Sacred Heart Church

I’ve been churning the idea of this church around in my head since I my pop dragged me to a Saturday-​evening service recently. I just can’t find the right word to describe it (and I won’t be rating the mass/​congregation/​priest, because I think that’s tacky, and that God might just strike me down).
The church itself doesn’t have the overwhelmingly awe-​inspiring quality that, say the San Francisco Xavier mission in Arizona does, or several of the chapels in San Francisco. Or even the Cathedral downtown.
It’s not gorgeous, although it is beautiful with bright stained-​glass windows.
It’s not rustic, or country charmy, although you might think so because it’s relatively small and has a few tones of blue paint behind the altar.
It’s not epically classic, but it has huge, conical, vaulted ceilings, with small pillars, and the shrines to the saints and the Virgin Mary near the altar are reminiscent of the sharply towering statues and architecture of Notre Dame.
It’s not retro, despite the fact that the enormous and intricately carved Stations of the Cross cover the walls, along with a marble plaque commemorating a priest who presided over the congregation from 1905 to 1947.
And it’s not cerebral or fancy or ornate, but the humble white church sits atop a small hill, with spiraled cement stairs leading to its doors.
There really aren’t any words to describe this church, although it is, most definitely, peacefully sacred.