I’d never been to St. Louis, so when I found out the National League of Women Journalists’ conference and awards ceremony would be held there in 2024, I knew I wanted to go. My two adult daughters were happy to accompany me, which gave me the push I needed to pack.
Because I am always looking for signs of God’s presence, I suspected St. Louis had a wealth of spiritual treasures and immediately began researching local churches and service schedules.
On Sunday, my last full day, the long-awaited St. Louis Cathedral finally appeared. I had some trouble with my prayer habits during the long, hot journey, but it was especially blissful when I entered the cool sanctuary of the magnificent interior for Mass. It was a welcoming embrace from God. Surrounding me on all sides were colorful mosaics bearing encouraging words from the Bible, which lifted my weary soul.
Over Italian food, last night’s finale was a rousing performance at Jazz St. Louis featuring local trumpeter Keyon Harrold. Shortly before, I told my daughters about the many spires I’d seen in “Rome of the West.” The very name St. Louis, named after a humble and devout French king, alludes to the city’s deep religious tradition. The spires that graced the skyline we had just seen from the top of the arch were undoubtedlySpilling!
But while I stirred the spaghetti and meatballs, my daughters bombarded me with a question I had asked them when they were their age: Why don’t churches sell their treasures to benefit the poor? I pointed to Matthew 26:11, reminding them of Jesus’ response shortly before his death to a woman who had “wasted” precious nard after being anointed with oil. “We could have sold the nard and given the money to the poor,” the complainers blurted out. “The poor will always be with you, but I will not always be with you,” Jesus said.
If the Church were to sell all her treasures, what could possibly give rich and poor alike eternal hope and focus on heaven? Mother Teresa, after making a similar complaint, aptly stated, “The poor also love a beautiful Church.”
A spiritual epiphany was occurring within me throughout the trip. Even before I left Fargo, I saw many crosses hanging around necks in the airport, evidence that many still revere the Lord, even if He has disappeared from the consciences of some.
The conference also included further testimony from Lynn Jackson, a descendant of Dred and Harriet Scott, whose faith was expressed in a powerful testimony of her great-great-grandfather’s heroism in working to advance human dignity for all.
Finally, when I received the award at the end of the conference, I coincidentally felt a “wink from God” as I was being recognized for an article I had written a year earlier, detailing an impromptu visit by a friend in Fargo with his family to view the exhumed, incorruptible remains of, of all things, a nun from Missouri.
If we seek God’s fingerprints every day, near or far, life becomes an unparalleled adventure.
