When I can’t sleep, I pour myself a
cup of milk and power up my computer and head for the Internet. I never know
what direction I will go, but sometimes I get lucky and find something
serendipitous. Well, to me, at least. Such was what happened the other night.
When I was a little boy our family went to Sunday service at
St. Joseph Mission church in Whittaker, Michigan. We moved away in 1963 when I
was 13 and the little, white, clapboard church was abandoned shortly
thereafter, when the congregation decided to build a bigger, brick church with
room to grow.
I drove by the old church a couple of
times over the years, but when I went by a few years ago, nothing was left
except the sidewalk and the foundation. I thought that age or fire had consumed
the church and felt a sense of loss for a simpler time. I remember being an
altar boy for a wedding. I remember a priest angrily chastising the altar boys
for not knowing what the Pater Noster
was. We knew the words in Latin, but had not put two and two together and
realized that it was The Lord’s Prayer.
I remember the little choir jammed in the tiny choir loft, and Marian Manners
playing the organ and singing the lead. I remember the statues draped in purple
and the Tabernacle empty on Passion Sunday. I remember the bishop coming for my
confirmation and my dread that I wouldn’t know the answer to his questions
about my faith, even though the answers had been drilled in my head.
Dad would drive the family to church on Sunday in one of his
snazzy Desotos. I especially liked the 1959 coffee and cream version with huge
fins. We would listen to country gospel
singing straight from the hollers of Kentucky on the way to church, and on the
way back we would tune in The Polka Hour broadcasting from WFDF in Flint,
Michigan. When my dad was on call at work and couldn’t make it to church, we
went with my elderly neighbors in their
old lumbering Oldsmobile sedan that they drove to church, rain or shine, snow
or sleet, every Sunday. There was many a Sunday when my mother had to stay home
with the babies, but I made it to church in that roomy, rumbling Olds.
Field of Dreams Wedding Chapel in Milan was originally St. Joseph Mission Church in Whittaker, Michigan. It was moved in 2007. |
Another website led me to an archive of newspaper articles collected by the Ann Arbor Public Library,
where I found one that detailed the move of the church to its new home:
One of these days, I might just make
a trip back to that chapel, and spend a few minutes reflecting on a life well-spent,
but regardless, I will sleep well, knowing that the little white church is
still serving a spiritual purpose in the life of others.
Old News - St. Joseph's Catholic Church In Augusta Twp Waiting For The Train To Pass While Moving To Milan, May 2007. The
journey was tedious and they had to cross a set of railroad tracks. The move
was taking so long that they actually had to back the trailer up because of an
oncoming train!
Moving the St. Joseph Mission Catholic Church in Whittaker, Michigan |