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Self-Searchings

AND THERE IT WAS—the material struggle from which neither would ever be free. Lamy knew moments of self-doubt—there was “grade deal to be done”; he wrote the bishop in 1841; “if I had only that sacerdotal zeal.” He need not have worried—the bishop referred to him as a “fervent pastor.”

Yet the obstacles were not merely local. The nation was undergoing a great financial depression, and despite all the good will, strong arms, and community work in the remote countrysides, materials still cost money, labor must be paid; the pressing needs of a growing population always increased the goal to be achieved. Machebeuf wrote to his brother, his sister, and his father in turn, describing the national condition. “Since the declaration of independence,” he declared, “no one ever saw here such stagnation in business affairs. Not only is this true of Ohio, but in all the States of the Union.” There was not a tenth of the money in circulation in 1842 which had been known in earlier years. Most of the banks failed; those which survived would not lend money; paper money, much mistrusted as issued by banks which later failed, destroyed confidence; employers defaulted on wages to workmen. Through the months, work was discontinued on all large enterprises. It hardly paid to raise grain crops. Food prices were depressed, but those who raised their own could not starve. Immigrants kept pouring in, not to take jobs, but to claim land and cultivate their own produce. It was obvious that support of existing churches and the construction of new ones was almost impossible. Machebeuf—and the same must have been true for Lamy—had the greatest trouble keeping up his own dwelling, and said, “I have had to sell my dear little buggy which was so useful.”

Yet, all sharing, the pastor’s work went on, however humbly. Lamy’s rectory at Danville was “pretty well finished” in April 1841. He later said to someone else that he found it harder to furnish a house than to put it up out of rude materials.

Even before St Luke’s at Danville was completed, Lamy was continuing work on his new church at Mt Vernon. He called it St Vincent de Paul’s, after his “favorite saint,” While it was going up, he said Mass in various private houses. Overseeing the erection of the church, Lamy had a helper in “old Squire Colopy,” who was “in such good earnest, that he has scarcely any rest, till he sees it enclosed. It will be a very handsome building, at the moment I write to you,” Lamy told Purcell, “they have employed 60000 bricks. We think that it will be an ornament to the town.”

But people were not always as strong as bricks. Squire Colopy fell ill, and a Mr Brophy had to take time from his own work to oversee the construction. Lamy to Purcell in December 1841:

this church in Mt Vernon would have been enclosed two months ago if it was not for the accident that happened to Mr Brophy (the little Irish tailor) he had one day a fall, and has been lame since, though he is getting better, he was the man to attend to the building, but after he had that fall, the church was little neglected; Mr Colopy has not been very well, there was only Mr Morton who has done all he could; the mecanics that had to put on the roof have also been sick, but now all that is wanting, is to have the shingles on. all the timbers for the roof are fixed on the wals that church looks very handsome.

The church was finally roofed and plastered when fire, “by some unknown means,” on the evening of 2 March 1844, burned away all but the brick shell of St Vincent de Paul’s, and that was weakened.

Purcell came to see the wreckage, preached in the court house to a large crowd, and the citizens subscribed six hundred dollars to rebuild the church. The rebuilding would be slow—”not so much for want of means as of materials, in the getting out whereof some unavoidable delays have occurred.”

But Lamy was already at work on plans for his new church at Newark, twenty-four miles from Mt Vernon, thirty-six miles from Danville. He was in constant touch with Purcell, projecting hopes, reporting progress, asking permission for various moves. In December 1841, there was as yet no deed to the Newark property where he meant to build. He wanted this settled before spring, so that he could count on beginning the work when the weather broke fine. He would be able to buy windows and altar from the church at Zanesville, and he intended to get them “very cheap.” If he had to go into debt to build, might he have permission to sell a portion of the deeded land?—for the deed, in February 1842, was now secure—though it would be the last measure to take, if necessary. The church went up, and the next question was where the priest might stay—Lamy came every fourth Sunday to Newark, had been staying with a certain family. But there was now illness in their small house and he felt it imposing on them to return each time. How would it be if he carefully chose another good family, asked them to build a house on church property, keep a room for him, and after the equivalent of his room and board had paid for their share of the house, let it all revert to the parish of St Francis de Sales, as he had named it? There was “good spirit,” in his people. His plans went forward, even to the great matter of fine music. Newark was largely a German parish. The congregation had music in them, and he was able to report: “We have then a very good choir of German Catholics with some fair instruments. [There was no organ.] They sing very well, but almost all in German, except the Kyrie, Gloria and Credo in Latin, till they get some books of church music.” Like the early Franciscans in a place he had not yet heard of, he seemed able to do everything, even to rehearsing the choir, for it had “greatly improved” under his instruction. Would the bishop please send books of liturgical music? A cheque for two hundred dollars would also be welcome at Mt Vernon, whose people were rebuilding St Vincent de Paul’s after the fire. He was happy to report that at Newark, “we have got a little help from the Widow McCarthy.”

So it went, in all his missions, in much the same set of problems, ingenuities, endurances. There were always the Widow McCarthys, the Squire Colopys, the Mr Brophys, to give support and help lead others in the itinerant pastor’s plans. Machebeuf, in the north, was moved from Tiffin to Lower Sandusky, and later given Upper Sandusky, and eventually the two parishes met and merged simply as Sandusky. In his turn, he kept Purcell informed and asked him for money. His first church was a vacant storeroom. The one he built as soon as possible was called after the Holy Angels. Its timber and stone were brought from across Sandusky Bay where a curving peninsula reached out into Lake Erie. Even before it was finished, it was too small for the congregation—a mixed success. He had benches sitting back to back to accommodate whom he could. It was a rudely Gothic church, forty by seventy feet in dimensions, with a steeple 117 feet high. The cross at the top, said Machebeuf, was “made by an English Anabaptist, gilded by an American infidel, and placed upon a Catholic church to be seen shining by mariners far out upon the lake.”

Throughout their labors in separated places, Lamy and Machebeuf kept up their comradeship as well as they could. Despite their infrequent visits to each other, they never lost the strong root of their friendship. Each knew what the other was accomplishing at every step, and both kept in touch with their fellow Auvergnats. Each reported news of all the others in writing to France. Lamy went to see Machebeuf begin his stone church, Machebeuf reported Lamy’s growing number of conversions, including a highly placed English family now reduced to poverty, and referred to him as “my dear colleague,” and “neighbor,” despite the ninety miles which divided them. The grave charm of the younger man and the spritely wits of the older still complemented each other like nourishment. Machebeuf regarded himself at moments with some accuracy, noting the “liveliness and inconstancy of my character.” He told his brother that “even if the Devil is often in my purse, I am happy.” As for his formidable tasks, “when will we finish them? This question I ignore.”

Lamy’s self-searchings were of a somewhat different character. Purcell had become not only his lord, but his confidant. “… If I was a priest or minister according to the heart of God,” he wrote the bishop in 1841, from Danville, “the Divine seed would bring forth fruit, though sown by a pour [sic] sower. I beseech you that you pray God that he may enable me to be a good priest, and to persevere in that state, that I may procure the glory of God, and the salvation of those souls which he has redeemed at so great a price.” Was momentary discouragement to be read in this? Or such temptations as might threaten his vows? Or perhaps a simple humility which—as he was a meditative man—let him see human weakness as an inescapable state? It took a certain stalwartness to know oneself in honesty and still go forward with affairs in the world for the sake of others.

Most distasteful, as always, was the unending quest for money with which to do a job. To the utmost extent possible, the parishes had to support themselves, appealing to Cincinnati only as a last resort. Machebeuf went to French Canada in search of funds in 1843 to pay for building debts of his new church. Surely there would be some inevitable appeal in a common ancestry? He travelled by what he called “clerical post,” putting up at rectories wherever possible. Lamy went to see him on his return in April, and the news was both good and bad. Machebeuf had managed to raise money for most of his debts. But he had had a disagreeable adventure on the way, which was reported in the press:

We regret to hear that the Rev. Machebeuf, the pastor of Lower Sandusky, was shipwrecked on Lake Ontario, whilst on the way to Quebec. The crew and passengers saved their lives with difficulty and landed on an Island. They applied for shelter where all were kindly received until the owner discovered that a “Popish Priest” was among his guests. Our Rev. friend after much solicitation was graciously permitted to sleep on the floor! Such Christian charity deserves to be remembered. Even the Heathens of old were more merciful.

The newspaper went on to cite the Acts of the Apostles, Chapter 28: “And when we had escaped, then we knew that the Island was called Melita. But the Barbarians showed us no small courtesy. For having kindled a fire, they refreshed us all, because of the rain falling, and of the cold.…” If there was any satisfaction for the two friends in the episode, it was that of entering into such an experience as had come to St Paul himself.

Lamy now had four churches and was making arrangements for two more, and though the parishioners were generous, times were still hard and means limited. He must turn to Purcell. “If you give me permission I will go on a begging expedition, though I am not very bold.… I am willing to go and beg, but before could you not send me a little help to settle some of the more urging affairs.” He went to St Louis, and thought of going to New Orleans from there, and a letter from the bishop would be helpful. “I hope that difficulties will only enlarge my courage.

He had heard of a woman of means at St Louis, a Mrs Biddle, called upon her, and was at once involved in an absurd financial tangle. “I proposed to borrow 300 dollars from her if she would let me have that sum without interest for some years. She consented but would not give me the money until a certain priest from Illinois would return to her a sum which he had borrowed from her for some years. She was to send it to me after my departure from St Louis, but I never received the money, I didn’t think she sent it at all.” But evidently she considered that she had Lamy’s note for the amount, and later queried the bishop about it. Explaining further, Lamy said, “I left the management of it to Father Glaizal but this father will not write me a word about it. She could not then by no means have my note it must be a misunderstanding.” As the sole result of his interview with the prudent matron of St Louis, he came away with ten dollars she had given him. The bishop was not to pay off any such note, though Lamy was grateful to him for cancelling another held by a “young man Mr Creighton for the 5 dollars he gives me.” Five dollars—it was hard to ask even for that.

He tried to see both sides of the financial difficulty of the parishes—what was needed, and what could be given. But there were moments when he was tempted to use his priestly powers, even if unworthily, to force money troubles toward some resolution. He once put it to the bishop this way:

… There are times which goes very hard with some people of those settlements to help toward the church when some thing is to be done, and also to contribute a little according to their abilities for the support of the clergyman, in regard to this last point I do not know what to do with a number of them. I wish you would advise me some means to make them do. Could I not tell them, that if they do not help [a] little, even if they are not able to do much, they have no right to the services of the priest? could I not try to scare some of them refuse to hear their confessions once or twice? you will oblige me very much if you suggest what I could do in such a case.…

It was a harsher thought than he usually expressed. Whatever Purcell told him in reply—there is no record—Lamy was more like himself a few years later, when, still struggling with issues of discipline, he appealed to the bishop for a decision about how to respond to renewed sick calls from lapsed Catholics who when they recovered decided to return to their sinful comforts. Should he go? Or should an example be made of such persons? His own character was clear when he wrote, “I know the way of mildness is the best.…” The Church had her conditions to be met, people were weak, authority was often puzzled, the material and the spiritual met at odd boundaries on occasion. Perhaps his qualms did him as much credit as his strictness.

He was still more like himself when he reported to Purcell on certain other sick calls. “These last two months I had some sick calls, for some people who were not Catholic, two men married, and a boy of twenty years. They were very low, they have got well; and the poor innocent creatures think that my visit did them more good than all the medicines; they now come to church regularly, and I hope, they will be good Catholics.…” There he spoke as the shrewd peasant, the faithful mystic, and the pragmatic Frenchman, together.

But if problems never ended, neither did they end in frustration. He was still young, comradely, energetic, and comely. On one of his infrequent visits to Machebeuf in the north, they always traded troubles and surmounted them with high spirits, saying to each other in their old Auvergnese saw, “Latsin pas!” and in 1843, Machebeuf wrote to his sister the nun in Riom that his friend was “toujours gaie [sic], grand, gros, et gras”—”always happy, hearty, huge, and hefty,”