Part 4: 19th century Know Nothings and anti-Catholicism

Stephen Enzweiler, Cathedral Historian
Part 4 in a series

On Aug. 6, 1855, a large mob descended upon the election polls in Louisville, Ky., and made a show of force to block Irish and German Catholics of the city from voting in the day’s election. What transpired was a day-long series of beatings, lootings, acts of arson and murder. German breweries were burned, immigrant homes and businesses were looted, Catholic churches were vandalized and the Eucharist desecrated. Loaded cannons were rolled up in front of and pointed at St. Martin’s Church, ready for firing. Of the more than 1,000 Catholics eligible to vote that day, only 20 were able to cast a ballot. As evening fell and the mobs dispersed, 22 people were dead and parts of the city lay in ashes. History would remember it as “Bloody Monday.”

Bloody Monday was just one incident among many resulting from a growing mid-19th century anti-Catholic sentiment called nativism.

Nativism was a political position derived from the policy of protecting the interests of native-born or established American inhabitants against the interests of immigrants. For 156 years before the American Revolution, the religious, cultural and political landscape had been dominated by generations of mostly English Protestants. As the flow of Catholic immigrants increased in the early 19th century, this dominance was weakened as immigrants began playing greater roles in determining the cultural identity and political direction of the country.

Anti-Catholic prejudice was first brought to colonial America by Protestant Europeans, predominantly English Pilgrims who were themselves victims of religious persecution by the Church of England. They shunned its traditions and rubrics of worship which they believed were rooted in Roman Catholicism. As a result, early American religious culture evolved with a deeply Protestant emphasis. Thus, being English meant being “anti-Catholic.” British colonies like Virginia enacted laws prohibiting Catholics from owning land, marrying, having businesses, or becoming lawyers. Maryland double taxed Catholics and enacted laws that outlawed the Mass, the Sacraments, and Catholic education.

In the first two centuries of the colonial period, there were basically two varieties of anti-Catholic prejudice. The first was of the biblical variety, a theological byproduct of the Protestant Reformation and the European wars of religion. Early American religious identity was largely either Anglican or Puritan. Clashes between the two gave birth to new movements, such as the Congregationalists, Baptists, Methodists, Quakers, Unitarians and others. But the colonial worldview did not include Catholics; it accused the pope of being the Anti-Christ and Rome of being “Babylon the great, mother of harlots and of the earth’s abominations” [Rev 17:5].

The second variety evolved in the early 19th century from a xenophobic and ethnocentric distrust of the increasing numbers of Roman Catholic immigrants coming into the country. These foreigners were said to be under the influence of Rome and under the direction of the pope who wanted to infiltrate the country and replace democracy with obedience to the papacy. This threatened the long-standing Anglo-Protestant dominance that had prevailed in America since the time of the Mayflower, and it gave rise to the use of derogatory, anti-Catholic pejoratives such as Romanism, papism, and popery.

Know Nothingism is perhaps the most infamous of the anti-Catholic movements to come out of the 19th century. Founded in 1849 as the “Order of the Star-Spangled Banner,” it viewed Catholics as foreigners under the control of the Pope in Rome. Later known as the American Party, Know Nothingism evolved into a secret political movement formed to organize native-born Protestants in opposition to the growing numbers of Catholic immigrants from Europe. They were called “Know Nothings” because members were required to answer “I know nothing” whenever asked about details of their organization. The secrecy was understandable, considering Know Nothing members were known to engage in almost every kind of violence to achieve their anti-Catholic objectives.

By 1852, the Know Nothings were achieving phenomenal national growth, largely due to the intellectual and financial contributions of none other than Samuel F. B. Morse, the inventor of the telegraph, an eminently respected American — and a rabid anti-Catholic. Morse accused the Vatican of subverting traditional Protestant values and ideals. He wrote prolifically and published pamphlets against the Catholics, charging that “Popery” is a political as well as a religious system, and he called Catholicism the “cloven foot of foreign heresy.” Morse remained vigorously anti-Catholic for the rest of his life.

In the same year the Know Nothings were formed, the first group of Franciscans came to Cincinnati. In his journal in 1844, Father William Unterthiner described the reaction of city residents who saw Franciscans walking the streets in their brown habits. “Some people threw wooden sticks at us,” he wrote, “and cursed us as we walked down the street. It is certainly true that a person is free to choose one, or even no religion, but one would still be very mistaken if he believed that Catholics are allowed to live unhindered.”

In 1853, Pope Pius IX sent Archbishop Gaetano Bedini to the U.S. to report on the state of the Catholic Church in America. During his visit to Cincinnati, hundreds of protesters marched on St. Peter’s Cathedral with a scaffold from which an effigy of the archbishop was hanging along with signs that read “Down with Bedini!,” “No Priests, No Kings,” “Down with the Butchers of Rome!” and “Down with the Papacy!” The riot that resulted became known as the Cincinnati Riot of 1853, and claimed the life of one protester, with 15 wounded, and 63 arrested. Bedini’s visit to other cities fared no better, as violent demonstrations erupted against his visit in Louisville, Cleveland, Baltimore, and Boston. In New York, the threat of violence was expected, and Bedini was secreted by rowboat to a waiting steamship in the harbor on which he immediately departed for Europe.

In the same year as the Cincinnati riot (1853), Pope Pius IX carved a new see out of the eastern Kentucky landscape and appointed a quiet academic named Father George Aloyisius Carrell as the first Bishop of Covington. The episcopate of Bishop Carrell would be a difficult one to say the least. From the very beginning, he had to endure persistent nativist aggression and the anti-Catholic threats of Know Nothings. There were outdoor rallies, threats and protest marches against the Church. In response, a number of priests printed pamphlets and periodicals in defense of the new diocese and Roman Catholicism. Editors of the “Catholic Advocate” reminded its Bardstown readership that “persecution is wisely permitted to try the fidelity of God’s servants, to purify and disengage them from this earth; and to prove that God can preserve his Church against all human opposition.”

Bishop Carrell was no doubt reminded of Jesus’ own words, “If the world hates you, understand that it hated me first” [Jn 15:18]. But the new bishop and his small band of just six priests faced the dangers with Christlike courage. “In courthouses and community halls,” penned Father Paul Ryan in his 1954 History of the Diocese of Covington, “where others who denounced that un-American activity had pistols primed for defense on the desk before them, Bishop Carrell fearlessly stood unprotected, explaining the Catholic teaching with a natural eloquence.”

It should be noted that the vast majority of anti-Catholic agitation across America was non-violent. Yet every priest, as they went about their ordinary duties, knew that danger was never very far away. Still vivid in their memory was the unhappy story of one of their own — Father Charles F. Broeswald. Father Broeswald had been a well-known figure in Northern Kentucky in the 1840’s. Assigned here by Bishop Flaget in 1844, he founded Corpus Christi Church in Newport and served as its first pastor until being reassigned to Louisville in 1846. There, he founded St. Mary Church, where he remained its pastor for the next nine years. On the night of Nov. 2, 1855, Father Boeswald was returning home from a routine sick call when he was killed by a mob of Know Nothings.

The power and influence of the Know Nothings came to an unceremonious end after the 1856 election, and by 1860 they had become largely irrelevant as an effective social and political movement. But it was the Civil War that became the principal cause of decline in 19th century anti-Catholicism. Irish and German immigrants had rushed by the tens of thousands to enlist in the fight in the nation’s struggle to put down the rebellion. Their great number of enlistments in the Union Army — and their heavy losses in battle — would go on to dispel any lingering notions about Catholics and immigrant disloyalty.

But just below the surface, the smoldering embers of anti-Catholic prejudice and discontent would continue to linger … and wait … for a new opportunity and another time to emerge.

Coming in Part 5: The Lightning that came from the East

Part 3: Pioneer priests brought Eucharistic tradition to Kentucky

by Stephen Enzweiler, Cathedral Historian

At the beginning of the 19th century, the turbulent and deadly effects of the French Revolution had finally begun to subside across most of Europe. During the decade of the 1790’s, the Catholic Church had been subjected to a level of brutality and systematic persecution that hadn’t been seen since Roman times. In ten short years, the Church that had enjoyed a privileged bond with kings and empires in the moral governance of societies, had been reduced to little more than a hollow shell. The 1801 Concordat, brokered by Napoleon Bonaparte, was meant to usher in a period of reconciliation and renewed cooperation between the Napoleonic regime and the shattered Catholic Church. It was a beginning, but the damage had been done.

ccording to historian Dr. Frank Tallett, more than 30,000 priests had been forced out of France during the Revolution. About 20,000 more had been forced to hand over their letters of ordination, and up to 9,000 had been forced to marry. Thousands who did not recant or leave were guillotined. Gone was the once proud and influential Gallican Church of France, with its centuries old rituals and religious traditions, its beauty and its liturgy. Gone, too, were its priests who alone had the faculty to consecrate bread and wine into the Holy Eucharist and bring the real presence of Jesus Christ to people for the nourishment and salvation of their immortal souls.

Like seeds scattered in the wind, thousands of clergy fled the darkness westward across the Atlantic to a bright, new land of hope. With them they brought their theological training, their priestly faculties, and their unquenchable desire to save souls, all fueled by their Lord’s great commission to “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations” (Matthew 28:18). And, like seeds do, they found fertile soil in a new home called Maryland and the newly established Diocese of Baltimore, led by the energetically pragmatic and optimistic Bishop John Carroll (1735-1815).

Born in Maryland in 1735, John Carroll joined the Jesuits in 1753 and studied in Liege, Belgium until his ordination there in 1761. He remained in Europe until he was almost 40, gaining a reputation as a learned and influential clergyman. But when Pope Clement XIV suppressed the Jesuit order in 1773, he returned to Maryland. At the time, English laws discriminated against Catholics and prevented the existence of any public Catholic Church in colonial Maryland. For a time, Carrol became a missionary priest visiting the rural mission stations bringing the Gospel and sacraments to Catholic settlers along the Maryland-Virginia frontier. As the American rebellion began, his sympathies were with the revolution which he saw as favorable to the future of the Catholic Church in America.

With Independence in 1783, Fr. Carroll he wrote to a friend in Rome that “our Religious system has undergone a revolution, if possible, more extraordinary, than our political one.” Unlike the French Revolution, the American Revolution employed the Enlightenment ideal of separation of church and state, permitting Catholicism in the United States to develop and grow on its own without political interference. It was Benjamin Franklin, a close friend of Fr. Carroll, who had argued for complete religious freedom for Catholics in the new United States, and his close association with Franklin make Carroll the de facto ambassador of all American Catholics.

Like Franklin, Fr. John Carroll was a forward thinker. He favored saying the Mass in English, proposed that papal power extend only to spiritual matters, fought taxes against the Church and its clergy, and demanded equal rights for Roman Catholics. He founded parishes, and in 1783 he led a series of meetings with fellow clergy which resulted in the organization of the Catholic Church in the United States. His work did not go unnoticed. On June 9, 1784, Fr. John Carroll was appointed by Pope Pius VI as provisional “Superior of the Missions in the thirteen United States of North America.” In 1790, he became the first Bishop of Baltimore.

Like a farmer preparing the soil for planting, Bishop Carroll was instrumental in preparing the conditions for the planting and growth of the Catholic Church in the United States. Catholics had lived in the American colonies for more than 150 years, mostly as farmers in Maryland growing tobacco. By the close of the revolution in 1783, eastern farm soils were exhausted, and the Catholic farmers looked west toward the lands of legendary fertility in Kentucky. But the Catholic emigrants were unable to secure priests to accompany them. At the time there were only 25,000 Catholics in America and only 25 priests. And as the era of westward migration gained steam, the American Church found itself chronically understaffed.

In 1790, there were only about 300 Catholic families in Kentucky, most of them concentrated in Nelson County near a trading post called Bardstown. All of them were hungry for a priest to bring them the sacraments. The only priest in this vast frontier territory was Rev. Charles Maurice Whelan (1741-1805). Whelan had been sent there by Carroll in 1787 and became the first Catholic priest in Kentucky. In Carroll’s own words, he “not only kept alive the spirit of religion amongst the Catholics, but in addition, he has gained a great increase for the Church of Jesus Christ.”

Rev. William de Rohan was another sent by Carroll to assist Whelan. De Rohan had served in the Carolinas and had been granted permission by Bishop Carroll to administer the sacraments in Kentucky. For four years he brought the Eucharist to whomever needed it. In 1792, he build a log structure, which became the first Catholic church built west of the Allegheny Mountains. Unfortunately, both Whelan and de Rohan encountered personal problems that made their stays in Kentucky short-lived.

Then on September 3, 1793, Bishop Carroll sent the newly ordained Fr. Stephen Badin (1768-1853) west into Kentucky. It was the same Stephen Badin who had escaped revolutionary France with Fr. Benedict Joseph Flaget and Fr. John Mary David, and it would be Badin who would become the guiding light that transformed the face of Catholicism in Kentucky. Badin was stern and rigid, but his care for the spiritual lives of his charges and for bringing the Eucharist to them was famous among Kentuckians. He taught young catechumens with strictness and exhorted families to have morning and evening prayers. His opposition to dancing was legendary. Like a bloodhound, he could sniff out dancing schools and private parties wherever they may be. One contemporary remembered: “He sometimes arrived unexpectedly while dancing was going on… he glided into the room before anyone knew it and told them smiling, that ‘it was time for night prayers.’” Writing to Bishop Carrol, Badin remarked, “No clergyman is fit for Kentucky who seeks for his own interests more than for those of Jesus Christ.”

In 1805, Badin was joined by Rev. Charles Nerinckx (1761-1824), another survivor of the French Revolution. Badin and Nerinckx liked each other from the beginning and went on to become close, lifelong friends. Short and stocky, the older Nerinckx had an almost endless physical strength and stamina. His mortification was legendary: he fasted every day, wore homespun clothes, and had an aversion to any kind of decoration or ornamentation. Once when he received a new horse bridle as a gift, he quietly took out his pocket knife and trimmed off the tassels and ornamentation. Like Badin, he was exceedingly strict and was an opponent of dancing, putting great emphasis on prayer, confession, and receiving the sacraments, especially the Eucharist.

“Nothing could exceed the devotion of Mr. Nerinckx to the Holy Sacrament of the altar,” wrote Bishop Flaget in a letter to Bishop England after Nerinckx’s death in 1824. “In this respect he is the model for every clergyman.” Nerinckx kept his churches plain and without decoration except for the altar where the tabernacle was. To him it was the Holy of Holies, where his Eucharistic Lord dwelled. He always kept it richly decorated and instilled in all of his congregations the regular practice of perpetual adoration of the Sacrament. After founding the Sisters of Loretto in 1812, he instilled in them the rule of observing “perpetual adoration” each Thursday night – all night – in memory of the institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper. This reverence and  devotion to the Blessed Sacrament was observed in all of his congregations.

In the years after 1805, the Catholic population of Kentucky grew as westward migration continued. In 1808, Bardstown became the seat of a new Diocese, with the diligent Benedict Joseph Flaget as its new Bishop. The arrival of the Dominicans in Kentucky were in notable contrast to the strict pastoral style of Badin and Nerinckx. Guided by the deft hand of leaders like Rev. Edward Fenwick and Rev. Stephen Montgomery, the Dominicans became popular, were more lenient, and fostered kindness, tolerance and piety among Kentucky Catholics. They also approved of dancing.

Yet as more immigrants arrived from the east, Bishop Flaget struggled to provide priests to minister to the growing Catholic communities. One of those was in Covington, where almost a quarter of the 947 residents in 1830 were Catholic. A frustrated Flaget turned to Cincinnati’s Bishop Purcell and asked for help, and in response, Purcell sent Dominican Fr. Stephen Montgomery, then rector of the Seminary in Cincinnati.

In 1833, Fr. Montgomery began crossing the Ohio and visiting the Covington Catholics twice monthly, celebrating Mass and providing the sacraments on a regular basis. Within the year, both Purcell and Flaget saw the need for a more permanent solution. In 1834, Bishop Purcell and Fr. Montgomery built the first Catholic church in northern Kentucky on Fifth Street in Covington. They named it “St. Mary’s Mission.”

Next time: “When America Hated All Catholics.”

Part 2: Roots of 19th Century religious decline ran deep

Stephen Enzweiler, Cathedral Historian 

Part 2 in a series

The first Eucharistic Congress of the United States, held in 1895 on the campus of Catholic University in Washington, D.C., brought together clergy and bishops from across the nation in a first-of-its-kind assembly to do just one thing: proclaim the real presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist. 

“Our main object,” the official report stated, was to “call the attention of the priests of the East to the Eucharistic movement and to awaken the interest of the laity in it.” The congress — organized under the auspices of the Priests’ Eucharistic League of America, with the blessing of Pope Leo XIII and presided over by the Diocese of Covington’s Bishop Camillus Maes — was a resounding success. So much so, that at least five more national congresses would come to be held in the United States alone before Bishop Maes’ death in 1915. 

But it started with this first one, memorialized for posterity in the stained-glass window we see today in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel of Covington’s Cathedral Basilica. The scene shows the Eucharistic procession at the conclusion of the Congress moving toward an altar erected beneath the portico arches of Catholic University’s newly dedicated McMahon Hall. Bishop Maes, vested in a golden cope, carries the ostensorium containing the Holy Eucharist amid a throng of bishops, priests and faithful. Though not historically accurate in some of its details, the scene is undoubtedly meant to evoke the joy and accomplishment of that First National Eucharistic Congress. 

But the window is more than this. It seems to have been Bishop Maes’s intention not simply to illustrate the American Church’s accomplishment, nor even to emphasize the necessity for belief and veneration of the real presence, but also to challenge us to look deeper into the broader story of why Eucharistic Congresses were necessary in the first place. By the 1880’s, the slow decline of religion in general had become a concern to the Church in both Europe and in America. More worrisome was the steep decline among both clergy and lay faithful of belief in the “real presence” itself. 

It may be said that the roots of this decline in religion can be traced back to the Enlightenment, an intellectual and philosophical movement that dominated Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries. Its central doctrines were opposed to the rule of monarchy and the power and influence of the Catholic Church in society. It focused on a range of ideas including individual liberty, natural rights, human happiness, the value of reason, scientific evidence, and ideals such as progress, constitutional government, and the separation of church and state. 

Where monarchs and ruling nobility had once been viewed as an earthly representation of an eternal order modeled on the City of God, Enlightenment thought was seen as a mutually beneficial social contract among the citizenry with the aim of protecting their natural rights and self-interests at all costs. Religion came to be viewed as a threat to individualism, and religious beliefs and practices were cast aside in lieu of secular alternatives. What is clear from history, however, is that the Catholic Church became one of the main targets of Enlightenment intellectuals who systematically questioned every aspect of society and government. 

The effects of Enlightenment thinking first manifested in 1776 with the outbreak of the American Revolution. The colonies rejected the rule of King George III in favor of self-government and the natural rights of man. Centuries of religious persecution in England had fostered the independent growth of religion in the American colonies. It was a powerful, cultural synthesis of Evangelical Protestantism, republicanism, and reason that provided a moral sanction for opposition to British rule, an assurance to every American that revolution was justified in the sight of God. Religion became a major contributor to winning the Revolutionary War and it helped in shaping the new Republic. Yet, the founding fathers retained the basic Enlightenment principles when crafting a new Constitution, declaring “We the People” while simultaneously separating Church and state and omitting any thought or dependence on Divine institution. 

Enlightenment thinking took a decidedly more tragic turn in 1789 with the French Revolution that followed. With nearly all of France’s 28 million citizens as Roman Catholics, and with the Church second in power only to the monarchy itself, the new revolutionary government’s first action was to declare the Catholic Church an enemy of the state. It cancelled the taxing power of the Church and confiscated all its property. Clergy were hunted down and persecuted with ferocious and dogged tenacity. Unknown thousands of priests, bishops and nuns were massacred. Churches and sanctuaries were destroyed, convents and monasteries pillaged and sacked, the Holy Eucharist desecrated. 

In September 1792, three Church bishops and hundreds of priests were brutally murdered by angry mobs in what became known as the September Massacres. An entire convent of Carmelite nuns were guillotined in Compiegne for refusing to deny their faith. The Archbishop of Paris was forced to resign his duties and march through the streets of Paris wearing a red “Cap of Liberty” instead of his mitre. 

Catholic religious holidays were outlawed and replaced with festivals to celebrate the harvest and other non-religious symbols. One of the most notorious was the cult known as the Fête de la Raison or “Festival of Reason.” It was first celebrated in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, where the high altar had been torn down and an altar to Liberty erected with the inscription “To Philosophy.” Festive maidens in Roman dresses and colored sashes danced around a costumed Goddess of Reason who represented Liberty. 

But the turbulent effects of the French Revolution were a fate not confined only to France. It’s widespread dechristianization spread to other countries like Italy and Belgium. In 1796, the French army under the command of a young Napoleon Bonaparte invaded Italy and conquered the Italian states. French troops marched on Rome, attempted to force a renunciation of temporal authority from Pope Pius VI and, when he refused, took the pontiff prisoner, effectively ending all authority of the Papal Government. Pius VI died in 1799 while still a prisoner of the French. 

Belgium, then part of the Austrian Netherlands, had been invaded and annexed in 1795, resulting in the rapid implementation of the same reforms which had been passed in post-Revolution France. Like a leviathan’s hungry tenacles, death and destruction at the hands of the French reached across Belgium, closing churches, seminaries, and religious houses. Clergy were forbidden to wear ecclesiastical garb and were forced to publish a declaration recognizing France as the sovereign authority. The University of Louvain — long an institution for the education of seminarians and clergy — was closed for not providing “the kind of public instruction conformable to Republican principles.” 

More than 7,500 Belgian priests were illegally condemned and either deported or executed. One of those who narrowly escaped with his life was Rev. Charles Nerinckx (1761-1824). Ordained in 1785, the Flemish-born Nerinckx refused to comply with the French reforms. With a warrant out for his arrest, he went into hiding and evaded his would-be captors for four years, finally fleeing in disguise to the United States. He eventually made his way to Kentucky, where he became one of its most renowned Catholic missionary priests. 

Another was Father Benedict Joseph Flaget (1763-1850). He was a young priest teaching theology at the University of Nantes when it was closed by the Revolutionary Council in 1791. Fleeing with fellow priest, Rev. John Mary David and seminarian Stephen Badin, Flaget sailed from Bordeaux to Philadelphia in January 1792. Like Nerinckx, Flaget and Badin would find their way to Kentucky, Father Badin becoming a missionary in the footsteps of Nerinckx and Flaget the first Bishop of Bardstown in 1808. 

While the French Revolution nearly destroyed Catholicism in much of Europe, the first few decades of the 19th century witnessed a decline in Enlightenment influences. The Concordat of 1801 reconciled revolutionaries and Catholics and solidified the Roman Catholic Church as the majority church of France, and in 1826, the Confraternity of Penitents reestablished Eucharistic devotion to the French people. This movement also produced a similar reconciliation in Belgium where, on March 13, 1846, Camillus Paul Maes would be born into a devout Catholic family in the old Flemish city of Courtrai. 

But this isn’t the end of this story. The specter of the Enlightenment would linger for years to come, until one day the same Camillus Maes, now the Bishop of Covington and a ranking member of the American episcopate, would find it necessary to confront a new threat of religious decline in America and reawaken in priests and lay faithful a new reverence and devotion for his beloved Holy Eucharist. 

Coming up next: Part 3 —Pioneer priests brought the Eucharistic tradition to Kentucky.

Image: Period woodcut of Bishops and clergy forced to swear an oath to the regime.


Part 1: Cathedral’s Chapel window recalls the First Eucharistic Congress in the U.S.

Stephen Enzweiler, Cathedral Historian

Part 1 in a series

Sunny afternoons in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel are quiet times of whispering candles, prayerful pilgrims and streaming sunlight. Frank Duveneck’s murals gaze down through the silence as colored light splashes across the warm marble and stone columns. Five stained-glass windows in the chapel all tell stories along the theme of the Holy Eucharist — of offerings and prefigurement, celebrations and ritual set in glass upon which the faithful can contemplate and pray. Two windows tell stories from scripture, two contrast the Jewish seder meal and the first Corpus Christi feast celebrated in 1247. But one stained-glass window is different from all the rest.

On the western wall of the chapel is a window that depicts a procession of people with a priest in golden vestments carrying a monstrance. They all move in unison toward an elevated altar upon which an open Eucharistic throne of exposition awaits. At first glance, one might think the scene is a typical Corpus Christi procession such as parishes conduct each June. But this window isn’t about a Corpus Christi procession — it’s about a more profound event.

The window is titled the “First Eucharistic Congress in the United States of America” and it commemorates the first gathering of clergy in the United States who met in 1895 at Catholic University of America in Washington D.C. to bear witness to the real presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. Bishop Camillus P. Maes, third Bishop of Covington, played a leading role in organizing the Congress and served as its Secretary and presiding officer. The gathering was seen by the American prelature as essential to spreading the devotion of the real presence in the Eucharist, and it had the personal blessing of Pope Leo XIII. It was attended by more than 250 priests, bishops and archbishops, including the Vatican’s Francesco Cardinal Satolli and His Excellency James Cardinal Gibbons, Archbishop of Baltimore.

The window measures 21-feet high at its apex and 9-feet across at its base. In the scene, we see the priest in golden vestments processing amid a large crowd of faithful moving toward an altar beneath stone arches. Servers carry a large processional baldacchino above the priest as crowds of faithful follow behind. In the crowd is a cardinal and several bishops. Behind the baldacchino, a banner of the Virgin Mary can be seen. Three solitary figures in floral garments appear in the lower left corner of the window. One wears spectacles and bows reverently to the passing Eucharist; the other two, of distinctly Germanic appearance, gaze devoutly upon the holy Eucharist. High above, amid floral motifs of fig leaves are the armorial bearings of Pope St. Leo XIII.

The window scene was composed by Bishop Maes himself. In a Dec. 10, 1909 letter to Mayer & Company, the Munich firm that produced the window, he instructed, “The priests carrying the Baldachino as well as those walking in the procession are to be in cassock and surplices; the cardinal in rochet and cape; the Bishops in rochet and mantellata … a temporary altar for benediction to be shown on the porch of McMahon Hall.” In reply to Mayer’s query about whether the Bishop wished to be featured in the window, his reply was simple: “No, I do not want any portraits.”

Yet, Franz Borgia Mayer, the owner and director of Mayer & Company, had his sketch artist, George Daniels, render the Bishop’s face as the priest carrying the monstrance. Mayer and Bishop Maes were close, personal friends, and the window maker was often the recipient of his Apostolic blessings. Franz Mayer knew well of Maes’ deep humility, and he likely took the liberty to include his likeness as a way of honoring his friend for his great accomplishment of the Congress. He also had Daniels sketch in his own likeness and those of two other Mayer directors. Thus, in the window’s lower left-hand corner are these three additional figures (from top to bottom): Director Adolph Rau; Franz Borgia Mayer (owner of Mayer & Company); and Director Wilhelm Werberger as the bowing man wearing glasses.

Despite his earlier instructions, Bishop Maes did not seem to mind the changes. “The design … is original and unique,” he wrote in a letter to Mayer. “It is very acceptable.” History records that none of the Mayer directors attended the actual Congress, and Bishop Maes didn’t carry the monstrance in the actual procession. But for the Bishop, historical accuracy was less important than the deeper catechesis behind the window itself. In his heart, he wished the window might serve future generations in “recalling that the Eucharist is our heavenly food and our spiritual nourishment during our earthly pilgrimage.”

For anyone who knew him in life, to think of Bishop Maes was to think of the Holy Eucharist itself, for it was the treasure of his life, and the spread of its devotion became his lifelong ambition. It is said that to watch his reverence for the Sacrament at Mass had a profound effect on those in attendance. So devoted was he to the Blessed Sacrament that he became widely known among his fellow prelates as the “Bishop of the Blessed Sacrament,” just as Pius X was later called the “Pope of the Blessed Sacrament.”

This devotion to the Holy Eucharist began as a very young boy growing up in Belgium. It was instilled in him by his parents and reinforced by his aunt, a Carmelite nun, and two uncles who were priests. During his seminary years, he learned of the great figures of the Eucharist, especially St. Thomas Aquinas, “the poet of the Eucharist,” and St. Peter Julian Eymard (1811-1868), the Marist priest who founded the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament and later the Priest’s Eucharistic League in France. “The Eucharist is everything,” Eymard wrote, “because from the Eucharist, everything is.” Notably, Eymard’s later life was dedicated to renewing Eucharistic devotion in 19th-century Europe at a time when religion was declining precipitously in the wake of the French Revolution. It was a decline that spread as a materialistic secularism decorated with non-religious alternatives.

American historian Henry Adams witnessed a similar pattern of decline in the United States. In 1860, he recorded the profound cultural, social and intellectual shifts that had taken place since the time of the American Revolution, most notably the “disappearance of religion.” This decline was recorded in many other histories of the period as a time of growing secularization and deep, materialistic orientation. It is a period we have come to know as the Gilded Age.

One of Europe’s responses to the religious decline came in June 1881 with the first International Eucharistic Congress, held in Lille, France with the theme, “The Eucharist Saves the World.” The initial inspiration behind the idea came from a laywoman — Marie Marthe Baptisine Tamisier (1834–1910) who lobbied the clergy for more than a decade. More Congresses were held regularly throughout Europe, with attendance growing each year to more than 150,000 by 1888.

In the United States, devotion to the Blessed Sacrament was seen by clergy as the key to reviving religious devotion. By 1890, the effort to hold a Eucharistic Congress in the United States had been bantered about, but without any action. The “Associato Adoratorium,” under the leadership of Father Bede Maler, O.S.B. of Indianapolis had made little headway among clergy. Realizing something more was needed, Maler turned to his friend, the Bishop of Covington.

On the Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, March 7, 1894, Bishop Maes met with five priests in his house on Eighth Street in Covington, one of whom was Father Maler. In the Bishop’s front parlor, the “Priests Eucharistic League of America” was formally founded. The following year, Maes was named “Protector of the Priests’ Eucharistic League” for life. The formation of the League accelerated interest among clergy nationwide, generating a greater reverence toward the Holy Eucharist. Within the year, Maes and his fellow bishops began making plans to hold the First Eucharistic Congress in the United States.

Bishop Maes knew from the start the effect such a congress would have, and we can see its effects in the historical record. In 1884, the Catholic population in the Diocese of Covington was about 40,000 with 52 parishes and roughly 800 children enrolled in schools. By 1903, it had grown to over 54,000 Catholics and 78 parishes with 7,137 children enrolled. New churches and schools were being constructed along with the establishment of seven new academies and the formation of new Catholic societies. More broadly, during this period Americans erected most of the country’s largest churches and religious monuments during a growing Gothic Revival movement, producing a vast wealth of religious paintings, sculptures and works of religious art.

Bishop Maes didn’t even begin thinking about creating the Eucharistic Congress window until late in 1908. Perhaps it was because he began feeling his years advancing and wished to leave his flock something of lasting importance. The window we see today is not as much a record of an event that happened on an eastern campus in some distant autumn as it is a message for our present age. It is a window that reaches out to us across time and speaks of a Eucharistic revival that began long ago as the American Church’s response to what was then considered a religious decline in America. Now a century later, another Eucharistic revival is underway with similar purpose, and we can thank our third bishop for showing us the way.

Coming up next: Part 2 — “Roots of 19th Century religious decline ran deep.”

Image: Original George Daniels sketch of the First Eucharistic Congress window. (Copyright Mayer’sche Hofkunstanstalt GmbH/Mayer of Munich) The completed window, which features the likeness of Bishop Camillus Paul Maes, third bishop of the Diocese of Covington, and depicts the first Eucharistic Congress, is visible within the Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption in Covington, Ky.