Early on that March 8th, three hikers set out from Basel toward the wooded Chrischona Hill. They were the venerable Father Spittler, then in his 58th year, his foster daughter and long-time assistant, Miss Susette Spittler, and master carpenter Epple, a loyal friend and brother in the Lord. Their path led them for a while along the magnificent Rhine until they reached the vicinity of the Baden border. There, at the Swiss customs house, they turned left and walked across fields, then through lovely vineyards, climbing imperceptibly towards Wenkenhof and the small village of Bettingen, picturesquely surrounded by hills and forests. From there, the climb continued steadily until, after about a half-hour’s walk, they reached the old, half-ruined St. Chrischona Church on the mountain plateau. Our pilgrims had often enjoyed the magnificent view that offers the traveler from that height, and many a prayer had risen from their hearts that the Lord, to whom this place had been dedicated from ancient times and whose presence had often been so felt by them in the solemn silence, would once again prepare a place of blessing for himself here in praise of his grace.

And now the Lord had begun to answer these prayers […] and today they had come up to entrust the newly begun work to the Lord with the recently arrived first pilgrim missionary, ‚Brother‘ Mohr, and to lay their hands on the plough in his name.
They walked through the desolate nave of the church into the equally devastated, high, Gothic choir. There, on the left, they saw a door leading into a room that must have once served as a sacristy. Here, Brother Mohr had already cleared away the rubble, done some tidying up, and had moved into this low cell the day before, after finding accommodation in the neighboring house for the first few weeks. But how overwhelmingly the realization struck everyone of the great and laborious work that would be required to transform the completely neglected little church into a worthy place of worship and a fertile ground for Christian life!
But the spiritual task probably seemed even more difficult to them. Could the attempt to train young men from the artisan class to become useful evangelists for the people succeed? Where would the people come from? Where would the money come from? They had nothing: no funds, no supplies, no promises, little encouragement from outside. Yes, but they had their God. They had the drive, awakened by him, to do something to spread his knowledge in the hearts of the people. They had his word and his promises. And deeply imbued with their great need and the great riches of their God, they knelt down in that sacristy and rededicated the old house of God, so long left to decay, along with the work they intended to begin in it, to the Lord who had chosen and purchased them as his servants and instruments.

This writer has the description of that unforgettable hour from the lips of the woman who listened silently and prayed along, and who, as she jokingly said, was allowed to serve the institution as a nanny. The Lord confirmed his word to his servants and assistants, and the seed that was planted in the ground in faith and with much prayer in those spring days of 1840, the seed that often threatened to die and some of which actually had to die, nevertheless retained the ability to live and was allowed to grow into a tree, beneath whose branches now, decades later, many little birds sit and join in the never-aging song of the royal minstrel: Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits! Amen.

This text comes from the chronicle “The Pilgrim Mission of St. Chrischona 1840 – 1940” by Friedrich Veiel, pages 32–34.