In 1850, when Mandeville was still a blueprint—a quiet stretch of pine suspended between memory and modernity—weary New Orleanians crossed Lake Pontchartrain aboard the steamboat Camellia, chasing breeze and ease.
The Northshore was still a whisper then: parasols drifted beneath moss-draped oaks, jasmine climbed the bones of Creole cottages, and steamboats stitched long ribbons of white across the wide horizon.
And in the midst of this wild elegance, a 33-year-old Belgian priest named Joseph Outendrick dared to anchor something eternal in the sandy shoreline. Not just a structure, but a sanctuary. Not a quick fix, but a foundation. Our Lady of the Lake Roman Catholic Church was more than a landmark; it was a long game—a sacred stake driven deep into the soul of a town just beginning to rise.
The first chapel—a modest structure raised soon after Father Outendrick’s arrival—was lost to a storm before it could be photographed. The parish name, Our Lady of the Lake, appeared in the registry in 1858 and was formally chartered in 1894. A second church followed. Then, in 1953, the present sanctuary rose—distinctly European, buttressed by Romanesque arches.
A Liturgy of Light
Walk inside and it’s clear: this is not merely a building, but a love letter written in light, stone, and sacrament.
The windows are not merely ornamental; they illuminate the gospel. Forty-nine in total, with ten devoted to the arc of salvation, each one a homily in glass and grace. Designed by Franz Mayer of Munich in the 1950s, they reflect the gravity of the Old World and the creative ambition of the New.
In one, the boy Jesus sits among elders in the temple, scroll in hand, his divinity already unsettling the room. In another, the wedding at Cana blooms in jewel tones, the water just beginning to blush to wine. A pelican feeding her chicks evokes Christ feeding the faithful with His own body and blood in the Eucharist.
These windows, like good teachers, capture your attention then raise your gaze to something higher.
As part of the parish’s 175th anniversary, all are invited to see the sanctuary anew. A guided audio tour—curated by longtime parishioner Joseph Chautin—walks visitors through the sacred art and architecture. Separately narrated descriptions of the salvation history stained glass windows extend a divine invitation.
Across the walls of the sanctuary, a blue and gold ribbon now stretches. In bold Latin, it reads Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus—“Behold, I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20). Above and below, smaller words whisper in English, “My God save me.” Together, they echo the cry at the heart of the Catholic faith: the humble plea of humanity, answered by the unwavering presence of Christ in the Eucharist.
When Fear Meets Faith
That cry appears again in an oil painting fit for a museum but tucked quietly in the south transept—a rendering of the church’s iconic image of Our Lady of the Lake, completed in 1904.
The original sketch was made by Louis Alaux, son of Alexandre Alaux, one of Louisiana’s finest painters. In the drawing, Mary stands steady on a rock in Lake Pontchartrain, the Christ child in her arms, reaching toward a shipwrecked figure clinging to stone.
Later that summer, while visiting Mandeville, Louis boarded the New Camellia for a routine crossing. The steamer sank just offshore. In the confusion, his voice was heard above the water: “My God, save me!”
Days later, his grieving father discovered his son's sketch and completed the painting in oil—adding shoreline detail, bathhouses, and the New Camellia in the distance. On the rock, he inscribed the plea his son had penciled: My God, save me.
“This painting points each of us to our own salvation,” says Father Doug Busch, pastor of Our Lady of the Lake, “Like our new adoration chapel, it makes a statement to the community and to the world.”
Begun in February, the new chapel rising next to the Church will feature the same iconic image in stained and painted glass, and will be blessed and dedicated on August 16, the new Diocesan Feast Day of Our Lady of the Lake, following the 4 p.m. vigil Mass.
“The image cemented our name,” says Chautin, “and gave us a Marian identity that points us to Christ. She doesn’t just stand on the rock. She shows us our Savior who stands between us and the tide.”
Steady Through the Storm
This summer, as you visit Our Lady of the Lake, step inside for a reminder that Mandeville’s lakeside sacred jewel belongs to something vast: the universal Church, whose invitation is perpetual.
Take a moment to look up from the nave—the central space of the church. Its beams and arches rise like the upturned hull of a ship, a quiet architectural echo of one of the Church’s oldest metaphors.
The Latin word navis (“ship") reminds us that this place was never meant to stand still. Like faith itself, it moves—through storms, through seas, through seasons—not powered by steam, like the New Camellia, but by wind, the kind that “blows where it wills,” as Jesus said (John 3:8).
Over the past 175 years, Our Lady of the Lake has weathered literal and spiritual storms: hurricanic wind, changing tides, the slow drift of time. Yet her eternal message remains unchanged. As the newly elected Pope Leo XIV has said, “We want to say to the world, with humility and joy: Look to Christ! Come closer to him!”
The renovated sanctuary of Our Lady of the Lake still carries that call. It’s not just a place of refuge. It’s a vessel—built to move you, gently and steadily, on a pilgrimage toward Christ who meets us in our storms, who walks upon the waves, and who says to each one of us, “Take courage, it is I. Do not be afraid” (Matthew 14:27).
It’s not just a place of refuge. It’s a vessel—built to move you, gently and steadily, on a pilgrimage toward Christ who meets us in our storms.
"We want to say to the world ... Look to Christ! Come closer to him!” - Pope Leo XIV