With one last hymn, parishioners bid farewell to 150-year-old church in small Minnesota town

WILSON TOWNSHIP, MINN. – The last time the Catholic church here faced an existential threat was on New Year’s Eve 1935, when the church was set ablaze. Not even a trace of its sacred vessels was found in the debris.

The hardship of the Great Depression did little to deter the congregation here just outside Winona. Within weeks, parishioners were rebuilding. Men of the parish volunteered to clean up debris and excavate the property, while others scraped together $3,000 — close to $70,000 today — to rebuild.

The church reopened the following year in time for the celebration of its namesake Immaculate Conception feast. The fire had been a blessing in disguise, according to an archive of the church’s history. “The new building was a larger and finer edifice than the old, and the need to combine efforts generated a spirit of unity and brotherly helpfulness that has remained since.”

The building, with its sturdy brick walls and tall steeple surmounted by a gilded cross, has stood for decades since as a symbol of the church’s resilience. But as longtime worshipers, many of whom have family ties to the church that go back generations, celebrated the Immaculate Conception this past Sunday, that resilience turned to resignation.

After 150 years of worship, Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Wilson is on the verge of destruction yet again. This fall, the Diocese of Winona-Rochester announced its intention to demolish the church as part of an effort to consolidate churches in the area after years of declining attendance.

For longtime parishioners, that meant the Sunday service was likely their last opportunity to bid farewell to a local landmark that served as an anchor for the Catholic community in this farming town of about 1,100 people. The diocese plans to use the land under the building to expand a neighboring cemetery that predates the church.

“I don’t like it, but I didn’t see a lot of other options,” said Deanna Brekke, who lives just down the road and was part of a committee that voted to raze the church. “I was baptized here, had my first communion here, got married here. … I don’t think I will fully come to terms with any of this until it’s not here.”

As the final hymn rang out across the pews, tears were shed, hugs exchanged and memories brought back to life. For Michele and Joe Thill, who traveled in from Galesville, Wis., the final Mass was both a tribute to the generations before them as well as a reflection of their life together. The couple met here more than five decades earlier when Michele was in the girls’ choir and spotted a handsome young man on the other side of the balcony. The two celebrate 46 years of marriage this weekend.

“There is just a lot of history here,” Joe said. “You go out to the cemetery and you see family names of people who are here today. The church has just been in the families and in the community forever.”

“It will be different,” added Michele, unable to hold back tears. “But we will try to remember the way it was.”

Like many Catholic churches in the area, Immaculate Conception’s history is intertwined with the story of white settlement in southeast Minnesota.

After the Treaty of Traverse des Sioux of 1851, one of the many treaties that displaced and marginalized the Dakota community, European settlers began to make their way to the region on the promise of free land.

Many of the earliest settlers were Catholics who had arrived in America only years earlier. Early services, including in Wilson Township, were mostly held in people’s homes with priests coming from Winona on horseback to offer Mass.

That changed in 1874 when local parishioners raised $4,000 to fund what would become the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church. The original church was built on land from the Philipps family, who had been stricken by tragedy and pledged to donate the property next to the cemetery where family members had been buried.

The church included a large oil painting of the Immaculate Conception donated by the Philipps family, as well as statues of the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph. Many families would walk to the church from nearby farms, with historical records noting that “several miles was not considered so difficult in those days.” Others would come by horse and sleigh in the winter, using bricks heated over the stovetop to warm their feet.

In the decades that followed, the church became the glue that held the town’s Catholic community together. Generations of kids were baptized here. Marriages were celebrated. Relatives were laid to rest. It was also a place where people could meet their neighbors, join a softball team or take part in the annual fall festival.

“I loved it as a kid,” said Duane Chadbourn, who now lives in Winona. “We had things so the community could get together. And in this farm community, a lot of times Sunday was the only time you get to see some of these people.”

By the 21st century, however, attendance at the church began to decline. Families began having fewer kids, said longtime parishioner Tom Sauerer, and many of those kids were moving away to find jobs in bigger towns.

“Years ago, when I started coming up here, there were a lot of kids here — big farm families with six kids,” said Sauerer, who now attends St. Stanislaus Basilica in Winona. “But then over the years, it’s getting less and less ... and then you wonder if there’s going to be anybody [attending Mass] at all.”

In 2022, with attendance dwindling, the diocese announced Immaculate Conception would merge with the congregation at nearby St. Rose of Lima Catholic Church in Lewiston.

The decision was expected, parishioners said. But the congregation splintered, as most families opted to drive the other direction to worship in Winona, where there were more opportunities for shopping and other errands after service.

The merger was part of a series of consolidations and closures in southeast Minnesota triggered by the diocese’s “Vision 2016″ plan, which was meant to address shortages in clergy and declining church attendance. It was around the same time that the diocese filed for bankruptcy in response to claims of abuse by clergy. The diocese later reached a $21.5 million settlement with 145 childhood sexual abuse victims.

Over the past few years, more than a dozen churches in southern Minnesota have merged with nearby, larger churches. Most of the churches, including ones in Harmony, Elba and Houston, have been relegated to “profane but not sordid use,” meaning they could be sold for secular purposes, so as long as that use is not immoral or offensive to Catholics.

In the case of the Wilson church, the decision to demolish the church is as much about the building itself as it is the property it stands on. The diocese notes that the church is in need of numerous repairs, including to its foundation and interior. The church is also having trouble finding people to continue keeping up the building, and there are concerns about the impact of a sale of the building on the adjoining cemetery.

“Alienation or selling the property to a third party would result in a long-term relationship that may affect the spiritual and peaceful atmosphere of the cemetery as the land area is narrow and would require an easement for the driveway,” reads a decree from the diocese, signed by Bishop Robert Barron.

While most parishioners have come to accept the diocese’s decision to raze the church, a determined few are still working to save it from the wrecking ball. Mariar Redig Gannon, who grew up in the church and now lives in Bloomington, said she has accepted that the church will no longer serve as a parish, but questions why the diocese will not sell the building to someone who promises to preserve it.

Gannon, who said her family helped rebuild the church after it burned to the ground in 1935, was among the few parishioners who were not emotional during the final Mass. She is still optimistic she can get through to the bishop or a preservation group that would keep the church standing.

“It’s part of our history,” Gannon said. “It’s a legacy. It’s a landmark. My gosh, you can’t erase history. And it’s a good, solid building. It’s shameful. It’s against our Christian principles to destroy something that’s perfectly good.”

As parishioners shuffled out of their pews and made their way down to the church basement for what could be their final lunch in the space, most remained in good spirits. They caught up with old neighbors and shared stories of marriages and church picnics. And they prayed that what brought them together in church would carry on.

“One thing about a country church, it’s really more like a big family,” said Bernita Langowski, a former parishioner from Wilson. “Now when we go to church in town, you leave church and you get in your car and go home. There’s no socializing at all. It just won’t be the same.”

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