St. Maurice: Compassion is their landmark

By Jim Davis - Florida Catholic

Photography: ANA RODRIGUEZ-SOTO | FC

See related stories:

• Photo essay: Art at St. Maurice at Resurrection, Dania Beach

• 'Moving' tale: St. Maurice at Resurrection carries on since 2009 merger, 2014 move

DANIA BEACH | Carol Pfeiffer was done with church. When she divorced, her pastor in New Jersey told her she was out.

But during a visit to South Florida during the 1970s, Pfeiffer's mother brought her to St. Maurice Church. She shared her story with the founding pastor.

To her surprise, Father David Russell threw his arms around her.

"No, no, sweetheart, you come to church," he pleaded. "You're not excommunicated. God loves you more than anything."

"That brought me back to church," said Pfeiffer, a former seasonal resident who has attended St. Maurice steadily since 1983. She put her two boys through religious education and serves as a lector, women's club member and volunteer office worker.

St. Maurice has embraced thousands of people, and challenges, over its five decades. They’ve cooked for the homeless and taught children to read. They’ve gone hungry to feed the poor in other lands. They’ve pioneered new forms of worship, such as praise music and liturgical dancing.

And with their move to a new neighborhood, they must embrace one more challenge.

Only the current guidelines over the coronavirus pandemic restrained the members from their habits of hugging and joining hands at their 50th anniversary celebration March 15. Instead, they bowed to each other or smiled and waved from across the room.

But the pandemic took a toll: Fewer than 250 attended a Mass that was planned for 600. Archbishop Thomas Wenski, the main celebrant, blessed them for their dedication. Then he asked for more.

"You are people of faith; you trust in the power of prayer and God’s promise," he said. "You are people of hope; you believe that God will not abandon you. And you are people of charity, and must continue to stand in solidarity with others in your community."

Msgr. Jean Pierre, St. Maurice’s pastor, led a Hail Mary for all those affected by the illness and to ask for a prompt treatment or cure. He also urged all those present to let the church know of anyone who was sick and homebound.

"We will find a way to reach out," he promised.

 

A LITTLE DIFFERENT

St. Maurice has been a little different from most parishes right from the start, when members mucked out a horse stable for the first church building (see accompanying story). Drawn together by their hard work, they dubbed themselves the "Family of the Stable."

Their women sported crosses made of horseshoe nails, welded together by two men of the church. And they drew cameras and reporters for worship led by liturgical dancers and miniskirted guitarists.

During the 1970s, St. Maurice became a local center for the charismatic movement, emphasizing praise, worship and devotion to the Holy Spirit. Attendance ran around 4,000 — often standing room only — under the second pastor, Father John Mulcahy, who served for 22 years ending in 1998.

Their exuberant singing and habit of joining hands startled people like Ellen Volpicella, who first visited in 1997.

"I said, 'Wow, this is different,'" said Volpicella, who now runs the church's St. Vincent De Paul Society. "When they exchanged peace, they really meant it. Even a stranger is made to feel welcome."

St. Maurice gained notice also for its many projects against hunger. A special committee aided 24 charitable groups in lands as far flung as India, Brazil, Kenya and Jamaica.

The parishioners observed a monthly "Rice Thursday," eating sparely and giving the savings for the poor. Flea markets, Las Vegas nights and an annual country fair also boosted the church's giving power.

The men's club, too, burst with energy: golf tournaments, dinner-dances, pancake breakfasts, all to raise funds for benevolence. They also gave blood and counseled alcoholics and troubled youths.

St. Maurice has had its own troubles, too. One of its pastors left in 1999 under abuse accusations from a previous parish, and hundreds of members left. More departed after 2002, when auditors found about $855,000 had been stolen. Insurance covered the loss, but the damage to morale was harder to revive.

The church faced other stresses in its merger with Resurrection in 2009. Despite a big welcome service, most of the Resurrection parishioners left, put off by the effusive St. Maurice style. Many went to the more traditional Little Flower Church to the south, or St. Jerome to the north.

Attendance now runs 500-600 during the tourism season. But St. Maurice faces yet another hurdle: lack of visibility at its new home, a residential area on a two-lane road east of U.S. 1. Visitors are less common, and many original members have aged, died or moved away. But the church retains its diversity, with Spanish-speaking Latinos and French-speaking Quebecois, plus a couple of Haitian families.

For the remaining members, their faith and personal bonds have helped sustain them.

 

'MAKE IT BETTER'

"[The scandals] never made me not want to go — they made me want to fix it, turn it around, get beyond it, make it better," Volpicella said. "Although two bad things happened, there are still a lot of good people there who do good work."

Jim Cavnar, in fact, has become more involved over the last decade, organizing parish retreats and speaking to adult converts to the Church.

"I viewed the scandal as well, these things happen," said Cavnar, also president of the charity Cross Catholic Outreach. "There is still a strong sense of community, and years of love and service. Those are the kind of people I want to be with."

The parishioners still find ways to serve. Maria DiBenedetto, the head chef, cooks for the Share-A-Meal program — up to 100 people at a time — for the Broward Outreach Center in Hollywood. She also cooked meatless soups for the Fridays of Lent.

Other activities have included:

• Giving away 45 bags of food, as well as socks and other items, to the homeless who come to the parish hall on Thursdays.
• Teaching lessons in Bible and conversational English to immigrants at a trailer park.
• Sending food and diapers for the Bahamas, hit hard in 2019 by Hurricane Dorian.
• Throwing an annual luncheon and toy collection for children who suffer from AIDS.

Joanne Leahy, president of the hunger program at St. Maurice, can still say: "Compassion is a landmark of the church."

Nor are St. Maurice members themselves ignored. Helen Aguila, who helps in the feeding program, said she nearly died from the H1N1 flu two years ago.  Parishioners supplied a steady stream of prayers, visits, Holy Communion, and rides to doctors and grocery stores.

"These people are awesome," said Aguila, a 15-year parishioner. "They're so caring and giving. Family."

For building membership, Msgr. Pierre has been leaving cards and introducing the church to managers at nearby hotels. He notes that some people come to Mass dragging suitcases, en route to or from flights or cruises.

He reinforced that need at the 50th anniversary Mass.

"Many new families are moving into our neighborhood," Msgr. Pierre said, calling it a "big, big, big, huge mission": Going door to door to welcome people and invite them to church.

St. Maurice's members clearly embrace the mission as strongly as they do each other — and whomever may walk through the doors.

"Even though the structure is not there anymore, it still has a family feel," said Volpicella. "The Family of the Stable."