By Monsignor Noel C. Burtenshaw

Maybe you are too new to the North Georgia area. Maybe you came here to be near Atlanta. So maybe you have never set foot, never have even heard of Washington, Georgia or Wilkes County.

Well, if you ever go and you have some kind of heart for a little history, you will find yourself in heaven. Because the origins, the beginnings of the Catholic Church in Georgia, are there just 100 miles southwest of Atlanta – an easy interstate ride and a most rewarding one.

First you really have to meet the pastor. He is Father Edward Randall, an Oblate Father originally from Lowell, Massachusetts. You can’t miss his Kennedyese accent and he’ll burn your ear off with stories about Mayor Curley and the honest type of crook he was.

But there’s more to Father Ed. His parish is eight counties long and wide. He is a hard traveling country pastor but more than that. He gives art lessons twice a week, he flies a plane when he gets a chance, and he puts additions on his country churches and rectories WITH HIS OWN HANDS – plus a little help from his friends.

“The flying I have kinda quit,” says the rugged looking pastor, “but the painting classes are going great and I still put up a few bricks here and there.” His classes in art are on Saturday morning for children and Tuesday evening for adults. Mostly his students are non-Catholics from the community.

In his beautiful little light-filled church in Washington along with his new assistant, also a Bostonian, Father John Morrissey, we met one morning. Father Ed was running late. “I was over in Thompson,” he apologetically explained, “and got a call from the local NAACP man. We had to chat.” But he was now anxious to get going and show me around. I was excited too. It had been a long time.

We first visited the most famous building in Washington, the old orphanage, now a Christian academy. The only relic left of the screaming active orphaned Catholic boys is the big bell still standing on the grounds. In 1967 the famous home for boys closed its door for the last time ending a history of 90 years of charity and the home became St. Joseph’s Village as it moved to Southwest Atlanta.

I saw where the chapel had been, the sturdy old walls, and maybe as we looked in we heard the clamor of boys’ feet and the swish of the St. Joseph’s Sisters’ habits as boys and nuns began a new day. “When it closed,” said Father Ed “there were about 70 boys here. They certainly helped the parish numerically. Now in Washington we have only 25 families, about 50 people at Mass on Sundays.”

Leaving the old home, we looked at the great bell. “We eventually got someone who could move it,” said the pastor “but they wouldn’t give it to us. They use it now to call the students.”

I was anxious to get to Sharon, about 15 miles away, but first, a quick visit to the Catholic cemetery in Washington.

History bulges through the walls. First of all, you learn the first church for the parish was built here. And it wasn’t called St. Joseph’s. It was St. Patrick’s. The orphanage that later arrived was operated by St. Joseph Sisters. And since the church moved to the home, the good ladies had their way (what’s new) and St. Patrick got relegated.

The headstones tell the story. Young sisters, victims of far-off plagues in 1860-70-80. The graves are well-kept. The centerpiece of the cemetery is a final resting place of a man who made the church and the original work of the orphanage a reality, Father James M. O’Brien. His headstone reads “Erected by the voluntary contributions of the people – irrespective of creed – as a tribute of love and respect to the memory of this noble man, the life-long friend of the orphan, the true priest of God, who lies buried here. Born Jan. 28, 1842, Died May 11, 1900.”

We set out for Sharon. Sharon is in the next county, Taliaferro. The natives pronounce it “Tolliver.” Even in daylight you get the feeling that this is a ghost town. A wind would probably blow sage-brush down the little main street, just like Tombstone in the movies.

“It only has about 100 people now,” says Father Randall “the bank is closed, not much doing and we get 7 people at Mass on Sunday. But at Easter and Christmas we sometimes get 14.” He’s smiling, but I know he’s not kidding. Fourteen is a full house in Sharon.

You see the tall white structure as you approach the town. It’s the Church of the Purification of Our Lady. It was built here in 1860, when Sharon was a thriving railroad town. The surrounding plantations brought their big money maker – King Cotton – to Sharon, and the steel horse sent it up North.

Standing beside the church are the remains of the Catholic Academy which once thrived here. It was built in 1818 by the settlers and operated by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Georgia. That’s correct, a religious community was actually founded here in Sharon. When the town died and the Catholic community moved, the sisters became a part of the St. Joseph’s Sisters of Carondolet.

But the history goes even deeper. Just down the road, about five miles south in a place called Locust Grove, the very first Catholic church in the entire state was built in 1792 by Father John LeMoin, a French priest.

Father Randall and Father Morrissey show you the interior of the old wooden structure. “Look at the hole in the ceiling,” says Father Ed, “the chimney for the old pot-bellied stove went through there. And look at the old organ – the petals are wind pumps. It still works fine.” However, the magnificent 7 on Sundays don’t always sing both priests assured me.

We left the ghostly streets of the old railroad town and headed west 35 miles to Thompson and the growth area of the parish. “I live in Thompson” says Father Randall. “We have a lot of activity and good growth. We are up to 100 families at Queen of the Angels and more on the way.”

The church sits prominently on the Washington Highway. Thirty miles further is the renowned city of Augusta, golf capitol of the world and home of the Masters. Augusta is growing in the direction of Thompson.

Lunch was provided by an active group of parish ladies led by Janet Chamberlain and Mary Roper, a transplant from Atlanta.

“The parish is busy preparing for the Pilgrim Virgin statue,” said the pastor. “It’s going to be a great event for us.”

The final mission of this historic parish is in Elberton, St. Mary’s Church. This Georgia town is also a center of historic note. It is the granite capitol of the world, with rich quarries of valuable granite cut and used throughout the nation. “Many Italians came to work with the stone years ago,” said Father Randall “but there were no priests, no Mass and they were lost to the Church. But some have made it back.”

There are thirty families in Elberton. The CCD clan meets for instruction on Saturdays. “We have 3 children, says Father Morrissey, “but we’ll grow.”

It was originally St. Patrick’s; now it’s St. Joseph’s and still standing proudly. Many historical moments have been seen by this parish and it’s people who have served so faithfully over the years.

It is our mother church. From those roots, the vital, vibrant tree has grown and beautifully flowered. We look back at historic St. Joseph’s with pride.