The parishioners of Our Lady of Peace are angry.

For 32 years, Father John Sweeny has built the Santa Clara parish into a bastion of Roman Catholic orthodoxy -- the only such place left in the Diocese of San Jose, they maintain.

But Bishop Patrick J. McGrath says it is time for Sweeny, 77, to retire, and parishioners fear this will bring the end of their treasured, old-school Catholicism.

A stone's throw from Great America amusement park and Intel headquarters, this is a place where priests celebrate Mass 35 times a week and parishioners say the rosary on the hour. They kneel, in the traditional style, to receive Holy Communion. They line up for confession daily and pray nightly, into the wee hours, in vigils devoted to the Virgin Mary and Jesus.

About 6,000 people have signed a petition protesting the bishop's decision. For many, this faceoff embodies something larger: the battle between tradition and modernity in the church. Our Lady of Peace is a national model for orthodox Catholics. About 4,000 worshipers -- Filipino, white, Latino, Vietnamese -- come each weekend.

It's not uncommon for worshipers to drive from Modesto and Monterey, for women to wear lace veils, for families to boast eight or nine children, and for everyone to pack the pews. Through the night, worshipers maintain a vigil known as the Perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, a devotion to the Eucharist.

Mass in Latin

This is Catholicism as practiced generations ago, smack in the middle of Silicon Valley. Every month, Our Lady of Peace celebrates Mass in Latin. No other parish does.

Parishioners fear that McGrath wants to appoint a liberal successor to Sweeny and bring Our Lady of Peace in line with the rest of the diocese -- where ritual has been widely reformed, as in much of Catholicism.

``I'm not out to destroy their world, now or ever,'' McGrath responded. It's just that Sweeny has remained past the typical retirement age of 75 and has experienced health problems, he said. On McGrath's recommendation, Pope Paul II conferred the title of monsignor on Sweeny. Now his supporters should let their priest go out gracefully, the bishop said.

``Father Sweeny is the most wonderful priest that has ever lived,'' McGrath said. ``He really is. I love John. And people don't want to lose him, and I understand that. Now, I'm sorry. But at some point, we have to move on.''

Sweeny -- the quiet eye at the center of the storm -- said he is ready to obey McGrath and retire in June. Still, he hopes there will be a place for him in the parish ``to perform my duties as a priest -- not as an administrator, but to give advice. . . . I offer my assistance.''

Tuesday night at the parish, members of Sweeny's distraught flock nearly besieged a group of the bishop's representatives, who asked parishioners to describe their vision of the parish's future. They got an earful: ``No change! No change!'' chanted the crowd of 600 that packed the parish hall.

``Why isn't the bishop here to answer our questions?'' shouted one man.

``I want to see the confessions left alone!'' yelled another.

Cheers broke out with every comment.

``Our priests are bold and not afraid to speak out against contraception and all that garbage.''

``No altar girls!''

``No `Kumbaya' or Protestant songs!''

``I would like to see all of the devotions continue, and I would like to see more obedience to Rome,'' said Edgar Suter, a Danville physician who drives to Our Lady of Peace three to five times a week. ``I would like to see a daily Tridentine Mass'' he said, referring to the most traditional Latin Mass. ``And I would like to see the dignity of this parish respected in the person of Monsignor Sweeny.''

The place erupted.

The officials said they were ``impressed and edified'' by the parishioners' ``great love for Monsignor Sweeny'' and wished to ``quell any fears and anxieties as we strive to do the work of Jesus Christ.''

But most of the parishioners would not accept it: ``We have been dealing with the modernist revolution in the church for 40 years, and the people at Our Lady of Peace went there as a refuge,'' said Anthony Gonzalez, a computer consultant, ex-seminarian and 20-year parishioner. ``This isn't just a battle for the parish. This is sort of our last stand.''

The officials were on a fact-finding mission to help the bishop choose a successor for Sweeny. They held separate meetings with lay leaders, church staff and Sweeny. He recently suffered complications from a staph infection after surgery on a wisdom tooth and spent months recovering. Still, he looks about 60, has a thatch of gray-white hair and -- hunched down in a black windbreaker -- has a bit of the Dennis Hopper-``Easy Rider'' look about him.

Steadfast conservatism

Sweeny is known for unwavering theology and conservative politics -- he leads abortion protesters at the Sunnyvale offices of Planned Parenthood. His parishioners praise his straightforward homilies on prayers, penance and fasting, but concede he is not an elegant speaker. In an interview, he spoke haltingly about the current situation.

``We're after the truth,'' he began.

``If people pray, the best thing will happen'' for the parish, he proposed.

``I'm not totally opposed to retiring,'' he said. ``But on the other hand, people feel they can count on me in certain areas . . . hearing confessions . . . holding classes. . . . If they think I can help, I'm happy to help. . . . We're understaffed, and there are things to be done.''

Sweeny grew up Irish Catholic in San Francisco's Polk Gulch neighborhood in St. Brigid Parish. Norma Sweeny, his mother, was a schoolteacher. John Sweeny, his father, was a plasterer. Every night at bedtime, Sweeny and his two brothers prayed alongside their parents.

In the 1960s, he helped establish a job-training program, Opportunities Industrialization Center West, in East Palo Alto. He speaks with pride of the interfaith collaboration that went into its founding and remembers how Sargent Shriver -- director of the Office of Economic Opportunity under President Lyndon B. Johnson -- wrapped an arm around him at a ceremony and praised Sweeny for his organizational work.

He was appointed pastor of Our Lady of Peace in 1969. It was the poorest parish in the diocese, he said, more than $500,000 in debt. Sweeny remembers wild pheasant on the land. Parishioners harvested 50 tons of pears from nearby orchards and donated funds to retire the debt. They also raised funds to erect a 32-foot, stainless steel statue of Our Lady of Peace, visible from Highway 101.

Our Lady of Peace is a Marian shrine and destination for pilgrims. Hundreds of parishioners sign up for Perpetual Adoration in the sanctuary through the night, so the church is open 24 hours, every day. Constant prayer, they say, has made it a holy place.

``But there's so much tension going on in the church right now,'' said Jerry Nilsen, a piano tuner and parishioner who prays three days a week at 3 a.m. ``We don't mind the other churches doing what they do. We just want to hang on to our church.''

He wants Sweeny to stay, or at least to choose and train a successor. Otherwise, Nilsen fears the diocese will gradually dismantle the parish's orthodox approach: ``They'll take out the Communion rail,'' he said. ``They'll chip away at things. That's the way they've always done it in the past. It's happened in all the other parishes, so why wouldn't it happen here?''

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