Priestly Repatriation

“You must keep in mind that hundreds attended the seminary a century before we arrived there. Many became missionaries, traveling the world, enlightening the masses, saving souls, and no doubt having a jolly good time abroad. When they returned, they brought back cultural items—parting gifts from local tribesmen or simply objects they picked up along the way. Over time, those items were amassed in the seminary’s basement, serving as an in-house museum. This was well before the Internet and even before television exposed us to other continents. Young seminarians would tour the collection, studying the relics of different heathen cultures. That collection broadened our knowledge and challenged us to follow in the footsteps of our alumni.” Rosemont paused in his telling, recalling the many good men who had traversed the seminary halls across time. “It was all well and good until 1970 when members of the United Nations developed an agreement against the trade and transfer of cultural properties.”
 
Rosemont leaned forward, his voice cut with excitement. “This meant our priests and seminarians were now sitting on top of illicit property. A vast collection of relics taken from multiple countries; all historical tokens of unique religions and cultures. Strictly speaking, the missionaries had not intentionally stolen anything. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, everyone returned from abroad with relics for souvenirs. But imagine how it looked in the 1970s! That populace perceived it quite differently: Thou shalt not steal. And you know how that goes—people’s perceptions become their realities. Remember this was the 1970s. People were starting to question priestly activities. What the Church couldn’t explain, it buried. Rather than run the risk of embarrassment or be arrested for hoarding cultural treasures, holy men simply nipped down to their collection and emptied the museum into skips in the dead of night.”

-- Excerpt from The Sheltering Stones

You are no doubt thinking: What a fantastical story. Well, it’s true. My husband was one of those dumpster-diving seminarians back in the 1970s. He and several classmates rescued a broad range of cultural antiquities, sparing them from a landfill rubble. The oddities are still guests in my home. Pre-Columbian pieces of architecture, a cup with a gruesome face, Roman coins, a scrimshaw tusk, cuneiforms, a figurine head of a bird, chainmail purse, and a tiny sculpted bust of a Nubian woman remain on display. These cultural antiquities resonate with history. Each object’s uniqueness draws your attention and then forces you into quiet contemplation of all that has transpired before you. The oddities are portals to the past that breathe life back into marginalized or extinct cultures and somehow still add magic and meaning to our lives. We are honored to be the temporary custodians of these touchstones; torn between our desire to protect and preserve the antiquities or repatriate them. It’s not an easy decision.