Kaskaskia’s Legacy of Resilience

The usual congregation arrived on a recent Saturday afternoon, roughly thirty minutes before Mass. The old church in Kaskaskia, Illinois, filled with descendants and caretakers. The church remains a place of serenity and significant loss. Today, nature has mostly reclaimed Kaskaskia, once Illinois’ founding site and first capital. The town, quiet enough to hear the Mississippi River’s barges, is the only Illinois part west of the Mississippi. This geographical oddity highlights the river’s power and unpredictability. It gave life before claiming it back.

An aerial photo dated May 23, 2026, shows Immaculate Conception Church, founded as a mission by Jacques Marquette in 1675. The history here is as fertile as the soil that once attracted settlers. Kaskaskia was Illinois’ most important place due to this rich soil. There is a Liberty Bell gifted by King Louis XV that predates the more famous one in Philadelphia, adding another American story older than the nation itself. Now, only the ghosts and the church remain, maintained by those dedicated to preserving its legacy.

The Immaculate Conception Chapel, a brick Catholic church with a steep spire, withstands the odds like the land. Both are symbols of perseverance and community. They serve as memorials to those who established Illinois. Over 7,000 people once lived in Kaskaskia, making it a hub during America’s westward expansion. It was a trading post in French Colonial Illinois and an American Revolution battleground. By the early 1800s, it was vital for Lewis and Clark’s journey. Kaskaskia was the Illinois Territory capital and the site of the state constitution, remaining the capital after Illinois joined the Union in 1818, until natural forces intervened.

In 1844, a flood submerged the town in five feet of water. Another in 1881 altered the river’s course, turning Kaskaskia into an island. The population dwindled until, by 1993, another catastrophic flood occurred. Most residents had left, but Stanley Hurst, who raised a family there, faced the destruction firsthand. The 1993 floods lifted church pews and endangered its existence. “I said, ‘No more of this,’” recalled Hurst. After relocating to St. Mary, Hurst visited regularly, drawn by his roots in Kaskaskia.

Hurst, now part of the dwindling congregation, returns most weekends to attend the single weekly Mass at Immaculate Conception. For two hours every Saturday, the island briefly revives. The congregation gathers near former homes, in a chapel where many married or mourned loved ones who stayed their entire lives.

“This is my roots, right here,” Hurst asserted as he entered the church.

Mary Ellen Brown, 68, greets attendees, while Emily Lyons, nearly 90, navigates her walker through the church doors. Both grew up on the island, embodying the duty to maintain what remains, including the many spirits of the past.

“The spirits, at least, are friendly,” Lyons noted in a Welcome pamphlet for Kaskaskia, sold for $1 in the chapel.

Brown and Lyons’ roots go back generations. Brown married at the church altar in the spring of ’93, months before the disastrous summer. Lyons taught at the local school for over 20 years. Now, they preserve the island’s history, committed to sharing it as mission work. “I know time’s going to get us,” Brown declared.

Both women are well-versed in the chapel’s history. The altar dates back to the 1730s, as does the chalice from Jacques Marquette’s parish founding in the 1670s. Despite the challenges, the community perseveres.

A 2026 census shows only 22 remaining residents in Kaskaskia, where life outside Mass days is solitary. On Memorial Day weekend, Warren Gendron and his wife placed flowers on relatives’ graves. Like many, Gendron’s ancestors settled here in the 1700s. Family lore tells of a marriage between his ancestor and a Native American, beginning a long Gendron lineage.

“That’s my grandma and grandpa; that’s my great-grandma and great-grandpa,” Gendron pointed out, explaining how the cemetery was often underwater.

A few miles away, a local cookout gathered families honoring a recently deceased local and rekindling ties with Kaskaskia.

“Coming here is a great reset,” said Derick DeRousse, a Floridian visiting his great-grandmother’s former home, relishing time’s stillness on the island.

Time here seems to reverse. No stoplights or signs are necessary. Kaskaskia once boasted a school, a store, and a gas station, now only empty fields remain leading to a deserted riverbank. Visitors must cross from Missouri to reach the island, marked by a geographical and historic path.

“Think of it as a historic site that has Mass every week,” Brown explained, referring to the church’s significance.

Despite rebuilding efforts, time has not halted the shrinking congregation. Brown acknowledged, “Some of the younger ones aren’t going to do what we’ve done.” Yet those like Hurst remain dedicated. “Because I love it here,” he said of his weekly returns.

The church’s survival is a testament to relentless commitment despite nature’s inevitability. Hurst and others continue, aware the river might alter anything at any moment. But for now, Kaskaskia lives on, resilient and proud.