Anyone driving down Business US Hwy 53 past St. Pius Catholic Church in Solon Springs can, without too much difficulty, tell when something is going on by merely observing the parking lot.

A conglomeration of iron from Japan, Germany, and Detroit plus a motorcycle or two gathered toward the south end on a Thursday evening, would probably be an indication that the softball buffs have their bats and gloves at the ready, awaiting that magic swing that will make their return to the field a happy one. An occasional quick comment to St. Jude or St. Rita or any other favorite saint may be heard, along with at least a thankful glance heavenward by the winning team. The departure from the parking lot is generally smooth and orderly, the occupants of most vehicles still basking in the glory of good fun, good food, and good fellowship.

On Saturdays, if the parking area closest to the church is full of newly washed cars, the male of the species dressed in suits and ties, the ladies garbed in party plumage, and children in "Sunday Go to Meeting" outfits, one can well assume a wedding is in process. The solemnity of the occasion is usually tempered with an air of joy for the newly married couple. When the vows have been spoken and the celebration concluded (for the attendees, not the participants), the exit from the parking lot is conducted with exuberance and exultation befitting the occasion. Such a departure might be frowned upon in a staid society, but greatly endorsed by the citizenry of Solon Springs.

On Sundays, not even the most cynical among the passersby can ignore the fact that the Catholics of the community are fulfilling their Sunday obligation of attending mass as they have for some 2000 years. Cars disgorge occupants in the early morning mist as the faithful gather to pay homage to their God. Parking lot protocol is usually not a concern, unless the Packers are scheduled to take on the Vikings. Thoughts of who will grab the best seat in front of the TV to indulge in an afternoon of enjoyment watching whatever happens to be the sport of the season may be on the minds of most of the males, while at least a few wives may be grimly resigned to their Sunday afternoon duties of providing chips, dips and liquid refreshments to the sports fans. Others may choose to hit the mall in a neighboring town in a blatant show of independent spirit and disassociation from their couch potato counterpart. Perhaps it is a good thing that the eyes of the Saturday morning brides may not be fully open and aware of the potential stagnation of Sunday afternoons during the sports season. Again, this may be more true in the urban areas of our great country. The ladies of Solon Springs more likely have grown up with the sports scene, and in some cases, beat their husbands to the recliner on a Sunday afternoon.

At other times of the week, the parking lot is witness to various activities of parish activities, with cars parked in close proximity to the area of action. From time to time, the highway patrol or a sheriff's car might be found in the lot, the driver simply seeking a quiet spot to complete the writing of a report or just to reflect on the difficulty of their job, enjoying a quiet respite in their busy day while contemplating on the wonders of the northland from under a shady tree in the peaceful parking lot of St. Pius.

Of all the church activities throughout the year, perhaps the most well attended on the liturgical calendar is the celebration of Easter, and the parking lot gives ample evidence to the fact. It is filled to overflowing, and the morning mass is followed by an event causing the thrills and chills of the Indy 500 to pale in comparison.

The "Indy" traditionally starts with the intonation of "Gentlemen, start your engines", and often ends with twisted metal and broken bodies. The "St. Pius 500" begins with the conclusion of mass and final blessing. The gentle reminder to "go in peace to love and serve the Lord, and each other" sometimes ends with indignation, anger and occasionally verbal exclamations not usually heard in close proximity to a house of worship.

It's a mad dash to the first turn. At the Indy, all the turns are to the left, and there is some semblance of order. The freelancers at St. Pius are not bound by such decorum. It's every man or woman for themselves. Whereas the more famous race in Indianapolis may take twenty or thirty miles to straighten out the traffic, the skillful and determined drivers of Solon Springs can accomplish the feat by the time they reach the main street or the intersection at Prevost's.

But those first few moments are not pretty. The revving of engines, squeal of brakes, and un-Christian mutterings of drivers attempting to get their machines in position to enter the fray make the start of a demolition derby mild in comparison. Where professionals rule the roost in the American racing classic, the Solon Springs citizenry exhibit skills honed by years of backwoods driving, and life in ATVs and snowmobiles.

The nationwide race is marked with pageantry, bands and balloons; the St. Pius Easter event is highlighted with flashing brake lights, turn signals that indicate only that the electrical system is working, and hand gestures that range from directional to derogatory or possibly imploring God for divine intervention.

The Indy's first lap is a magical moment. At St. Pius, the race for the nearest exit to Hwy. 53 is a nothing less. Left turns to the right, right turns from the left lane and befuddled drivers trying to create a center lane add to the high drama. The stakes of the Indy are fame and fortune, but the St. Pius winners get control of the channel changer and the choicest spot in front of the TV for the afternoon.

After the serenity and peace of the Easter mass, this event presents a mind boggling turnabout. Hands just moments before joined in worship and the handshake of peace are now jockeying for position in the race to the highway. Feet fresh from procession to the altar now switch from brake to gas pedal in an attempt to edge out their competitors. Hearts just a short time ago filled with love for their fellow man now beat wildly as they enter the fracas. Lips which moments ago reverently beseeched God for peace and tranquility in the world now request the pains of perdition for their neighbor at the head of the traffic line.

All things being equal, however, the costs, emotional and physical, damage to property and carnage at Indianapolis far exceed that experienced in the St. Pius parking lot.

In this confusing world, perhaps the Indianopolis 500 will one day begin with the instructions, "Go in peace" and from the altar at St. Pius, Father Jim will issue the command, "Gentlemen. Start your engines."