What's a priceless church like you doing in a town like this?

If walls could talk, I might have asked that question of St. Joseph's Church in Winsted, Conn. No of fense to Winsted — the rural New Eng land village is charming enough. Quaint, even. But that's just it. The northeastern woods of the Nutmeg State were the last place I expected to find a cathedral-like sanctuary this grand.

On a slight hillside overlooking the town's main street, St. Joseph's stands as the highest point in town. Its single-offset steeple practically catches low clouds. The Gothic church has been an honored landmark since 1916, but the parish began its monumental presence be fore the Civil War. In fact, this year marks the parish's 150th anniversary.

Four years ago, the stately 87-year-old church was carefully renovated to today's pristine appearance. Sunlight even seems to glisten off the granite exterior. It must have looked just about exactly like this, I thought, the day it was consecrated.

Shortly after the parish was instituted, it was put in the care of the Order of Friars Minor. They had arrived from Italy in 1855. On our visit, my wife and I discovered why the Italian-born Father Leo da Saracena, St. Joseph's first Franciscan pastor, was called the Lion of Winsted.

He was chaplain of the 9th Regiment of Connecticut Volunteers in the Civil War, in which he was wounded. Then on Jan. 1, 1865, he became St. Joseph's pastor. By Aug. 15, 1865, he started the parochial school that, at 138 years old, remains the longest-running school in the Archdiocese of Hartford. Franciscan sisters ran it then; today Franciscan nuns are still on the staff.

In 1886, Father da Saracena built the monastery-rectory. You can imagine the priest striding out of the front door to ride his white horse at the head of parades or round up truant schoolchildren.

After he died in 1897, newspapers as far away as New York recalled how even New England Protestants honored him and how he was first to fly the U.S. flag above a school in Winsted. (The church still flies the U.S. and Vatican flags near the faáade.) The governor of Connecticut publicly praised Father da Saracena's patriotism and his love for people of other denominations as well as his own. Today's pastor, Franciscan Father Bruce Czapla, explains how Father da Saracena “stood up very much for the immigrant population being as American as anyone else.”

Being so highly visible, the church, no doubt, was an important part of his witness. Its workmanship is so impressive, its details so lovingly crafted, that I thought the timing of our visit was especially fitting: May 1 is the feast of St. Joseph the Worker.

Franciscan Flavor

Since St. Joseph's has been in the care of the Order of Friars Minor for nearly 140 years now, the church shows abundant Franciscan in fluence, especially in the plentiful murals of the life of St. Francis. These large, colorful depictions unfold around the entire interior just below the clerestory level, beginning and ending next to the sanctuary.

But the sanctuary draws first attention. Thankfully, it retains its tall Gothic altar of Milan marble with central tabernacle, canopies and adoring angel statues. The tabernacle door, along with the old crucifix above it and the candlesticks to either side, has recently been renewed in gleaming gold. In the apse, a newer mural of the Risen Jesus rises above older mu rals of the apostles.

Marble statues of Our Lady of Grace and St. Joseph grace the original Gothic shrine altars on both sides. On projecting pe destals between the sanctuary and these shrines, polychrome statues of the Sa cred Heart and St. Patrick greet visitors.

The Innsbruck stained-glass windows are more positive proofs of wondrous early 20th-century Austrian-German artistry. Three enormous windows—18 feet wide by 24 feet high—stretch like giant murals in brilliant colors and fine details to inspire us to meditate on the deaths of Sts. Joseph and Francis in the transepts, and the life of St. Cecelia above the choir loft.

The magnificent original Austin organ is in beautiful condition. We had the chance to hear it during a weekday concert of sacred music before a Lenten noon Mass.

The small windows in the nave's clerestory all come from the original edifice. St. Joseph holding a happy Child Jesus naturally heads them on one side. Directly across is the Im maculate Conception, again a natural because the friars are from the Immaculate Conception Custody.

Between these windows and the larger nave ones of the Joyful and Glorious Mysteries, the murals of the Life of St. Francis unfold frame after frame in a reverent storybook. “We look to Francis as nearly perfect an example of Christ on earth as one could get,” says Father Czapla, explaining how the amazing murals tell the story of the life of Francis.

Warmth and Light

The stunning, old Stations of the Cross in St. Joseph's, enclosed in very ornate Gothic frames with towers and a cross, have been gloriously restored recently by one of the parishioners.

The church also envelops us in the warmth of soft maize walls and columns, and the softness of golden woods. Bright gold Corinthian capitals highlight these walls and columns. Matching gold rosettes line the five arches on either side of the nave.

The muted colors nicely frame luminous Innsbruck windows with the glorious mysteries in radiant color on one side of the nave, from the Resurrection to Mary's Coronation, with stunning portraits of Jesus as King and God as Father. In the Pentecost and Assumption windows, Mary wears a brilliant blue robe and appears with a serene, docile facial expression.

In the equally luminous Joyful Mysteries on the other side, St. Joseph becomes a prominent figure in each mystery after the Annunciation. Yet he's still humble.

St. Joseph's is filled with beautiful liturgical art and architecture and is as stately and noble as a cathedral—but it's right at home in a modest New England working town. In this way it imitates its patron, a perfect model of humility for all generations.

Joseph Pronechen writes from

Trumbull, Connecticut.