From Slave to Priest: The Inspirational Story of Father Augustine Tolton
Sr. Caroline Hemesath
Fr. Augustine Tolton was the first acknowledged black priest in the United States. (James and Patrick Healy were ordained in 1854 and 1864 respectively; they were one-quarter black, and known during their lives as Irish, which their father was.) He was born in Missouri but went to school in Quincy, IL, and served as a priest both there and in Chicago, so he is a favorite son of Illinois. I won't repeat the whole story of his life here—you'll just have to read the book.
Two things in particular struck me as I read the book: one joyful, one sorrowful. The joyful part was seeing how Augustine grew in holiness through his persistence in pursuing his vocation against all obstacles, a reminder to me of what a great and undeserved gift the priesthood is for all of us who share in that life. The sad part was that so many of the obstacles he faced were utterly unnecessary—not just the persistent refusal to admit him to seminary (he was finally admitted to a seminary in Rome intended for training missionary priests), but the persistent obstacles thrown in his way when he was sent back to serve in the United States (much to his surprise; he had expected to be sent on African missions).
He was a magnificent priest, someone whose ministry was effective not just for black Catholics but for whites as well—which, sadly, lead to apparent jealousy and rivalry on the part of pastors of white parishes who were losing parishioners to his parish. (I fully realize the difficulty of discerning motives in a much different culture over a century later.) He also had to face a constant pressure from non-Catholic groups who would invite children from his to the activities of their own faith communities, drawing them away from their Catholic faith.
When he was transferred to Chicago, he faced many of the same problems there: rivalries with other parishes, temptations among his parishioners to leave the Catholic faith, and so on, to which was added the burden of poor health. He died in 1897 at the age of 43 during a heat wave. He is buried in Quincy, IL; I hope some day to pay a visit to his grave there.
I can only wonder what might have been if "Good Father Gus," as he was familiarly known, had been given much more support and encouragement than he actually received. Perhaps he could have done much more. Perhaps his persistance against the obstacles is what made him great in the first place.
The cause for his canonization was officially opened on Feb. 24 of this year. I could not help but think while reading the book that it was the story of a saint. I pray his cause proceeds rapidly and well.
