Reflections on a Visit to Ste. Anne’s Church

Spring in Northern Michigan is bright green and blue. The lakes shimmer in the wind and the pebbly beaches stretch for miles. My brother drove us up to Mackinaw City one morning last week, anticipating the island as we watched miles of trees – fatally damaged by a late winter ice storm – standing dead along the highway.

We were heading up to Mackinac Island – a little plot of beauty and peace, tucked up near St. Ignace. It feels like a haven – no cars allowed. Horses, bicycles and pedestrians fill the streets. There’s a huge, sprawling hotel with fantastic service, beautiful rooms, and over a century of summer vacation memories. There are fudge shops (the island is famous for its homemade fudge), souvenir shops, livery stables, and the remains of an old fort. Near the docks, there’s also a lovely, little, white church – Sainte Anne Catholic Church – that has been a part of island life since 1670.

A Visit to Ste. Anne’s

On our second day on the island, we walked down to Ste. Anne’s – just missing daily Mass (at 11:00 a.m.). We were in time to slip inside for a few minutes of prayer though. We lit votive candles and then wandered down to the Church museum. In the museum we saw the history of the tiny parish laid out for us – from Frs. Dablon and Marquette, who led Ottawa and Huron Christians to the secluded island for safety in the 1670s, to French fur traders in the 1700s, to Fr. Pawel Macwel who serves the parish today.

The parish is small in the winter, when only a few residents remain on the island, but in the summer, the church’s population swells with summer residents and visitors. It’s an easy walk from anywhere on the island, and we saw a few hitching posts on the street nearby.

The parish has been a constant presence on Mackinac Island for over 350 years, and it was funny to think, as we wandered through the sanctuary, praying for the Cardinals in Conclave, that those 350 years are such a tiny portion of the Church’s over 2000-year history. When Frs. Dablon and Marquette laid the foundations of Ste. Anne’s, they did so as missionary priests – coming out of over 1500 years of tradition and devotion – and building upon it. Now, we could stand in the museum of a parish that existed before the Revolutionary War and look back on the foundations these French Jesuits built, grateful that they were there to love and serve the Huron, French, and Ottawa people.

Stepping Forward

The day we left the island, I heard the news that our new pope was an American and he’d taken the name Leo XIV. Pope Leo XIV hails from Chicago, on the shores of another of the Great Lakes. He seems sincere and careful in the first few days of his pontificate. Everyone I’ve talked to seems hopeful – we look at him and see the father who will guide us through this new season in the Church.

Of course, he won’t be perfect. As Catholics, we like to see our popes the way happy children see their fathers: strong, wise, invincible. When I was young, that’s exactly how we saw John Paul II – stories about him performing in an underground acting troupe, offering clandestine Masses, and of course, helping to topple Communism inspired us. In some ways, the past two popes have been reigning in the shadow of John Paul II – the larger-than-life figure whose papacy spanned the millennium. But that shadow doesn’t have to be overwhelming – It can be comforting too. In the Church, we are all resting in the shadow of the Cross.

Memories and Hopes

The whirlwind trip to Michigan ended on Mother’s Day. We went to my parent’s home church, I made brunch, and we set out little gifts for my mom. They had gifts for us as well. My parents are clearing out their house as they get older. They sent us all home with boxes of books, knick-knacks, and pictures.

I ended up with the glass oil lamps that always sat on top of the piano when I was small and my mom’s first crewel pieces. I also convinced my siblings and my parents to keep their albums and genealogy at their cabin, where I could caretake them for the family.

I realize that the minimalist trend can make it difficult to hold onto the ephemera of family life. We can only collect so much in our busy, little homes. But the church of Ste. Anne on Mackinac Island has its parish registry going back to the 1670s, keeping alive the memory of people and families who passed into eternity centuries ago. The Church as a whole has records tracing back to Christ. All these records – names, dates, paintings, photos – help connect us to the people who shaped our lives. They help keep us connected to each other, to our families, and to the Church.

I like decluttering my house. Now that we’re home again, I’m rolling up my sleeves to begin some serious spring cleaning. I can look around right now and see quite a few things that have to go. But, like the Church herself, I’m not looking to escape clutter – instead, I’m hoping to enshrine memories and inspire hope. To have nothing that is not either useful or beautiful.

The home is the domestic church – a tiny image of the full Church. In some ways, my own domestic church is modeled on churches like Ste. Anne’s on the island: small, simple, hospitable, abundant, and bursting with memories.