Mission Possible

All the different peoples of this earth share the same basic human aspirations - food, shelter and rais­ing our young. We crave security, family and longevity. How we differ, from race to race, western civilization to eastern, are our mores and cultures, nurtured over centuries of relative isolation. We speak in different tongues and view the world around us through lenses colored by our collective experiences.

To change one's thinking - from paganism to Christianity - becomes a work of altering not only a set of beliefs but also one's values and often lifestyle. To accomplish this, we must share a common language, for until we speak in the same tongue, we can't get inside the other's head.

Such was the common roadblock that faced many of the early missionaries to Northern Wisconsin. They were willing to face unbelievable hardships and physical obstacles in "spreading the news" among what appeared to these white-faced foreigners as "hopeless savages." They came, they saw, but they failed to conquer. After these brief encounters in the deep woods, they fled the mosquitoes and returned to La Pointe or other friendly and more familiar venues.

Early Inroads by Methodist Missionaries

Yet, there were some early inroads for Christian­ity. The first known Protestant mission to the Lac Courte Oreilles area was headed by Rev. John Clark, a Methodist missionary at Green Bay. In 1835, Rev. Clark learned about the large Ojibwe population here and sent three young Ojibwe converts to teach and inaugu­rate a Methodist mission. The following year, Rev. Clark himself visited the Lac Courte Oreilles mission and noted he was treated very well by Chief Monzojid.

Others, with the help of Ojibwe guides, also enjoyed some success, at least in being favorably received. It was Rev. Alfred Branson, another Metho­dist minister, who had accompanied "his Chippewa" from Lac Courte Oreilles to Fort Snelling to sign the Treaty of 1837. Rev. Brunson was later appointed La Pointe Indian sub-agent.

Following a stop at Jean Baptist Corbin's (later spelled Corbine) trading post in 1843, he speculated in his journal that the Ojibwe could be Christianized.

"They have some vague ideal of a Supreme Being from tradition, and that he in some way controlled the world and affairs of men. They had some knowhow of the mediation of sacrifices, exemplified in the offering of tobacco and other trifles," Brunson wrote.

Bonding leads to belief

Rev. Brunson and others who passed through the village were impressed with how much influence the very pious Mr. Corbin had on his Indian neighbors.

• Unlike the transient traders (and missionaries), he actually became a permanent resident in 1818 and lived there until his death in 1886. During that time, he had married two different daughters of prominent tribal leaders, and is credited through his devout exam­ple and leadership of establishing an informal Catholic mission among the Indians.
• Corbin is also recognized as the first white settler in northwest Wisconsin.

Rather than being force-fed Christianity by for­eign missionaries, many Ojibwe became accepting of Christian beliefs through association with Corbin, a French Canadian who chose to coexist in their differ­ent culture. In fact, the following decades witnessed many other French traders and explorers settling among the Ojibwe and building permanent homes, exerting an obvious Christian influence on them.

William W. Warren, in his book History of the Ojibwav People, offered an explanation for this wide­spread acceptance of the French. He wrote:

"The Ojibwe learned to love the French people, for the Frenchmen, possessing a character of great plasticity, easily assimilated themselves to the customs and mode of life of their red brethren. They respected their (Ojibwe) religious rites and ceremonies and they never laughed at their superstitious beliefs and ignorance."

In other words, the aim of these "voyageurs du Nord" was not that of gain but more of pleasure and the enjoyment of their present lives. By their very nature, the French laughed with their hosts and clung to the lifestyle “live and let live.”

Not true of other visitors, according to Warren, who said:

“This is in contrast with the nature of intercourse of Native Americans by the English and Americans, who as a truth, have made 'Mannon' their God and have looked on the Indian but as a tool or means of obtaining riches and other equally merce­nary ends."

Warren is a descendant of one of the May­flower pilgrims, and his father had married a daughter (half-breed) of Michel Cadotte. The younger Warren wrote this history in 1885.

It was late in Corbin's life before the first record­ed visits by a Catholic priest. Between 1860 and 1871, Fr. Chebul of Bayfield occasionally visited the area and administered the Sacraments to willing residents. Fr. X. Pfaller followed his lead from 1871 to 1873, adminis­tering the last Sacraments to the dying several times.

After an absence of five years, the Catholic cler­gy returned to the village several times a year, offering Mass in the private homes of Louis Corbin (John's son) and Frank Oshoga. Difficult travel and inclement weather often prevented regular meetings.

Building a Mission

By 1880, logging activities around the lake had brought more and more Christians to the area and increased the pressure for a physical church. And since the loggers brought with them money, they also provided a ready-made source of funding. In 1881 the congregation petitioned the government for a grant of land to be used for a church and school and received 10 acres for that purpose.
Members of the congregation contributed their services, erecting a log structure measuring 24 by 36 feet, and on July 16, 1883, Bishop Kilian Flasch trav­eled from Bayfield to bless the newly erected chapel. He was the first bishop to visit Lac Courte Oreilles.

Soon after, an addition to the chapel was built, a steeple and bell tower were added, along with a small room for the priest and a sacristy. Finally in 1885, the now completed church was blessed by Bishop Flasch and placed under the patronage of St. Francis Solanus. The name was deemed appropriate because St. Francis Solanus was a Spanish-born priest who was a missionary to the Indians of Peru for 20 years.

But infrequent visits by priests could not provide adequate religious instruction for the youngsters in particular, so the Franciscan Fathers at Bayfield employed at their own expense a lay teacher, Dominic Durharine. He stayed in the home of Louis Corbine and conducted school in the home of another parish­ioner, Frank Oshoga.

By September, 1886, the congregation had completed construction of a school and a home for the Sisters of St. Francis of Milwaukee who volunteered their time and teaching talent. First teaching without compensation, the Sisters eventually received an annu­al sum of $600, which was made possible through the efforts of the Catholic Indian Mission Bureau. The money came from a payment by the federal govern­ment of $7.50 for each student per quarter, which also covered the expense of a noon meal for the children, fuel, school supplies and building maintenance.

This financial support ended after the Bureau of Indian Affairs opened a boarding school for Indians near Hay ward in 1900, diverting many of the children from the mission school to the boarding school. The government discontinued payments to teachers in parochial schools, and during the period 1903-04, the mission school was closed for lack of funds. It re­opened again for the following school year and contin­ued to operate until 1920, when it again was closed for a number of years.

Mission has needs

By definition, a mission school, which provides a tuition-free Christian education, depends heavily on outside resources. Today's St. Francis Solanus in Reserve is the only Catholic school in Sawyer County and is not government funded.

"As a mission, we are not self-sufficient and depend on contributions by donors every year," said Sr. Felissa Zander, principal. "To keep our school open, we must keep on working and saving and peti­tioning."

Along with regular fund-raising, the mission sup­ports itself by applying for grants, operating a year- round gift shop with many items handmade by tribal members, summertime bake sales, weekly bingo games and other fundraisers.

Sr. Felissa, who has worked at the mission since 1961, explains that church collections are relatively small, somewhere near $8,000 annually, and that much of this goes directly to the Superior Diocese. About 125 families are considered regular members of the church, and the school's enrollment varies between 60 and 100 children.

"We are fortunate that many past members who have moved to far away places such as Chicago, Milwaukee and Minneapolis continue to support the mission. We pray for them every day," Sr. Felissa said.

Memorable Return

Sometimes, as Sr. Felissa has observed, prayer brings its rewards. For all too many years, the mission
doors had been closed to the children of Reserve. Then, one day in 1925, a former resident of Reserve returned to visit her ailing father and decided to stay. Sr. Sirilla LaRush, then a member of the Sisters of St. Francis, was taken by the obvious absence of the mis­sion school and its effect on the community. Prior to this, she had taught in Nebraska, Michigan and Illinois. Her current duties forced her to leave after the visit, but she and another nun, Sr. Angelina, spent the fol­lowing summer teaching at the mission. Seeing a great need to reopen the school, Sr. Sirilla petitioned her superiors to allow her to return to Lac Courte Oreilles. That petition was granted and she, together with three fellow sisters, returned and reopened the school in 1927. Sr. Sirilla continued on until 1962 when, at age 70, she was transferred by her religious community.

Meanwhile, another series of events also proved to have long lasting effects on St. Francis Solanus Mis­sion. Back in 1913, a young, highly intelligent Ojibwe man by the name of Philip Gordon was ordained into the priesthood for the Diocese of Superior. He was the first Indian in Wisconsin to become a Catholic priest, and from the very start, he was destined to call Re­serve his home and become a crusader for the rights of Native Americans.

Fr. Philip was born in Gordon, a small communi­ty about 10 miles from Minong and grew up on the Bad River Reservation, observing the rice harvest, cut­ting of deer hide and gathering of sweet liquid from maple trees. Like most Indians, he too believed in a Supreme Being, a mystic supernatural force that per­meated all nature and was called "Manitou." He too viewed the earth and its trees, fruits and animals as gifts of the Great Spirit.

Philip was an excellent student while attending a parochial school, and at only 15 he passed a county examination and received a teacher's certificate. The nuns who taught him were so impressed by his abili­ties that they raised money so he could attend Superior State Normal School. Following that, Philip attended several other colleges both in this country and in Europe, where he also traveled widely. But he often looked back and remembered his heritage.

Destined to serve

In her book, The Indian Priest, author Paula Delfeld wrote: "His life was torn between the free spir­it of the Indian and the rigid rules of the Catholic Church of that time. He was ahead of his time in his attempt to combine the two worlds, Indian and white - spiritual and the human. After years of education and travel, his heart still remained with the Indians." Even before priesthood, he received the name "Ti-Bish-Ko- Gi-Jik," meaning "looking into the sky."

After serving a number of years as assistant Indian missionary for the Superior Diocese and pastor of a white church in Hayward for one year, Fr. Philip was offered the opportunity of a lifetime - to become pastor of St. Francis Solanus. Now he could carry on the missionary work among his own people.

But misfortune visited the mission just three years after he was placed in charge. During the summer of 1921, lightning stuck the mission church and fire destroyed the wooden structure. Now came the arduous task of collecting funds to rebuild the church, and much of the responsibility fell on Fr. Philip's shoulders. But he proved an able fund-raiser, visiting Milwaukee, Chicago and even larger cities in the East and bringing home about $30,000 for the project.

By 1922, work was already underway to construct a new church, this one out of pipestone cut from a quarry at Pipestone Falls on the reser­vation about 12 miles southeast of Reserve. Pipestone, incidentally, is used to make the "peace pipes" or calumets used in traditional American Indian sacred ceremonies.

Construction of the beautiful stone church drew lots of praise from residents. One of these, Marcella Gokey Guibord, had commented: "The guy who built the new church was old Gabe DeMarr (a darn good carpenter, according to her husband, Ernest). The guys who had horses, including my Dad, Ben Gokey, Mike Gokey and Henry LaRush, hauled the stone from the quarry," she said. "The masons were Lawrence Quaderer and his brother, Jake. A lot of people helped, and the ladies of the St. Mary's Society would cook for the men that were working there."

Mrs. Guibord was also an observer of the fund- raising efforts of Fr. Philip, who "used to have powwows in a field at the foot of the hill where my folks lived to raise money to help build the church," she noted. "He traveled all over to get the money to help build the church."

But funding wasn't sufficient to complete the church. As late as 1925, the church and Rectory were without a permanent roof or windows, and 13 years later the steeple had not been added. Add to these woes, the old combination school and convent had weathered badly, and cold winter winds howled through the many cracks, "making it almost uninhabit­able," Fr. Englehard Troesken had written in the 1940s (reprinted in the June, 1985 issue of "Lac Courte Oreilles Journal.")

"With the church still incomplete, the best that could be done in 1931 was to cover the building (con­vent) with a coat of roofing paper. Even with this improvement it was necessary for the Sisters to keep six wood stoves burning during the winter to produce a semblance of warmth. The need for a new Sisters' Convent was evident."

By 1936, construction began on a new home, also out of the same Pipestone, with the project com­pleted by the following year. Two years later, plans began to take shape for a new school, but that project did not come to fruition until 1941. The school also was made of Pipestone.

But what had taken far too many years, well past Fr. Philip's pastorship, may have been well worth the hardship. Author Paula Delfeld wrote: "Fr. Gordon dreamed of a church that would combine the old Indian symbolism and the ideals of Catholicism. He said this would be a 'connecting link which would sagely bring Indians from paganism to Catholicism . . . it is the only way to reach the Indian's heart.'"

With the help of many of his associations, Fr. Philip designed the facility with Indian psychology taken into consideration. The windows, for example, were given symbolic designs that spoke to the Indians in familiar terms.

Further, the hand-hewn rafters in the church interior were stained in brilliant reds and blues and orange which the Indians loved. Deerskins hung in front of the confessionals and at the entrance to the altar. The altar cloths were woven by Ojibwe women with characteristic designs, and Indian symbols were woven into the fabric. Today, a partial wigwam also stands in front of the sanctuary. It was designed by Fr. Kurt Buranich and constructed by perishioners out of 21 deer hides in 1971.

More Challenges

Scarcely two years after the church burned down, another disaster struck as the dam built by Northern States Power Co. started backing up the Chippewa River and flooding the village of Post.

Along with dozens of homes and at least 250 graves, the mission church at Post was destroyed. Naturally, Fr. Philip took sharp issue with this move by the utility and waged an often bitter battle through correspondence with the Bureau of Indian Affairs “In the matter of proper redress for the poor Indians as well as dam­ages and respect for the sanctity of Catholic graves and church," he had written.

And when his tenure at St. Francis Solanus ended in 1925, Fr. Philip was saddened to think "the beautiful church as well as the Indians' souls were being neglected," as author Delfeld wrote.
"I never want to leave Reserve," Fr. Philip had said. "This is the work I love and understand, and I ask as my only reward greater appreciation on the part of the white men of the Indians' problems. Oh, I might want to go to Chicago once in a while to see Babe Ruth play baseball, but I hope to live and die among my peo­ple.”

Unfinished building projects were left to Fr. Ignatius Kinney, who served as pastor from 1925 until 1934. A fiery, strict Irish priest, he was once the target of a failed attack by the Ku Klux Klan because, as Sr. Felissa put it, "he loved the Indians so much."

Today, the mission is headed by Fr. Greg Hopefl, who came to St. Francis Solanus in 1988. Many of the favorite Indian traditions continue today interwoven with the fabric of Catholic observances. The best known is the Feast of Corpus Christi celebration each June, which includes a procession of men of the parish wearing native headdresses and carrying ban­ners and torches. Children from the school, donning native dress, carry baskets of flower petals which they strew on the grounds.

The procession stops at three wigwams, each of which contains an altar. Hymns are sung, and prayers, scripture readings and blessings are spoken at each one. The children perform native dances to the beat of a drum. It is truly a Native American affair, yet per­formed to the beat of Christianity.

Over its 117 years of mission work, St. Francis Solanus and its devoted sisters and priests have faced frequent obstacles; some far greater than most lay per­sons could endure. "Our greatest mission is (and has been) providing a Catholic education to children in kindergarten through eighth grade," said Sr. Felissa. "It doesn't mean children must give up their Indian cul­ture; in fact, we encourage many activities here (such as dancing) designed to help them become more assertive and self-confident in their Indian traditions."

Long hours teaching, running the gift shop, bus­ing children and maintaining a church rarely provide their own rewards. But grateful words and kindnesses shown by former students and parishioners offer the needed inspiration to continue on.

Sr. Felissa recalled a recent telling incident. "I came back one day from Mass at New Post and found the yard full of cars, though I knew of no event sched­uled for that time. I figured someone had a birthday party or something else and had asked Fr. Greg if they could use the hall. We (with Sr. Maryrose) went to the convent to eat and the phone rang, and the caller asked us to stop over at the church hall. We stepped through the door and a huge Ojibwe crowd yelled 'sur­prise.' That meant a great deal to us."

A sign in the hallway of the school says, "Be it known to all who enter here that Christ is the reason for this school - the courses taught, the unseen but ever-present teacher in all of its classes, the model of its faculty and the inspiration of its students." One hundred and seventeen years is ample proof that the "mission is possible."

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Editor's note: Among the many sources that have been accessed in this effort are Fr. Englehard Troesken's A History of St. Francis Solanus Mission . . .. Paula Delfeld's The Indian Priest. Terrell Boettcher's "St. Francis Solanus Mission ..." as published in the June, 1985, "Trailblazer," various publications of the church and Sr. Felissa Zander, principal of the school