Awkwardly Seeking Solace: A Visit To Tulsa's Holy Family Cathedral
Awkwardly Seeking Solace: A Visit To Tulsa's Holy Family Cathedral
By: a.d. elliott | Take the Back Roads - Art and Other Odd Adventures
We are still rather unceremoniously wedged into this tiny, smoke-scented apartment with the animals, and a few days ago, I simply had to get out, if only for an hour. Not to fix anything, not to make progress or check a box, just to breathe somewhere that felt older and calmer than the week I was having.
Ever since we moved, I’d wanted to see the downtown cathedral, but, like so many intentions lately, it kept getting postponed. That afternoon, though, I realized I could make the noon Mass, and the decision was suddenly very easy. I gave the dog a conciliatory piece of bacon, grabbed my keys, and headed downtown in search of a little quiet.
The story of Holy Family Cathedral begins in the 1890s, when priests assigned to serve the Muscogee Nation would travel through the area to celebrate Mass for a small but faithful Catholic presence. With the permission of Muscogee elders, Bishop Theophile Meerschaert eventually established a permanent church in Tulsa. In 1899, after sufficient funds were raised, a modest wooden Holy Family church was dedicated.
Then oil was discovered.
By 1901, Tulsa’s population was exploding, and the little wooden church was quickly overwhelmed. Plans for a larger, more permanent structure were set in motion, and the present cathedral was completed in 1914, a physical testament to both faith and a rapidly changing city.
Holy Family Cathedral is built in the Gothic style, with carved wood details, stenciled walls, and soaring stained-glass windows that immediately draw the eye upward. The windows are Munich-style, produced by the Royal Bavarian Stained Glass Manufactory, and modeled after those once housed at the Royal Bavarian Art Institute, windows that were later destroyed during World War II. About a decade ago, the cathedral underwent a renovation, and the interior colors now glow with renewed brilliance.
Despite its age and gravitas, the cathedral is very much a living space. It hosts multiple Masses each day and offers confession before every service. I slipped into a pew near the middle and spent a few quiet minutes gazing at the windows, letting my mind finally slow to the pace of the room.
I was surprised by how many people filtered in for a weekday noon Mass. Just before the service began, a man rounded a pillar and sat down in the pew beside me, six feet away, but still closer than I’d expected given the lingering pandemic etiquette. I shrugged it off, assuming the cathedral must simply be fuller than I anticipated, and felt a fleeting sadness at how much calculation and distance had become second nature.
It’s always interesting to experience the subtle differences between parishes, the rhythms, the phrasing, the small local customs. At Holy Family, the Gospel Acclamation is sung by a cantor during weekday Mass. When the first notes of the Alleluia rang out, I realized two things almost simultaneously: first, that the cantor possessed a truly remarkable voice, and second, that I was sitting squarely in his seat.
Awkward.
This realization landed with the same quiet embarrassment as accidentally reading the wrong page in the missal, or choosing the one kneeler in the church that clatters loudly no matter how gently you move. Church has a way of reminding me that I am perpetually just a bit out of sync, always in the right place, but occasionally in the wrong spot.
Fortunately, it is also the kind of place where grace makes room for such things.
The cantor caught my eye, smiled, and gave a small, reassuring wave. No offense taken. No harm done. Just another gentle reminder that holiness is rarely undermined by human awkwardness, and may even be sharpened by it.
I left the cathedral lighter than when I arrived. Nothing had changed outwardly, but something had settled. Sometimes solace isn’t dramatic or profound. Sometimes it’s just sitting quietly beneath stained glass, being forgiven for occupying the wrong pew, and remembering that even in unfamiliar cities and uncomfortable seasons, there are still places where peace waits patiently.
xoxo,
a.d. elliott
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About the Author
a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller traveling through life
She shares her journeys at Take the Back Roads, explores new reads at Rite of Fancy, and highlights U.S. military biographies at Everyday Patriot.
You can also browse her online photography gallery at shop.takethebackroads.com.
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