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ST. LOUIS — In the story of the Good Samaritan, a man is beaten and abandoned on the side of the road to Jericho. Even a priest passes by and ignores him.

The city’s Baden neighborhood offers a modern illustration of the age-old parable. Every day, thousands of drivers pass by hard lives and vacant storefronts along North Broadway, in a hurry to somewhere else.

Many civic institutions packed up. The school and medical building are long gone. So are London’s Wing House and Hardees, the last fast-food chain restaurants on the strip.

But when a man recently lay dead on the side of the road, he wasn’t ignored.

Parishioners at Our Lady of the Holy Cross Catholic Church saw the crime scene as they pulled up for Mass on the first Sunday of Lent, when Christians reflect on the 40 days Jesus spent alone in the desert, being tempted and tested.

The Rev. Vincent Nyman seized on the shooting incident to encourage his small flock not to become deaf to the needs of the real world around them, rather be “loving servants.�

“We can learn to overcome anything, despite the odds, and despite all the negativity that we have to deal with,� Nyman preached from the pulpit. “Jesus learned to go where he would not want to go, just as he would teach Peter that. Christ is tested so that he can help us pass the test.�

Our Lady of the Holy Cross is one of the only institutions left in Baden. Blasted by population decline, drugs, violence and stigma, a stubborn mix of deeply-rooted families and people just trying to make it another day remain.

“My kids would like me to move, but I grew up here,� said JoAnn Ghirardi, 82, who volunteers at the church. “People don’t bother me so much. I am more worried about the dogs.�

Though the parish serves as a central meeting place for the beleaguered neighborhood, it’s been getting behind on baptisms and assessment payments to the Archdiocese of ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½. A tenth of their seats are full. The future of the church looks dim.

The archdiocese, which oversees the Roman Catholic experience in the city and 10 surrounding counties, is nearing a May 28 deadline on Pentecost Sunday that’s supposed to firm up details from “All Things New,â€� a restructuring plan ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ Archbishop Mitchell T. Rozanski announced in January 2022. A dramatic consolidation of 178 parishes and 85 schools is expected.

Over generations, the population center of the archdiocese moved out of the city, into the vast suburbs, causing inefficiencies in the deployment of limited resources, including priests, which, like registered Catholics, are dwindling in numbers.

By now in the well-publicized process, there have been numerous listening sessions. The archdiocese says feedback has been used to inform possible scenarios that continue to be finalized. Even still, churches in hollowed-out north ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ — home to just 2% of the Catholic population in the archdiocese — seem destined for some of the starkest changes.

Therein lies a conundrum.

Christians believe that Jesus served the poor by being among the suffering. By hanging out, healing and telling stories in places like modern-day Baden, which is primarily African American and underserved.

Though a fraction of what it once was in numbers, parishioners at Our Lady of the Holy Cross said they work well together to do community outreach and support each other. They described their congregation as diverse — not Black, not white — a rarity for any church to sustain.

Like others facing the chopping block, they said their church is their spiritual home. One elderly woman half-joked to her daughter that she wants to die before Our Lady of the Holy Cross closes. So her funeral will be held there.

Registered households have fallen to about 120, the annual collection to about $80,000, but the food bank line is steady. A homeless woman who recently moved into a transitional home on the church campus said she sees great opportunity.

Nyman, 61, an artist, said he’s liked all his assignments. He’s the happiest he’s ever been as a priest.

“It’s not just a country club,� he said. “It has a strong identity, but we are out to serve in all sorts of ways.�

Namesake

Our Lady of the Holy Cross towers high on a hill at 8115 Church Road, and can be seen for miles in the northern stretches of the city along the Mississippi River.

It has endured previous cuts and consolidations like a branch on a pruned tree.

Originally called Holy Cross, the parish formed in 1864 when Most Holy Trinity Catholic Church became too far to travel to in the Hyde Park neighborhood. Not long after, Holy Cross split in two. German-American immigrants stayed put; Irish-American immigrants formed nearby Our Lady of Mount Carmel.

In 1992, when Our Lady of Mount Carmel closed, the congregations reunited under a combined name: Our Lady of the Holy Cross. Several other now-closed Catholic churches in north ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ have either been officially folded into the parish or natural migration patterns led faithful there.

The red-brick church, designed by German architects in the 13th century Gothic-style, opened in 1909.

“You don’t find windows this tall in any church,� said Richard Burgdorf, 78, president of the parish council, admiring the stained glass. He estimated it would cost millions to replicate.

Last names like “Ostermayer� and “Pezold� line the bottom of the windows, sponsors of the 25-foot-tall works of art. Just inside the front door, more names and donation amounts are chiseled in marble. Burgdorf’s great-great grandfather, Bernard Wolk, ponied up $170, roughly $5,000 in today’s dollars, for the construction of the church.

Asked how he’s feeling about the future of his church, Burgdorf said: “Pissed is the word.�

“They have not been transparent,� the retired salesman and Army veteran said of the archdiocese. “All the things they put out. All the questions have been designed to give them the answers that they want.�

Under the most recent draft models released by the archdiocese, Our Lady of the Holy Cross would merge with the two other remaining Catholic churches in far north city — St. Elizabeth, Mother of John the Baptist, in the Penrose neighborhood, and St. Augustine in Hamilton Heights. With 591 households combined, it would still be considered small. A goal of “All Things New� is to have each priest serve an average of 1,800 households.

St. Elizabeth, at 4330 Shreve Avenue, is middle ground of the three. It also has the St. Charles Lwanga Center, a Black Catholic leadership development organization, and the only parish-based elementary school left in north city administered by the archdiocese.

But St. Elizabeth has its hardships, too. The church was struck by lightning. The congregation worships in the gym. On the front lawn stands a concrete statute of Jesus, missing an elevated left hand. The highest point of the church tower isn’t a cross, rather a surveillance camera.

Burgdorf, and several other Our Lady of the Holy Cross parishioners, said in interviews that they wouldn’t follow a merger that drew them farther into the city. They want to stay where they are.

“Business and commerce have abandoned Baden, now it appears — I need to say appears — that the archdiocese is doing the same thing,� he said. “If they close us, there are no other Catholic churches around here.�

The archdiocese said Friday that final decisions for churches that don’t remain primary worship sites have not been made yet, and that it’s unclear how pastors, buildings and other assets will be utilized under new parish structure plans.

‘Protected ground’

For some, Our Lady of the Holy Cross was a way out of the neighborhood.

“It meant so much to me in my life,� said Mark Wilhelm, 69. “Who I am started here — the moral and intellectual foundation.�

His parents had a department store on North Broadway and raised their children with the help of the church. The youngest of five, Mark is a 1968 graduate of the church grade school. He went on to ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ University High and a career as an insurance executive.

“We had a lot of smart kids. They just didn’t come from families with means,� he said. “We were able to take that step out of — I wouldn’t call it poverty — but out of lower middle class. This was a stepping stone for a lot of people.�

He said he gives a healthy donation every year, even though he now lives in Town and Country. He recently returned for the annual Fasching Sonntag feast, to reminisce with old friends. Meatloaf and sausage were on the menu. Current and former parishioners sat around tables to visit, rarely pulling out their phones.

They were surrounded by black and white photographs of graduating classes and other church memorabilia from the busy era when Msgr. Martin B. Hellriegel was pastor and a source of pride for the congregation. Hellriegel was internationally known for helping modernize Catholic worship services following Vatican II and writing a popular hymn, “To Jesus Christ, Our Sovereign King.�

Our Lady of the Holy Cross is different today. White flight changed it. Though much smaller, it’s more diverse. Louis Coffman, who is African American, showed up as a refugee from one of the many church closings in north city. He said he liked the parishioners.

“My son didn’t go here, but when they heard he was sick, everybody prayed for him,� said Coffman.

Shelia Johnson, 58, also Black, once helped put on a fashion show fundraiser at the church. Some of the outfits were from thrift stores.

“It’s not one or the other,� she said of the racial makeup of the congregation. “It’s a combination.�

The parish hall was used for the annual feast and party. All the other church buildings are also in use. Though the school closed in 2004, it’s still used for summer programs. A new Montessori school in there has one or two students. The gym is rented out for events, including a fifth grade girls’ basketball team whose coach is thankful for the space.

Assisi House, a nonprofit, leases the former convent. Eight women were living in community there last week, including Robyn Sherwood, 55. Tears dripped down her face, as she recalled her story.

“I feel blessed,� she said. “I feel like I was taking my life for granted. I had lost the desire to live. I really believed I was going to die last year.�

Raised in the East ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ area by her grandparents, she said she gravitated to a life in the streets and spent many years sleeping on sidewalks in Los Angeles. In addition to chronic homelessness, she’s struggled with addiction, diabetes and seizures. She said thoughts of her grandmother — her strength and kindness — helped motivate her to keep trying.

She arrived at Assisi House a few weeks ago. She said she’d been able to rest, prepare a more healthful diet and even get a little exercise.

“I feel safe here,� she said. “I know the devil goes everywhere, but I believe we are on protected ground.�

If she stays through the spring and summer, there will be butterflies to admire in the gardens, fresh fruits and vegetables to pick, which are some of the pastor’s favorite projects at Our Lady of the Holy Cross.

Bearing fruit

Nyman’s first passion was baseball. He honed those skills growing up in a large Catholic family in California and Jefferson County. He said he played shortstop and batted over .300 for the University of Southern Illinois-Edwardsville. He transferred to Mizzou and majored in graphic design.

After college, he supported himself as a freelance portrait artist. He entered the priesthood at 30. He has a philosophical and approachable demeanor. He moves his arms and hands around when he speaks, as if trying to mold a large clay pot on a potter’s wheel.

When he showed up at Our Lady of the Holy Cross about nine years ago, after a stint in Bolivia and parishes in St. Charles, Jefferson, Franklin and ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ counties, he wore dreadlocks with beads in his hair. Today, he’s more clean-cut, yet still unconventional.

At a recent worship service at a Baden nursing home, Nyman easily drew interactions and singing out of a group of a dozen mainly elderly people with disabilities. Inspired by some of the locals and Pope Francis’ encyclical on the environment, Laudato Si, he’s written and illustrated three published books for children and adults.

One of the books takes place in the church gardens. He hosts gatherings and discussions there. He particularly enjoys it when people from the neighborhood walk up and pick some of the harvest as they please.

“Oh, I love that,� he said. “I live for it. You don’t know what joy that brings.�

Outside on a recent day, he pruned fruit trees. By significantly cutting the right branches, it will guide better, more fruitful growth for the wellbeing of the whole orchard.

“I am not enjoying cutting off these limbs, but I am trying to save the tree,� he said, using a small handsaw. “You know what else? It’s really good exercise.�

He acknowledged that Archbishop Rozanski is doing similar work with the “All Things New� restructuring of the whole archdiocese.

Asked which branch on one of the peach trees Nyman was pruning best resembled Our Lady of the Holy Cross, he looked beyond the dead wood, beyond the long, healthy branches. He pointed to a stout area, right above the trunk.

He believes people suffering, like those in Baden, are living the crucifixion. The way to empower them, he said, is by listening to each of their stories.

“That is a beauty to being small in numbers because you have that opportunity,� he said.