News- United States

Light on the Prairie

In an inhospitable climate, a diocese shows extraordinary signs of spiritual vigor.

Charles L. Eldridge

What is the measure of a diocese's spiritual health? There are different compilations of data available, but perhaps no barometer is more indicative of a spirituality firmly anchored in solid Church tradition than the number of ordinations. On that basis the Diocese of Fargo, North Dakota, deserves a closer look.

Twelve ordinations in 1997 brought to 54 the number of men annointed by Bishop James S. Sullivan to serve the diocese in his 12 years as its spiritual leader. That amounts to fully half of the priests currently active in the diocese. In the next two years 12 to 15 more are expected to be added to the ranks. Of this year's ordinands, five were from the diocese, five from elsewhere in the United States, and two from other countries.

A look at a map gives little clue as to why men from all over the world would choose this with diocese with its 100,000 Catholics. The 35,000-square-mile area, comprising the eastern half of North Dakota, bordering Canada; the climate has been described as having "two seasons--arctic winter and July." While that may be an exaggeration, there is no denying that the region generally shows up in the national news only because of blizzards, floods, and droughts. Yet the priests come.

Mostly rural, and largely dependant on agriculture, the Diocese of Fargo is one of wide open spaces and small towns. Many of the 108 active priests serving its 160 parishes are responsible for one or two mission parishes. Still the priests come--from Africa, the Philippines, Poland, and all across America.

In fact it has always been that way. Early settlers in the region included many Catholic Germans and French Canadians. Ireland and western Europe have been generous sending priests during the diocese's 108 years. The first bishop was John Shanley in 1889, followed James O'Reilly in 1910; both were from Ireland.

Perhaps Fargo's most famous bishop, the third, was Aloisius Muench, who came from Wisconsin. Because of his fluent command of the German language, Pope Pius XII had sent him to Germany after World War II to assist in the Vatican's post-war efforts; he literally ran the Fargo diocese from Germany for several years. It was through him that a large number of priests who had been imprisoned in German concentration camps came to Fargo to be incardinated here. In 1959 he was created a cardinal and elevated to the Roman Curia by Pope Pius XII.

Fargo's Cardinal Muench Seminary stands not only as a memorial to its namesake, but as a statement of the willingness of the diocese's youth to answer the call of Christ to the priesthood. There are currently 47 men studying for the priesthood in the Diocese of Fargo: 23 at Cardinal Muench and 24 at theologates around the country.

Having asked a number of ordinands in recent years, "Why did you choose to come here?" I have come to expect the answer, "To serve the Church under Bishop Sullivan."

Although Bishop Sullivan is an increasingly popular speaker at Catholic gatherings around the country, he is not charismatic in the popular sense. Prayerful, quiet, and reserved, the bishop simply defers to the Holy Spirit. God has blessed the diocese, Bishop Sullivan states. He has answered the prayers of his Church to send laborers into this vineyard.

Those blessings have been diverse. Two years ago a community of Catholic families, converted as a group from their Baptist origins before coming to North Dakota, accepted Bishop Sullivan's invitation to move into an abandoned convent in Warsaw, a small town about 100 miles north of Fargo. This Bethlehem Community has achieved national renown as a publisher of childrens books that teach sound Christian principles. "The Belthlehem Community is an example of Christian optimism at its most wonderful," noted Jo Ritter Harsy, special assistant to Bishop Sullivan.

Two communities of Franciscan men have also moved into the diocese in the past two years. In fact three of this year's ordinands were Franciscans from one of those communities, which opened a boarding school for boys in an unused public school in Pisek, another small town not far from Warsaw. A community of sisters, recently instituted and based in Rome, has moved to Fargo and serves at the university Newman Center. They join six other orders of nuns serving the diocese in various ministries.

The work of the Church at work in this diocese is not being done only by those who have been consecrated or ordained. Beginning in 1990 Bishop Sullivan launched his "Opening Doors & Opening Hearts" project, sending Catholics--mostly lay people--into the homes of other Catholic families to "share the gift of Christ." Almost 90 percent of the homes in nearly every parish were visited, and the response was overwhelmingly positive. In fact, many parishes have made the door-to-door visits a continuing part of their activities; some are now on their third round of visitations.

An administrator who operates by forming a consensus, Bishop Sullivan relies heavily on an active Diocesan Pastoral Council to keep him in touch with his widely scattered flock. (Only about a third of the dioceses in the United States have such advisory councils.) At each quarterly meeting, Council delegates are given "homework" assignments for the next session. One of last year's assignments was to present examples of positive, "good-news" developments in the diocese.

The difficulties of undertaking positive new projects in North Dakota go beyond the usual constraints of time, energy, and dedication. Most rural parishes have fewer than 200 families, and are separated by 15 or 25 miles. Except in the two "metropolitan" areas of the diocese--Fargo (population 75,000) and Grand Forks (50,000), it takes serious work to bring a large number of Catholics together in any one place. No other city in the diocese has more than one parish. Add the certainty of uncertain weather, and the Church in Fargo faces a challenge that only the Holy Spirit could surmount.

The population growth of the city of Fargo prompted the diocese to create a new parish last year on the city's south side. Aware that an inner-city parish in Milwaukee was closing, and inspired by the beauty of its traditional Romanesque interior decor, Bishop Sullivan turned for advice to young Catholic architects at the University of Notre Dame and elsewhere. "Could such traditional Catholic art be incorporated in a modern Catholic church?" he asked.

The answer was "Yes"--although such a building, modern but with Romanesque elements, would have been an innovation for the region. The diocese proceeded with plans to purchase altars, frescoes, mosaics, and some furniture for the new Fargo parish. When this plan became public, many priests and lay persons protested, contending the diocese should not dictate what kind of church building should be built. Bishop Sullivan conceded that battle, but not the war. St. Mary's Cathedral in Fargo was in serious need of remodeling. After an extensive remodeling project he rededicated the catheral--with most of its beautiful frescoes, mosaics, altars, and furnishings, acquired from Milwaukee.

The most recent instance of national publicity for eastern North Dakota actually provided a demonstration of the fruitful interplay among the bishop, priests. and laity of the diocese. Not suprisingly, the occasion was an act of nature.

The Red River of the North, which defines North Dakota's eastern border with Minnesota, unleashed a flood of prehistoric proportions in the spring of 1997. Almost every community in the broad, flat valley experienced some damage, but Grand Forks was devastated. Nearly every home was affected; some were totally destroyed. All four Catholic parishes experienced severe flood damage. The entire population was evacuated; many went to the homes of friends or relatives in distant communities, while others were temporarily sheltered in hangars at the Grand Forks Air Force Base.

Throughout the loss and the hardship Bishop Sullivan and his pastors were there. "The shepherds must be with their sheep," the bishop insisted. On many occasions the bishop made the 55-mile trip north from Fargo to be with his priests and his people: to talk and console them and bring Christ to the refugees.

When the waters subsided and the people returned to their homes, the Grand Forks Herald conducted a survey in which the city's residents were asked what effect the flood had on their faith in God. A large majority said it strengthened their faith; many explained the devastation as a lesson that God, not man, was in control. The faith of the people had been proven genuine, like Noah's, in the waters of the deluge.

Maybe the experience of the flood suggests a formula for a diocese that "works." Take a prayerful bishop, faithful to the magisterium of the Church. Add priests and religious who carry out their ministries despite the challenges of weather, distance, and sparse population. Mix in the laity--for the most part still people of the land, still open and honest, still familiar with hard work and sacrifice. All work together to build God's kingdom here on the prairie.

And so the priests come.

Charles L. Eldridge is associate editor of New Earth, the Fargo diocesan newspaper.