St. Nicholas Ukrainian Catholic Cathedral

This awesome cathedral modeled after St. Sophia’s in Kiev, Ukraine has just celebrated its100th Anniversary last year. Its landmark presence with its thirteen (13) weathered green onion domes, contrast magnificently onto the skyline of the Ukrainian village community.
St. Nicholas follows the Orthodox style of worship, holds Christmas on Dec. 25^th and uses the Gregorian date for Easter (Pascha) and is under the authority of the Pope of Rome.
It is a magnificent structure inside and out, and welcomes all to peer inside and behold its beauty. Ukrainian churches are just georgeous, works of art!

The church of my childhood.
Though not my parish, I still attended mass every Friday for a very long time. I went to St. Nicholas school, down the block, and it was mandatory.
It was fine. I sang in the choir. Life was good.
This church is beautiful. If you have never been inside a highly decorative church, this will blow you away. Paintings and mosaics adorn the high marble walls. There are so many to look at, and they’re all just amazing.
Mass is in English, as well as Ukrainian, though I’m not sure what the scheduling is like. Check it out if you have time. The religious history is well worth the visit.
(Did I just Unilocal a church? So random…)

A number of years ago, my friend’s young daughter came to visit me in Chicago. This was her first visit to my apartment in the Ukrainian Village. Driving west on Chicago Avenue we made the turn north on Oakley toward Rice. Seeing St. Nicholas Cathedral for the first time, Maggie gasped, pointed, and exclaimed breathlessly, «ANASTASIA!»
I could stop right here and that would be all you’d need to know. In one word Maggie summed up the jaw dropping, don’t build’em like that anymore effect that this Byzantine-​Slavonic edifice has on you when you see it the first time. Forget the fact that Anastasia was Russian. The architecture is the story here.
The 13 copper onion domes, weathered to green, push their crosses to the sky, representing Christ and the 12 apostles. They sprout across the block-​wide expanse of multi-​tiered rooftops, so no matter where you are, you’re on tiptoes, trying to count what you cannot see, wondering, «How many are there and how far does this all go?»
All the way up to heaven, my dear.
Climbing the stairs outside the main entrance on Oakley, this nearly century old structure reveals magnificent mosaic tile. Standing in the arches of St. Nicholas, the color and feel is sublime. The steep tile roof folds itself in prayer, steeple pointing heavenward. Look over here! Along the north side of the building is a marvelous stretch of stained glass windows; when night services are held, the view from the alley is kaleidoscopic!
It’s 6:00 o’clock PM and the bells begin. Like the mourning dove’s song in a nearby tree, their hymns of hope and waiting are all in a minor key. Twenty minutes of chimes, and then quiet until the next mass, class, or something; the bells ring at the oddest times.
I live next door to St. Nicholas Cathedral. Looking out from my porch window on the third floor, Maggie sighs. The roof she couldn’t see from the street is greeting her at eye level. Want more? We climb another flight to my roof. We’re up about 4 ½ stories now, and St. Nicholas continues to rise. The Sears Tower in the distance is dwarfed by our vantage point on God’s House. Maggie says, «Wow, how many balconies does it have inside?» I know what she’s thinking. With a roof so high, there must be two or three floors above the sanctuary, with an upstairs room where the choir rehearses, classes meet, altar boys prepare, and angels commiserate.
Tomorrow I will take her inside St. Nicholas. Passing through that portal, I will witness the wonder as Maggie is swept up by the red velvet arms of a golden time machine. Spinning past the ornate adornments of a thousand Anastasian dreams, a twirling whirly ride of incense, icons, vertigo and then STOP! Speechless, her eyes will travel slowly upward, realizing there is but one floor in this sanctuary, and from it you can gaze to the very top, where streaming pins of colored light are peaking through the domes we counted from my rooftop last night. Delighted, Maggie giggles, clamps a hand over her mouth, remembering where she is. It’s okay, I tell her. I suspect God Himself giggled with delight when they built this house for Him.
Transported by the elegance and beauty of a different time and place, St. Nicholas delivers — all the way up to heaven, my dear.