long front steps ( on a recent stop at the church, I found that it must have been filled in years ago). I stayed there until everyone was long gone and then walked home stupidly, chuckling to myself how clever I had been.

Of course, when the class got back to school, Sister noticed I was missing and called my mother. In addition to the lecture and punishment I got from Mom, I had to deal with the teacher in school the next day. What was I thinking? To paraphrase Scottish poet Robert Burns, “ The best laid plans of mice and (young boys) oft go awry.”

One non-church trip we hiked on was to the Dipson Theater on Main Street to see the movie The Song Of Bernadette. It was made in 1946 so the Catholic Schools must have arranged with the theater to show it for the students. The film is about a young French girl who claims that The Blessed Mother appears to her in a cave at a place called Lourdes. Then Bernadette digs with her hands in the ground, and water bubbles up, which people claim heals them from afflictions. I don't remember much of the film specifically, but I do recall my friends, and I were upset that the concession stand was not open for us to get popcorn and Junior Mints. The nuns probably wished for a miracle of their own to get us to be serious about something.

Recently I learned that Saint Mary's Church closed for good this past August ( the school has been gone since the early 2000s). Even though a lot of my memories are of silly and humorous situations that happened to or because of me there, I realize that many people have very fond recollections of the beauty of the church and baptisms, first communions, confirmations, weddings and funerals. Also, it was , like other churches, a gathering spot for dances, bingo and other social events, which brought parishioners together as a community. St. Mary's legacy will live on in those peoples' hearts and minds for as long as they live.

Photos courtesy Dave Reilly

The history of Sacred Heart Church began in 1904 when Reverend Peter Pitass was assigned to organize a new parish that would serve the Polish people on the south side of Batavia. 

Father Pitass bought a house on the corner of South Jackson Street. The first floor was rebuilt into a sanctuary, and the second floor was a residence for the priest. A barn was rebuilt for the school. 

The parish grew and needed a new home. 

In 1917, the Church moved to the corner of Sumner Street and Swan Street. He purchased about half an acre of land on that corner from Edward Suttell, enough for a church, a school and a social hall. 

Building materials were so expensive the parish built only the basement. That was then used as a church until a better one could be built. 

Starting in December 1928, Reverend Stanislaus Cichowski served as pastor for the next 26 years. 

During March 1942, Tonawanda Creek rose in the worst flood in Batavia's history. The Church was underwater for weeks, destroying everything except the cement foundation. Reverend Alexander Jankowski succeeded Father Cichowski in building and rebuilding the Church and school. 

In 1954, Reverend Leo Smith blessed the cornerstone of the Church, which was to be built on the foundation that had been in place since 1915. 

In 1966, the congregation burned the mortgage they had taken out to fund the Church and surrounding buildings. 

There was also a large open play area to hold Sacred Heart’s Lawn Fete in July. 

In 1974 the school closed, and the parish men built a large social hall on the north side, transforming the former school building into the Sacred Heart Community Center. 

The little Church that took many years to build is now facing the last chapter of its life as the doors will be closed permanently.  

When this happens to your church, you lose the memories of baptisms, Holy Communions, Confirmations, weddings, anniversaries, and funerals. 

One memory I will always treasure was going to Mass with my father-in-law, Henry Starowitz. I was so proud to walk down the aisle with him. By this time, he was legally blind, but somehow, he would stop at every pew and say hello to a fellow parishioner. He counted the pews. 

Sacred Heart is my church. 

My Mass was at 4 p.m., and I always sat in the pew near the Paul Starowitz stained glass window. That is where my mother-in-law and father-in-law sat. Most people had a pew they called their pew.

Sacred Heart Church was where I would sit in front of my friend, often called St. Patty. I always looked forward to seeing her at Mass. I would go to the Sacred Heart Statue and light my weekly candles with a Peca-Starowitz tag on my candle. 

This church was where our grandchildren were baptized. 

The Easter season was when, years ago, a life-sized statue of our lord was laid out on its side during the Easter Vigil. I have to admit that it was a little scary, especially for our daughters. 

We loved the Sacred Heart Lawn Fete because it was a lawn fete run by the parishioners. It featured a golumpki dinner, waffles, Polish and Italian sausage, and the best beer tent. My father-in-law was always in the garage, in charge of the money. 

Since I live on the south side, I am privy to hearing the real church bells ring five minutes before and on the hour. I tried to imagine that years ago, those bells called churchgoers to church.

I am writing to ask the parishioners to share their memories of the little church on the south side of Batavia. The one thing we all have in common is the sadness we feel. Sacred Heart Church was just remodeled; financially, it is a secure church. Today, I went by the church to take a picture of my church, and a gentleman was mowing the lawn. He looked at me and asked me to hold on; he would move so I could take a picture. 

I say this with tears in my eyes and sadness in my heart. Goodbye, Sacred Heart; our loss saddens our hearts. 

No one knows the church’s fate and the surrounding building, except we will not have our church on Sumner Street as our church.