During his second voyage to Lake Athabaska, in 1848, Fr. Alexandre Taché had the pleasure of baptizing a young Montagnais orphan to whom he gave the name of John. “From today the Blessed Virgin will replace your deceased mother,” said the Oblate missionary. “Is this true?” asked the child. “Well, what must I do to prove my love to her?” “It is easy, answered the priest, recite the rosary every day and when you think of Mary, say mom, as you said it to your mother when you were younger. Do that, John, and your mother in heaven will be pleased with you; she will help you in need, until the hour of your death.”
The years passed and John remained faithful to this prayer. He was eighty years old when he became seriously ill. His son Peter, also a good Catholic, was saddened that he could not have a priest come to be with his father in his last moments. The nearest mission was 40 miles away and the missionary came there only once every two years. A few days before Christmas, the state of the poor fellow became alarming. “Dad, said Peter, I believe that you will soon die.” “No, no, the sick man answered feebly, I will not die.” “But yes, added his relatives and friends, you are about to die; prepare yourself to appear before God.” “No, insisted the old Amerindian, don’t worry about me; I will not die, I am sure.” “My God, why such obstinacy? The dear old man must have lost his mind? O Virgin Mary, have pity on him, help us.”
It was now December 24. Outside, the snow swirled. A storm was raging. Suddenly, someone knocked at the door of the poor hut. Peter opened it. A foreigner, stiff from the cold, appeared in the ray of light. “Can you show me the way to Fond-du-Lac? I lost my way in this horrible storm.” “Of course, but first come in and warm yourself.” “Thank you, said the visitor, I cannot refuse; I am so tired.” After entering, he saw the sick man, lying on his cot in a corner of the room. One quick glance and he realized that the old man was at the point of death. Approaching the dying man, he suggested softly: “My good friend, death seems very close; you must prepare to die.” “No, no, began again the old grandfather, I will not die.” “But it is God who decides the hour of our death; we can do nothing about it.” “I know all that, my good sir, but listen to me well.” Then showing proudly his rosary: “I have recited it for a very long time every day and the Blessed Virgin promised me that I would not die before seeing a priest….”
Touched by such faith, the visitor then opened his caribou skin parka and showed his Oblate cross. “Well, my friend, your confidence is rewarded. I am a priest. It is surely the Blessed Virgin who sent me to you. She allowed me to lose my way to find you here.”
He then administered the last sacraments to him and in the early hours of Christmas Day John, the old Amerindian, died quietly while murmuring with the missionary and all his family: “Holy Mary, pray for us, now… and at the hour of our death.”
André DORVAL, OMI
