Morning Thanks--Father De Smet

Like many a "holy man" in the west, Father Pierre-Jean De Smet, a Flemish Roman Catholic priest, a Hugh Glass in a black robe, was frequently called upon to practice medicine, what little he knew of it anyway. Because he often found himself holding coughing or fevered children, he sometimes performed surreptitious baptisms in a sacrament/procedure he described thusly:

When I find a child in danger whose parents are ill-disposed toward religion, I take out my bottles and recommend certain medicines. I begin by rubbing the child with camphor; then taking water, I baptize it before their unsuspecting eyes, and thus open heaven to the innocent soul.

Some of the early moments in the ministry of Father De Smet were so preposterously successful that he and the other early 19th century "black robes," almost all of them recent European immigrants, could hardly believe the fervent disciples they were almost effortlessly gathering. In many cases, their reputation for practicing powerful medicine far preceded their arrival in a camp. In some cases, Native people sent representatives to find them, then begged them to visit or bring them another "black robe" they could claim as their very own. 

There were reasons the "black robes" were so successful initially. They understood quickly that learning the native languages was a necessity. They used visual aids--even music and drama--extensively, gave rewards for contests, and brought the people into the religious circle by making them parts of the rituals at the heart of their ministry. 

Have a look at the picture above. Some feast days involved the entire community in ritual drama, here the procession of St. Mary on the feast of Corpus Christi in 1842. To a people, like any, who adored decoration, even extravagance, the kinds of rituals presented by the black robes were often greatly enchanting and soon beloved.

Father De Smet put on mileage like a Greyhound, and there were no paved roads, no roads at all, nothing but trails up and over mountain passes that were in themselves spiritual trials. Before the church made him an administrator in St. Louis, he traveled all through the west, back and forth, north and south, rain or shine, in the depths of mountain cold or through oppressive heat down on the plains.

And it needs to be remembered that for 19th century missionaries like Father De Smet and the stumpy little Presbyterian, Rev. Sheldon Jackson, the real enemies they encountered in their lives and their ministries weren't red but white. The frontier was an incredible place because, for the most part, there were no rules. Life wasn't so much a crap shoot as power grab--most power wins, justice practiced by on a hanging tree or whose rifle fires best or fastest.  

The powerful testimony of a man like Pierre-Jean De Smet was created by his generosity, his humility, and his curiosity. He was a great teacher because in great part he loved to learn. He believed in surreptitious baptism not because he was brushing those babies' foreheads with holy water, but because it never occurred to him that the Savior he worshipped couldn't or wouldn't love that child as much as he did.

De Smet was an impossibly good man when Native America was awash in men who weren't. Long before the white man ever showed up, one Christian Lakota said, we knew good from bad. But the white man showed us the best good--Jesus Christ the Savior--and the worst bad. 

If the real enemy out west in the 19th century was the Devil, likely as not he was the one in paleface.