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Personal Recollections of St. Sebastian’s Church

10 November 2019, Chennai: If Madhavaram sounds unfamiliar in 2019, it was literally obscure when Mr. and Mrs. Vas installed themselves there in a sizable house on a sizable piece of land with their brood of seven back in 1974. This little suburb, carefully tucked away in the north of Madras, had charmed a good number of Anglo-Indian, Malayali and Mangalorean families into moving in.

Now all of these families had Roman Catholicism in common which meant you’d have found them in their Sunday best at St. Sebastian’s Church. If not for the cross that crowned the roof, this little church, an infant among its elderly ecclesiastical cousins like St. Mary’s (Parrys), Santhome and Our Lady of Light (Mylapore), and St. Andrew’s (Vepery), could have passed for a cottage. The dwarf-church was not structurally imposing. With its bone-white walls, red-tiled roof, three blue doors and 15 brown pews, it couldn’t hold a candle to St. Mary’s with its lifelike paintings, Santhome with its neo-gothic architecture, Our Lady of Light with its miraculous history or St. Andrew’s which had already mothered three churches. Its only luxury was a circular lawn that was quartered by a cruciform footpath leading to the main entrance. Three Indian mast trees stood sentinel at the periphery of each quadrant of the lawn, shadowing four cement benches.

The Vas septet would stroll in almost daily through a revolving side-gate—the public convenience and the church’s technical institute hadn’t been erected yet—and meet the D’Montes, the Raphaels and the Binnys. While the adults made acquaintance and conversation with one another, the children gaily romped around the many Malabar plum trees or played jump rope with Fr. Paul’s girdle.

The first people to alter the demographic makeup of Madhavaram were the Burmese, most of whom occupied a sector called the Burma Camp. Linguistic preference (or proficiency) prompted some to fall under the Tamil-speaking community and others to fall under the English-speaking community. There emerged from the latter from a family of longtime residents a faithful choirmaster, Andrew David, who presented himself daily at mass where he sang and played the harmonium. The friary housed three to five Franciscan priests, among them Fr. Fidelis D’Lima, a classy intellectual who groomed ordinands for priesthood. One of his protégés, Fr. Lawrence Simon, would give the church a facelift in due time. The seating arrangement was such that nuns did not scatter themselves among the laity. The former, with the choir, occupied the left column of pews while the latter occupied the right.

By 1985, when the Catholic population had expanded significantly, Fr. Lawrence Simon was tasked with remodeling the church. The area was enlarged to accommodate 80 pews; a belfry topped with a red cross was constructed; the exterior walls were painted coral, cream and cantaloupe orange; the front wall featured a mosaic of Christ, the floor was lined with mosaic tiles; and the windows were barred with rows of iron arrows and a central bow to commemorate the manner of St. Sebastian’s execution.

I was the penultimate addition to the third generation of the Vas family—born when the world was on the cusp of a new millennium—and the last of said generation to be baptized in St. Sebastian’s. By the time of my birth, the population had burgeoned. A parish council had been established as had Basic Christian Communities. The number of choirs had multiplied. On the far end of the campus stood a technical institute.

At around this time, it became customary for each parish priest to execute a project that would enhance the religious or the overall experience of the parishioners. During his maiden stint, Fr. John Chrysostom laid a footpath and installed lampposts at the flanks; Fr. Amal Das shaded two strips immediately outside the wings of the church to provide a sitting area for surplus attendees that doubled as a waiting area for those expecting transport. Fr. Felix John Gassam erected the grotto, a staple feature of every Catholic church. When Fr. John Chrysostom returned a second time, he constructed a stage and cemented the external sitting areas. Fr. Singarayar built the much-needed adoration chapel (which, I feel, resembles a miniature Hallgrímskirkja), planted a flagpole and replaced the traditional crucifix with a mosaic of the San Damiano cross. Now God had seen all of this and He was pleased. But all that while, He had something bigger in mind. He was just waiting for a young basketballer and law student to come along. And when he did, God decided, “He’s not a Peter but I can certainly make him one. He is Simon, and upon this rock I shall build my church.” And in five years, Matthew 16:18 was fulfilled.

St. Sebastian’s Church 3.0 cannot be decisively categorized because it’s a medley of architectural styles: Classical Roman pillars, Gothic arches, Renaissance stained-glass windows, a gold-painted hemispherical dome that bears a faint likeness to Russian Orthodox onion domes, and an imitation of Brazil’s Art Deco Christ the Redeemer that will take your breath away.

Courtesy: https://driftingdandelionblog.wordpress.com/

Click here see photos: http://franciscansindia.com/list_photo/40

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