Those Who Lie in Unmarked Graves
“They said to him, 'Rabbi' (which translated means Teacher), 'where are you staying?' He said to them, 'Come, and you will see.'” – Jn 1:38-39
Recently I rode on a leaking bus for two hours in the pouring rain with 40 fourth graders. Our destination: Mission Santa Barbara. Our group finally landed in the Mission Church with a shell-shocked Franciscan, conscripted into service after the scheduled tour guides got trapped at home in the rain. Having no idea what the kids were supposed to be learning about, he relied heavily on audience participation to keep things moving.
The kids told him they had recently finished reading Island of the Blue Dolphins, a novel based on the true story of a native woman who was stranded alone on San Nicolas Island off the coast of California for 18 years. After being “rescued” by a sea captain, she died at the Santa Barbara Mission within weeks of her arrival. When the priest told them the mysterious woman was buried “somewhere out there” in the mission cemetery, the kids clamored to find umbrellas and jackets, eagerly traversing the muddy grounds for a glimpse of the plaque that commemorates her life. Her actual resting place is unmarked. The kids were completely unimpressed by the former governor, bishop, military leaders and political elites of early California that were buried in the mission crypt. They wanted to glimpse the proof of the Lone Woman who inspired them with her grit and strength.
I had a similar experience when I visited the area where the foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame was laid to rest. Sr. Mary Aloysia Wolbring, who came to the United States from Prussia 150 years ago, was also buried in an unmarked common grave. Due to an extreme heat wave and other factors, she had no funeral procession and only a handful of sisters attended her burial. I think of her legacy now: 2,000 Sisters in 17 countries on 5 continents…. and hundreds of thousands of students, like myself, who were educated by her sisters. Yet she was buried in a simple urban cemetery without pomp and circumstance. I was surprised by how moving it was to see that open expanse of grass with only a common cross to mark the general area. I recognized something of that awe as the fourth graders, clad in California quality winter-wear, dashed into the storm for proof that the Lone Woman was real. The ground beneath my feet was hallowed by their collective presence, whether I knew their names or not.
Today is the feast day of Elizabeth Ann Seton, the first American-born saint. We celebrate her role in founding the Daughters of Charity, the first order of women’s religious in the United States, and the parochial school system. She has a shrine in Maryland and another memorial where she lived in New York City. Rightfully, her body is entombed and her legacy preserved so even more religious and lay people can be inspired by her heroic life. I personally know and love so many Daughters of Charity who carry out that vision today.
Standing on the graves of unnamed sisters and native peoples, I am humbled and inspired by their lives of sacrifice and service. Their names and details may not be preserved for posterity, but our faith tells us that God knows each of them, and each one of us, wholly and personally. The ground where they lay, these unmarked graves, is as sacred and holy as the shrines to notable figures.
St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, pray for us.
Sr. Mary Aloysia, pray for us.
The Lone Woman, pray for us.
All who rest in God’s peace, pray for us.
All you holy men and women, pray for us.
Jen Coito