Great Expectations : Spirit: Parishioners of St. John Eudes decorate their ‘tent’ sanctuary and say their celebration is more special because it is makeshift.

Mary Breeden has been to the Vatican. She’s seen some of the great cathedrals of Europe, with their towering ceilings and heavenly frescoes painted by the masters.

But in her eyes this Christmas Day, the most beautiful church on the planet will be right here at home--a towering white plastic dome--where Breeden and other parishioners at St. John Eudes Catholic Church have been celebrating Mass since their stately 30-year-old church was severely damaged in January’s earthquake.

On Saturday, while much of Los Angeles angled for a parking spot at the mall, jammed airports or faced the gridlock at cash register lines, about two dozen volunteers spent several hours transforming their makeshift church into a festive holiday sanctuary fit to host midnight Mass.

“This experience has taught us a lesson that we will keep this holiday season,” said Breeden, chairman of the Liturgy committee. “A church is not a building. A church is the people who inhabit it. It’s a sense of community. And we have that here in abundance.”

The St. John Eudes Catholic Church structure at Lassen Street and Mason Avenue suffered severe damage during this year’s Northridge quake. Even today, huge metallic braces prop up an entire wall that was disconnected from the rest of the building--a reminder to all of the sheer power of the temblor.

After using a cramped social hall for services, the 3,000-family parish in March began construction of the temporary structure on church grounds--a shelter that many have found too cold in the winter and like a sauna in the summer.

But for Christmas, they were intent on celebrating this drafty place.

“Just call it our tent church,” Breeden said Saturday as parishioners hauled in Christmas trees, climbed on ladders to hang wreaths and festive holiday lighting--always stopping to exchange holiday greetings. “Some people call it the big white Hershey’s kiss. Whatever you call it, it’s home to us. We have to do something to make it look like a church.”

By early evening, this dome, with a capacity for 850 people, was certainly becoming cathedral-like. Especially after parishioners hung the burgundy and gold drapes, framed the altar with decorated twin Christmas trees and erected a life-sized manger scene off to the right side.

Parishioner Jim Gergen had gone in search of Christmas trees but found the forces of capitalism working against him.

“It’s the day before Christmas and so either you couldn’t find a tree or they wanted far too much for them,” Gergen said, pointing to two smallish trees that merchants had asked $24 and $35 for, respectively. “I got them both for $30,” he said proudly.

For some like Breeden, the temporary quality of St. John Eudes brings back what the real spirit of Christmas is all about.

“Jesus was born in a stable,” she said. “This isn’t a stable. But it’s makeshift all right.”

By Christmas Eve, there would be standing room only outside the dome. And parishioners say the experience has given them some new ideas to incorporate in their reconstructed church, which they hope will be ready by the summer of 1996.

They like the way the pews are arranged in a semicircle--not the theater-like configuration of the old church. And they like the spaciousness of the altar area.

“Most of all,” Breeden said, “we like the sense of community this place has inspired in all of us.”

But wait. The statue of the Christ child was missing.

The last time somebody saw it was in the rectory of the old building. But when it came time to build the manger scene, it was nowhere to be found. “Lots of things broke in the quake, so we didn’t know what to think,” Breeden said.

Good thing the nuns who live at the church just happened to have an extra statue of the baby Jesus on hand.

And so, the scene had been set for midnight Mass, when the statue would make its processional entrance.

Said Breeden: “There won’t be a dry eye in the house.”