At the entry shack off Carbon Canyon Road, a man signed me in as a visitor and directed me to follow the car ahead up the gravel road. I was heading, with hesitancy, to the Hill of Hope. This is a sprawling piece of land owned for a half-century by an unusual religious movement. A Catholic woman in Placentia named Frances Klug had gained renown starting in 1967 as she transmitted messages she said came from God, the Virgin Mary and several saints. Hundreds of adherents raised $1.1 million to buy the 440 acres, which straddle San Bernardino, Orange and Los Angeles counties. Klug, called “Mother Frances,” envisioned a “City of God” that would include a basilica, a monastery, a convent, a hospital and an amphitheater that could hold up to 20,000 people. Estimated cost: $1.5 billion. This postcard image of St. Joseph’s Hill of Hope in Carbon Canyon dates to the 1970s. The ambitious plans for a religious and medical complex on the hilltop did not materialize. (Courtesy of Paul Spitzzeri) One of the 1970s concept drawings for a “City of God” atop a hill in Carbon Canyon was of an amphitheater that might have held 20,000. “It looks like the Roman Colosseum,” a historian marveled while showing the image at a Chino Hills Historical Society meeting on the topic in October. (Courtesy of Paul Spitzzeri) Frances Marie Klug, known as Mother Frances, transmitted what her adherents believe were revelations from heaven. Klug, who died in 2009, was honored at a Sunday, Dec. 7, 2025, event at Hill of Hope, the site where hundreds used to hear her speak. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG) Show Caption1 of 3This postcard image of St. Joseph’s Hill of Hope in Carbon Canyon dates to the 1970s. The ambitious plans for a religious and medical complex on the hilltop did not materialize. (Courtesy of Paul Spitzzeri) Expand San Bernardino County planners in 1976 turned down the proposal on a 3-2 vote, saying the site was far too remote to support such an intensive use. Klug’s movement, St. Joseph’s Hill of Hope, continued but momentum faded, and she died in 2009. All this was the topic at a Chino Hills Historical Society meeting in October. More than 100 of us listened raptly to historian Paul Spitzzeri’s presentation, which had the provocative title “Cult or the True Catholicism?” Rumors have abounded for decades about the property, Spitzzeri said. In the audience at his invitation were Roberta Haag, who is Klug’s daughter, and Haag’s husband, Michael. The friendly couple stood to answer questions. Someone asked why there was security. It’s fire-prone private property, was the reply. Is there a broadcast tower? No. “I heard there were exorcisms,” one young man asserted. Ha! No. Open speculation might have been wilder had the Haags not been present. Denise Cattern, the Historical Society’s president, told me afterward with a laugh: “People have said, ‘I heard the Pope went up there in a motorcade.’” The Pomona Progress-Bulletin did run this memorable headline on June 11, 1973: “Pope informed of ‘biblical city’ plan in Carbon Cyn.” Intrigued, I introduced myself to Roberta Haag and was invited to Hill of Hope’s next event, a memorial for her mother. However, it was canceled due to November’s torrential rains. Last Sunday, though, found me driving up the private road through chapparal and oaks. Unsure if I should really give up a Sunday morning for this, I was now committed. But the day was warm and sunny, and the rugged landscape was lovely. The final stretch of road is paved. At the chapel, housed in a modular building, a member directed me to a parking space. Inside the extremely beige chapel, nearly 50 of us were present for the service known as Holy Hour. Members worship Sunday, Dec. 7, 2025, at the Hill of Hope chapel atop a hill in Carbon Canyon. They gather a half dozen times per year for a service called Holy Hour that blends elements of Catholicism with the revelations of Frances Klug, the movement’s founder. (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG) An officiant seated at the back read the liturgy while we followed along from binders at each seat. Members recited with him at the proper times. It had some of the trappings of a Catholic service — many members attend Mass elsewhere — but without Holy Communion. Recitations included excerpts from supposed revelations to Klug from Mary and Joseph, Jesus’ parents. An older man across the aisle held a rosary as he and others recited a revelation that begins: “I am the Holy Ghost. I am St. Joseph.” Klug’s most unorthodox revelation, called “the miracle of St. Joseph,” was that Joseph, rather than fully human, was part of the Holy Trinity. In 1981, the archbishop of Los Angeles, and the bishops of Orange and San Bernardino, issued a statement calling that “erroneous in the extreme” and “heretical.” They said Hill of Hope was “independent of the Roman Catholic Church” and should not be supported. After the service came a buffet, a short memorial for Klug and a Christmas boutique, all under an expansive white tent at a series of communal tables, family-style. Haag told me the half-dozen events each year are attended by 100 to 150 people, many of them the children and grandchildren of the original 800 or so members. Victor Varisco listens Sunday, Dec. 7, 2025, as Roberta Haag speaks at a Hill of Hope luncheon. Varisco was an aide and bodyguard to Frances Klug, Hill of Hope’s founder, from 1972 until her death and thinks of her as “a true mystic.” (Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG) I approached a man who looked old enough to have known Klug. He was Victor Varisco, 82, of Corona. A true believer since 1972, he turned out to be Klug’s former aide and bodyguard and a Hill of Hope board member. “Mother Frances,” Varisco told me earnestly, “is the greatest mystic since the birth of our Lord. All the saints spoke through her.” He was present for many of the revelations, in which Klug would go into a sort of trance. Many took place before hundreds at her twice-weekly services. Time magazine attended one in 1972. At the start, Time reported, Joseph spoke through her: “I am St. Joseph. There has been no one like this child” — Frances Klug — “except when my son walked the land.” Her head lolled, and then God himself spoke through her: “A long time ago I created this hill, and I have come now in this day to repossess it. It will bring millions of souls to me.” On such occasions, Varisco told me, awed, “the words flowed out. There were no mistakes, no pauses.” They have been compiled into 47 books. (I’m a bit envious.) Varisco, who considers himself a Catholic, said the church takes centuries to change and will eventually accept “the miracle” as truth. “Locally, Cardinal Manning rejected the miracle, just as Caiaphas and Annas rejected Jesus,” Varisco said of the biblical high priests. Hill of Hope has a few modest structures and daily visitors but no residents. Perhaps the most striking features are three marble statues, 9 feet tall, of St. Joseph, St. Jean Vianney and St. Thérèse of Liseaux. The property was listed for sale this fall at $15 million to $18 million. Now off the market, it will be relisted in January. 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Those tasks, and maintaining a website, do not require 440 acres. “The City of God would have been a beautiful place for people to come,” Haag said, a bit wistfully. Even without it, Hill of Hope was a beautiful drive up, and a beautiful drive out. David Allen writes Sunday, Wednesday and Friday, hopefully. Email [email protected], phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky. ...read more read less