Wednesday it was off to visit the Convent and School in
Queenstown. On the way we stopped at Lawrence to visit St Patrick’s Church and
the Dominican convent which was situated just behind it. Now a private
residence we were unable to explore quite as thoroughly as the previous day but
we were able to explore the Church. Next stop was Cromwell to visit the Church
of the Irish Martyrs which included a glorious drive along the beautiful Lake
Wakatipu, which was used to transport the Sisters to their destinations in the
early days. As we went from place to place Sister Reader gave us excerpts from
the Star of the South so we were able to familiarise ourselves with each place
before we got there. Back in the day, Sisters for the Queenstown Convent
arrived by boat and were greeted with the town band playing lively airs, local dignitaries welcoming them to the town, the faithful and children carrying lanterns. Other foundations
didn’t start off quite so well; one tale included the Sisters turning up a week
before they were apparently expected and they had to be whisked off for a day
at the beach while the embarrassed Bishop made temporary arrangements for them.
Queenstown. On the way we stopped at Lawrence to visit St Patrick’s Church and
the Dominican convent which was situated just behind it. Now a private
residence we were unable to explore quite as thoroughly as the previous day but
we were able to explore the Church. Next stop was Cromwell to visit the Church
of the Irish Martyrs which included a glorious drive along the beautiful Lake
Wakatipu, which was used to transport the Sisters to their destinations in the
early days. As we went from place to place Sister Reader gave us excerpts from
the Star of the South so we were able to familiarise ourselves with each place
before we got there. Back in the day, Sisters for the Queenstown Convent
arrived by boat and were greeted with the town band playing lively airs, local dignitaries welcoming them to the town, the faithful and children carrying lanterns. Other foundations
didn’t start off quite so well; one tale included the Sisters turning up a week
before they were apparently expected and they had to be whisked off for a day
at the beach while the embarrassed Bishop made temporary arrangements for them.
The Queenstown Convent, School and Church were heavenly and
matched the stunning surroundings. Snowy mountains, green forests and clear
blue lakes wherever you turned. The Sisters must have been very content with
their location, for the views from the convent were spectacular. We were able
to visit the Church, named in honour of St Joseph, and the School, which to our
delight was preparing a play on Mother Gill for her
anniversary. Teachers were amazed to see us and thought their pupils had
dressed up ahead of time for it. They were kind enough to show us around the convent
which was being used as a storeroom for the school and the more adventurous
pupils ventured to come up and introduce themselves. Late evening saw us driving
back to Dunedin to enjoy another delicious meal cooked by our host Mrs Best,
who kindly put her whole home at our disposal.
matched the stunning surroundings. Snowy mountains, green forests and clear
blue lakes wherever you turned. The Sisters must have been very content with
their location, for the views from the convent were spectacular. We were able
to visit the Church, named in honour of St Joseph, and the School, which to our
delight was preparing a play on Mother Gill for her
anniversary. Teachers were amazed to see us and thought their pupils had
dressed up ahead of time for it. They were kind enough to show us around the convent
which was being used as a storeroom for the school and the more adventurous
pupils ventured to come up and introduce themselves. Late evening saw us driving
back to Dunedin to enjoy another delicious meal cooked by our host Mrs Best,
who kindly put her whole home at our disposal.
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A few years ago I was sitting in a cafe on St James Street in Brighton one afternoon. Suddenly, through the large window that looked out onto the bustling street, I saw an angel walk by; I was shocked, humbled – evidence of Our Saviour was momentarily in the midst of worldly hell. What I saw was my parish priest walk by wearing his cassock. The habit is a witness to Christ in a world that hates this witness. So; where have all the habits gone? Long time passing…When I looked around the church of St Joseph as a Dominican Sister (I had to take her word for it) spoke of the other sisters in the pews (again I had to take her word for it – only one Sister was in habit) – while the church celebrated 130 years of Dominican presence, I thought how sad it was that this presence has become invisible. The clergy at the parish level, the consecrated, are largely invisible to the world these days. This witness, this sense of angels in the midst of the battleground has gone. I feel certain it contributes to the sense of loneliness and abondment of the average human being, drowing in the secular circle of hell. There is no longer a reminder on the street that there is sanctuary to run to.