As I write this the work on the interior renovation is proceeding apace. The scaffolding is coming down even as I write this. The new lighting and the new sound system will make quite a difference I believe, and our newly refurbished worship space will be waiting for us when we can all gather together in prayer and praise.
We have run into one snafu. The new hanging lights, that are LED and dimmable, are not long enough. So new, longer rods that hold the lights to the ceiling are on the way. We are still waiting on news about the length of time for shipping. But so far that has been the biggest obstacle on this construction project. It could be a lot worse.
Looking forward to this coming Wednesday, November 18, which is (in the United States) the Feast of Saint Rose Philippine Duchesne. She was a French nun back in the 18th – 19th Century who as a young girl had a burning desire to come and work among native Americans. She was sent by her Order to St. Charles, MO, just up the Missouri River from St. Louis. She spent most of her life working with the children of pioneers in that area. Finally, in 1841, at the age of 78, she was able to fulfill her life-long dream and went to work among the Potawatomi Indians in Kansas. Unfortunately, she was not able to learn the Indian language, but she spent her time praying for the mission. Her dedication to prayer impressed the Native Americans, and they called her “the lady who prays always.”
She is buried in St. Charles, MO. Last August, when I went to visit my Dad who was in his last days in a nursing home in St. Peter’s, MO (a town next to St. Charles; the early French named their settlements after Saints), I went to visit the shrine of St. Rose Philippine Duchesne. I met a docent there (the shrine had just re-opened), and asked her about St. Rose’s relationship with the Native Americans. This was the time when statues of St. Junipero Serra were being toppled in California, and Christopher Columbus was being accused of mistreating and enslaving natives. The docent told me that every Autumn an elderly Potawatomi lady comes from Kansas to visit and pray at the shrine of St. Rose. When the docent had asked this lady why she did this, the lady related a story that had been passed down for generations in her family.
Originally the Potawatomi were not in Kansas, but around Georgia. They were forced out and relocated to Kansas on the Trail of Tears, or the Trail of Death as the Native American lady called it. This lady’s great-great grandmother was a little child, and recalled and retold the story of St. Rose picking her up, setting her on her lap, rocking and comforting her as a child. This story has been passed down from generation to generation in her family, and now this descendant of that little girl comes annually to pray at the grave of St. Rose Philippine Duchesne. I found that story very touching, and so I wanted to share it with you. It was such a simple gesture, and yet the impact of that act of kindness continues to reverberate through the generations
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