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I grew up with St. Isaac Jogues. 

With my family living just down the street from Sacred Heart Church in Cohoes, the life-sized statue of the saint outside was an intrinsic part of my childhood. The neighborhood kids climbed its base to get a couple of feet taller for a minute; we told younger children that the granite statue - mostly white, but blackened in the folds of the saint's robe - was made of salt and pepper.

Older parishioners often touch the toes of statues as a sign of piety. I got a lot of kids to lick St. Isaac. (In fact, I liked the story so much, I tried it myself. Granite is actually kind of salty.)

I'm not sure when St. Isaac came to Sacred Heart; the French saint isn't mentioned in the history booklet assembled for the French parish's centennial back in 1987, except for one oblique reference: "Our 100th anniversary year finds St. Isaac Jogues, who sanctified these lands with his blood, continuing to bless all the parishioners of Sacred Heart Church."

The statue did move around, however. Though I never remember St. Isaac being moved - that would have taken a crane - he sometimes stood next to the church, but usually appeared in the middle of the vacant lot across the street. My father was one of several volunteers who mowed the lawn around St. Isaac, cut back the fast-growing bushes someone planted around the base and cemented the poor saint's hand back onto his arm when it kept getting broken.

Teenage boys used to play football on that lot, too, maneuvering around the statue. For all I know, there's a football play named after St. Isaac now, like the Hail Mary pass. 

The lot was also where the church bazaars were held every year, so St. Isaac was the hub in the wheel of booths and games of chance. I could see his head, well above the crowd, as I manned the duck pond booth with my mother. Handing out prizes to every kid who picked up a numbered plastic duck was as much a tradition as glancing over at the statue.

I didn't cry when Sacred Heart Church closed its doors in 2007. Like so many other parishes in the Albany Diocese, its population had grayed and shrunk; I'd moved north years before and had only come back for Christmas Mass to sit with my mother and hear my father sing with the choir. Besides, I was of a more transitory generation; I believed I cared more about people than buildings and objects.

But, when I came to visit my parents long after the "for sale" signs had gone up and saw an empty concrete base where St. Isaac had stood for so many decades, I got choked up. I'd known the church would be sold, but it had never occurred to me that St. Isaac would move on, too. 

I joked to myself that, as a missionary, he probably liked to travel. But I also felt a little scared: What if St. Isaac was now just a broken heap of salt and pepper? Had anyone saved the saint?

"It's the successor parishes that are in charge of dispersing the items, so I would try them," said the secretary in the diocesan Office of Real Property.

"I'm going to give you Father [Art Becker]," said the secretary at Holy Trinity parish in Cohoes, where many parishioners of Cohoes' lost churches - not just Sacred Heart, but its companion church, St. Rita's, and St. Joseph's and St. Bernard's - were presumed to have gone.

"I've tracked down your statue, I think," Father Becker reported a few minutes later. "According to Bernie, the maintenance man down there, it was sold to somebody who was going to pay to have it refurbished, and he was going to donate it to Auriesville. Bernie didn't remember the man's name, but he said [the man] really liked the statue."

Relieved, I called the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs in Auriesville. But Rev. Peter Murray, SJ, director of the shrine, said: "The only life-sized statue of Isaac Jogues we have is up in Lake George. I don't think anything appeared here." 

As the saying goes, there's a lesson in there somewhere. 

A parish closed, and a Catholic vanished. There are probably many of St. Isaac's peers around the Diocese, formerly faithful parishioners whose hearts turned as stony as his. They cared about the church buildings and the objects within; and when change came, they quietly disappeared.

People go where they're welcomed. I like to think that St. Isaac found a new home in that unnamed Catholic's backyard, one hand still raised to wave to visitors.

I hope he hasn't turned into just a pillar of salt.

(07/02/09) [[In-content Ad]]

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