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lite.cnn.com - on gopher - inofficial
ARTICLE VIEW:
Generations celebrated weddings, baptisms and first communions at this
Minneapolis church before it became a site of tragedy
By Alicia Wallace, Dalia Faheid, Arit John, CNN
Updated:
10:48 AM EDT, Sun August 31, 2025
Source: CNN
On late-August mornings in the Windom neighborhood, the soundscape is
usually familiar and comforting. Cicadas buzz, sparrows dart between
yards, neighbors trade easy greetings across tidy sidewalks and the
Annunciation Catholic Church’s bells peal across southwest
Minneapolis, calling parishioners to Mass as they have for more than a
century.
For generations, the church and its adjoining school have served as
Windom’s anchor — the site of weddings, baptisms, bake sales, Boy
Scout Christmas tree lots and the ever-popular SeptemberFest featuring
pie, live music and an outdoor Mass. If you didn’t attend
Annunciation, someone close to you surely did.
That sense of constancy was shattered Wednesday morning when a former
student opened fire during the first school Mass of the year, spraying
bullets through prismatic stained glass into pews packed with children.
In an instant, prayers gave way to panic. Children as young as pre-K
ran for cover, dove beneath pews or clutched their classmates as
teachers shielded them from the barrage, acting instinctively to
protect them.
“Our teachers were heroes,” Annunciation Catholic School Principal
Matt DeBoer said. “Children were ducked down. Adults were protecting
children. Older children were protecting younger children.”
By the time the shooting ended, – ages 8 and 10 – were killed.
Eighteen others were wounded, including 15 students and three
parishioners in their 80s. Police identified the now-deceased shooter
as 23-year-old , a former Annunciation student whose mother once worked
at the parish.
The violence has left the century-old Catholic institution – long
considered a bedrock of faith, family and education – reeling.
Generations of alumni and parishioners are now struggling to comprehend
how the church that baptized them, married them and educated their
children became the site of such devastation.
A wound to a community’s soul
The shooting has devastated families whose lives have been intertwined
with Annunciation for generations.
For more than a century, the church’s bells have marked the rhythm of
life here. Generations of families have celebrated first communions
under its vaulted ceiling. The accompanying school, opened in 1923,
became a place where children grew up surrounded by teachers and
classmates who often felt more like extended family.
Alumna Maureen Cunniff’s parents first fell in love at the school:
Her father once slipped her mother a locket in the parking lot when
they were middle schoolers. They later married in the church during a
blizzard. Cunniff, her twin daughters and her sister all attended
Annunciation.
Since hearing about the shooting, Cunniff has been crying on and off.
“It just was like a huge injury to that sanctity of the community
that we’ve been a part of for so many years,” said 48-year-old
Cunniff, whose family has ties to Annunciation stretching back seven
decades.
As news spread, alumni, parents and neighbors streamed to vigils across
the city. There were too many people to fit inside one church, said
John Kisling, 54, a lifelong member whose daughters recently graduated
from the school.
“That speaks to how strong the community is and how much people are
really there for each other,” Kisling said.
Michele Faherty, another community member who was baptized at
Annunciation and whose father led the school board, said the shooting
stripped away a sense of safety: “It’s so upsetting to think that
we as parents and as human beings can’t feel safe in a place where we
should feel safe.”
And Kailee Poling, 27, who attended Annunciation through eighth grade,
broke down at a vigil Wednesday night as she clutched her infant
daughter, saying “you don’t think it’s gonna happen in your
community.”
“Being a parent, I just can’t imagine what those kids went
through,” the new mother said through tears. “Annunciation is such
a tight-knit community … I was just really impacted knowing that
it’s so close to home.”
‘We never, ever had anything like this happen’
For Kisling, the shooting touched almost every corner of his life.
On Wednesday, he walked the neighborhood with his daughters, checking
in on his mother and neighbors.
He grew up near Annunciation, attended the school from kindergarten
through eighth grade and later sent both his girls there.
“We’ve been a part of this community for 50-some years,” he said.
“We never, ever had anything like this happen.”
Annunciation wasn’t just a school – it was a lifeline of
fundraisers, garage sales, potlucks and parish traditions.
Kisling still keeps in touch with friends he made there decades ago.
His daughters, Audrey and Riley, are recent alumni who attended mission
trips and summer camps run by the school.
“Everybody looks out for everybody,” Kisling said. “If you need
something, somebody’s there to help you. And that’s few and far
between in the way that the world is right now.”
That sense of trust was shattered Wednesday. The shooting, he said, was
“organized, targeted.”
His younger daughter barely slept that night.
“All that I can do is give her a hug and say, ‘Everything’s going
to be OK. This is a one-time thing. It just unfortunately had to be our
time,’” he said.
But Kisling also voiced a plea: “These assault weapons need to go
away … We’re lucky that 100 kids didn’t lose their lives, and it
was only two. But that’s still not a number that I’m OK with.”
“Those little kids had dreams,” he said.
Even those with looser ties to Annunciation were shaken. The attack had
pierced not only the windows of the church but also the foundation of a
neighborhood that has long considered Annunciation its anchor.
In the hours after the attack, neighbors gathered on sidewalks and near
memorials, offering hugs and prayers.
Luke Anderson, 20, grew up biking to the church after school from
nearby Anthony Middle, shooting hoops behind the church gym. On
Wednesday, he pulled a red Radio Flyer wagon stacked with ice water,
doughnuts and popsicles for shaken children and families.
“It made me feel something to see a kid smile after all of that,”
he said, eyes welling.
Nearby, University of Minnesota student Hudson Grand, 22, stood outside
the church with a bouquet of pink daisies in hand. He had come to the
neighborhood to visit his grandfather at a nearby care home, but found
himself transfixed by the grief emanating from the parish. He stared at
the school through tears.
“Even though I don’t know anyone there, this happens too often. But
to have it this close, just really hits home,” Grand said.
The church of refuge becomes a site of fear
Annunciation Catholic Church, once designated as the safe evacuation
site for students during emergencies at the school next door, became a
place of loss instead.
Annunciation had long prepared for emergencies. The school had drilled
children regularly on lockdowns at the school and kept doors secured
during the day – measures that officials believe prevented the
carnage from escalating further.
“A number of the doors had been locked once Mass began, which is part
of their normal procedure,” Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara
said. “We believe that this step also played a part in ensuring this
tragedy did not become that much worse.”
Students’ muscle memory from lockdown drills kicked in. Some
instinctively ducked, covered their classmates or followed teachers’
directions.
Riley Kisling, 16, recalls lockdown drills when she was a student –
though she never imagined they would be needed in church. “I was
never worried about anything like that,” she said.
For many, the trauma remains fresh and overwhelming.
Vincent Francoual said his but is so shaken she doesn’t want to
return to school or church.
“She thought she was going to die,” he said.
‘We’ve had too many of these’
Annunciation now joins a list of schools and churches forever altered
by gun violence. The massacre was the 44th school shooting in the US
this year, according to a , and one of more than 280 mass shootings
nationwide.
It comes three years after the killing of 19 children and two teachers
in , and more than 12 years after the massacre at in Newtown,
Connecticut.
Chaplain Howard Dotson, who helped counsel families in Uvalde after the
2022 school massacre, arrived to comfort parents.
“We’ve had too many of these,” he said. “I’ve seen too many
tears. I’m tired of seeing moms lose their children.”
Outside the church, mourners placed teddy bears, handwritten notes and
flowers at a growing memorial for the two children killed. Some are
from classmates of the slain children – tiny scrawled messages of
farewell to friends they will never see again. One note read: “I’m
so sorry, it wasn’t fair. R.I.P.”
The parish has not yet announced when classes will resume, and children
have already lost treasured traditions like spirit day and the
butterfly release. The church doors are temporarily closed for
parishioners, preventing them from hearing the sounds of hymns and
children’s voices that normally fill the sanctuary.
For now, Mass will be held in the auditorium of the school.
Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz has ordered additional state patrol officers to
help safeguard schools and places of worship.
But as grief ripples through the community, neighbors are clinging to
one another for comfort.
“I was walking around the neighborhood with my dog, and I got
neighbors stopping, hugging us,” Francoual said.
Though the tragedy has left scars that may never fully heal,
parishioners say the bonds of their tight-knit community will not be
broken.
“We won’t allow this evil act to take away from the value and the
power of community that is what brings everyone back together to
heal,” Cunniff said.
The Windom neighborhood still hums with late-August cicadas and
sparrows, the sounds of summer carrying on as always. But now, the
church bells ring with a different weight, marking grief alongside
faith. For the families of Annunciation, the community remains strong
– but it will never be the same.
Correction: An earlier version of this article misattributed a quote
from Riley Kisling.
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