Holy Persons

Alfred Delp SJ: committed to Christ
Michael Holman SJ

Sixty-five years ago today, a German Jesuit priest was executed as a traitor in Berlin for his continued and outspoken resistance to the Nazi regime. Michael Holman SJ introduces us to Alfred Delp, a man of remarkable faith and courage, whose radical commitment to following Christ even in life-threatening circumstances challenges us to hear and respond to the call of Christ in our own time.


Last summer I got to know someone, albeit very much at second or third hand, who made a profound impression on me. This was one of those encounters which shook me to the foundation; one of those encounters which made me think a good deal about the way in which I go about living my life as a follower of Christ in our country today.

Let me first set the scene. In July, I had gone up to Liverpool to make my retreat at the Jesuit Spirituality Centre, Loyola Hall, in the suburb of Rainhill. We Jesuits make an eight-day silent retreat each year. We are, as one of our founder’s closest followers put it, ‘contemplatives in action’. So listening to God’s call in our lives and responding generously is what we are all about and this time of silence is one way of attuning ourselves to God’s voice amidst the many voices that shout all around us.

In the early days of that retreat, I was very much taken with something that a woman whom I admire very much had written many years ago, but they are words which apply just as much today.
‘Faith in Jesus is very, very rare’

Ruth Burrows is a Carmelite sister, a follower of Teresa of Avila, who lives in their convent in Quidenham, in Norfolk. She had written that ‘faith in Jesus is very, very rare’, by which I took her to mean not so much the intellectual assent to a God and to Jesus as the Son of God, but the kind of faith which allows Jesus, and the Gospel of Jesus, to take hold of our lives. That is the faith that Ruth Burrows says is ‘very, very rare’. For too many of us, faith, like much else in life, is compromised.

It was with those challenging words ringing in my ears that during my retreat I met someone. Now that someone has been dead for sixty-five years now, but so vivid was the story that I read that it became something of a personal encounter. You’ll probably know from your own experience how that can happen. I like reading biographies of other Jesuits, I like reading about what it was that gave them life. So I picked up this biography of a man whose name I had heard often but about whom I knew precious little and I was fascinated by what I read.

A modern man

Alfred Delp was born in southern Germany in 1907. He was illegitimate; his parents married not long after he was born. His mother was a Catholic but he was raised a Lutheran, the faith of his father. Later on in life, he wrote that ‘if ever they try and canonise me just tell them I was a brat’. He was wild and independent but it was that spirit which at the age of seventeen or thereabouts led him to decide for himself that he would become a Catholic, and which three years later took him into the Society of Jesus.

His training was much like my own half a century later, with the study of philosophy followed by the study of theology, with a period of three years working in a school in between. The biography included photographs of Delp; I could see him in young people I had known myself, so modern did he look. When working in that school he liked to try things out, to spread his wings, to do things his way and to show he could succeed. All this annoyed his Jesuit headmaster who later became his Provincial! I too was once a headmaster and now I am Provincial, and yes, I have known Jesuits like him. There was much I could relate to in his story.

Alfred Delp was modern in another sense, too. He was very much taken up with the new humanism that was sweeping the Church in the pre-war years, as it would in the years before and after the Second Vatican Council, which he never saw. This humanism we must never lose sight of because it was forged in an age of so much human suffering which gives it a peculiar authority. It stressed the importance of the human person, the individual human person, the uniqueness and dignity of each person and the wonder of each person as God’s creation in God’s own likeness.

In his studies, Alfred became an expert in the social teaching of the Church, that ‘best kept secret’ of our Catholic tradition, and he was doing all this in the mid-thirties when his homeland was in the grip of Hitler and the Nazis. He did all this at a time when the totalitarianism of Russia and his own country emphasised ‘mass-man’ and put the rights and dignity of the individual at the service of the State.

Alfred was ordained priest in 1937 and after a while was sent to be pastor of a church that the Jesuits had responsibility for in Munich. In 1941, the Nazis produced a propaganda film, explaining their policy of euthanasia, the ‘mercy killing’ of the handicapped. From his pulpit he denounced the film. He spoke of the importance of those living with disability, both as individuals and in terms of their significance in the community, and their significance in calling forth the best of human qualities – God-like qualities – in the rest of us.

Perhaps you would expect this kind of protest from a Catholic priest. Living in circumstances such as those, what else would he do? Astonishingly, to many if not to most, things didn’t seem so clear. There came a time when the German bishops wanted to produce a report condemning euthanasia and the disappearance of so many people, among them so many priests. Delp approved of a draft of the document, which was outspoken in its criticism of the regime. But the bishops were divided and feared an all-out assault on the Church. Moreover, Catholics fought in the army of the Reich so some thought this a time for patriotism. As the brave Bishop of Berlin put it, the final version ‘was dry cleaned, the spots removed and all the colour too’.

Towards the end of 1944, Delp was arrested and imprisoned. For two years he had been meeting with like-minded intellectuals, the so-called Kreisau group, planning the future of post-war Germany. He was now suspected of involvement in the assassination attempt on Hitler featured in the recent Tom Cruise movie, Valkyrie. He was charged with treason.
‘God alone suffices’

Friends brought bread and wine to Alfred in prison and he celebrated Mass. He kept the Blessed Sacrament with him always. In his laundry, his friends smuggled in a pen, ink and paper. He wrote a diary and a set of reflections on the Church and on society, which have proven extraordinarily prophetic. Writing of England all those years ago, he talked about it having lost its spirit and soul to materialism. But above all, these writings tell us of his struggle to remain committed to Christ, his temptation to compromise, his struggle to live knowing that ‘God alone suffices’, as Teresa of Avila wrote.

On 8 December, a Jesuit visited him in prison and, handcuffed, with tears pouring down his face, he made his final profession in the Society of Jesus.

In January 1945, he was put on trial. They found no evidence for his complicity in the assassination attempt. But his judge was a fanatic Nazi who hated Christianity, hated the Catholic Church and hated Jesuits above all. Delp was sentenced to death.

On 2 February, aged 37, he was taken to the Plötzensee Prison and that afternoon, in a room that is now a shrine, he was hanged from a meat hook in the ceiling. He was then cremated and his ashes were scattered over human sewage, as was required for traitors. His few possessions were collected together and presented to his mother who kept them under her bed in a suitcase until she died in 1967.
‘His ears were opened, his tongue was released’ (Mk 7:31-37)

‘Faith in Jesus is very, very rare.’ It is granted to some to have their eyes opened and their ears unstopped so that they can read the signs of the times and hear the call of Christ. To even rarer ones is granted what is needed to respond with unspeakable love and generosity.

This kind of generosity is a flame that kindles other fires. Delp inspired heroism in many others. He inspired his secretary who risked her life bringing a pen and ink in his laundry and distributing his letters. He himself had been inspired by another Jesuit priest in Munich, Rupert Mayer, who unlike Delp is now beatified by the Church for his uncompromising resistance.

But what fire does Delp’s flame kindle in us? It makes me wonder the extent to which we are blind to the signs of the times and deaf to the call of Christ. How accustomed to compromise in our own times have we become? To what extent are we beguiled by the prevailing social consensus with the result that we blend in nicely with the countryside, but little more?

It was the assault on life that made Alfred Delp’s mission urgent. In our own times this same assault is considerable too – at the start of life and at the end of life. In an over-commercialised economy with an over-individualised social policy, which has too little concern for its impact on our environment, the unique significance and dignity of each and every human life is being compromised.

Maybe something more radical is being asked of the followers of Christ today? Maybe we need our eyes opened, our ears unstopped and our tongues loosened? Maybe that is the way to our renewal as a Church in Western Europe? Lest it continue to be said about this generation that faith in Jesus is indeed very, very rare.


Michael Holman SJ is the Provincial of the British Jesuits.

The Martyrs of Otranto, 1480

In 1480, Italy celebrated the feast of the Assumption with spectacular liturgies, processions and, of course, banquets. With the exception of Otranto, a tiny town on the Adriatic coast, where 800 men offered their lives for Christ. They were the Martyrs of Otranto.

A few weeks earlier the Turkish fleet had docked just outside the Otranto harbor. Their arrival had been feared for years; since the fall of Constantinople in 1454, it was only a matter of time before the Ottoman Turks encroached on Europe.

Otranto stands closest to the Ottoman-controlled eastern side of the Adriatic.
St. Francis de Paul recognized the imminent danger to the town and its Christian citizens and pleaded for reinforcements to protect Otranto. He predicted, "Oh unhappy citizens, how many cadavers do I see covering your streets? How much Christian blood do I see flooding you?" But the leaders of Christendom refused to address the danger.

On July 28, 1480, 18,000 Turkish sailors swarmed the harbor of Otranto. They offered terms of surrender to the citizens, hoping to gain this first foothold into Italy without resistance and complete a lightening conquest of the Adriatic coast. The Sultan Mehmed II had boasted to Pope Sixtus IV that he would "allow his horse to eat his oats on the Tomb of St. Peter."

Pope Sixtus, recognizing the seriousness of the threat, exclaimed: "People of Italy, if you wish to continue to call yourselves Christians, defend yourselves!"

Although his pleas fell on deaf ears among most of the crowned heads of the peninsula -- they were too busy fighting among themselves -- the people of Otranto listened.

Fisherman, not fighters, they had no artillery and numbered under 15,000 including women, children and the elderly. But by common consent they took the keys to the city and cast them into sea, committing themselves completely to resisting the Turkish fleet.

The sophisticated Turkish artillery ripped at the strong defensive walls, but the Otrantini repaired the breaches as soon as they opened. Charging the walls, the Turks found the determined citizens impavidly defending the ramparts with boiling oil, without armor, and often using their bare hands.

The citizens of Otranto foiled the Sultan’s plan for a sneak attack and bought Italy two weeks of precious time to organize defenses and prepare to repel the invaders, but on Aug. 11, the Turks broke through the walls and overwhelmed the city.

The Turkish army methodically passed from house to house, sacking, looting and then setting them on fire. The few survivors took refuge in the cathedral. Archbishop Stefano, heroically calm, distributed the Eucharist and sat among the women and children of Otranto while a Dominican friar led the faithful in prayer from the pulpit.

The invading army broke open the door of the cathedral and the subsequent violence to the women, children and Archbishop -- who was beheaded on the altar -- shocked the Italian peninsula into action.

The Turks had taken the city, destroyed homes, enslaved its people and turned the cathedral into a mosque. Some 14,000 people had died in the capture of Otranto, mostly its own citizens, but a little band of 800 were left alive, so the Turks could fully dominate the proud partisans by forcing them to convert.

Their option was Islam or death. Eight hundred men, chained together, had lost home and family and seemed utterly subjugated to the victorious Turks.

One of the 800, a textile worker named Antonio Primaldo Pezzula, rose from humble craftsman to heroic leader on that day. Before the Pasha Agomat, Antonio turned to his fellow Otrantini and declared: "You have heard what it will cost to buy the remainder of our little lives! My brothers, we have fought to save our city; now it is time to battle for our souls!"

The 800 men aged 15 and up unanimously decided to follow the example of Antonio and offered their lives to Christ.

The Turks, who had hoped for moment of triumphant propaganda, wanted to avoid a massacre. They offered the return of the women and children who were about to be shipped off as slaves, in return for the conversion of the men, and they threatened a mass beheading if they failed to comply. Antonio refused, followed by the rest of men.

On the vigil of the Assumption, the 800 were led outside the city and beheaded. Tradition has it that Antonio Pezzula was beheaded first, but his acephalous body remained standing until the last Otrantino had been killed.

One of the executioners, a Turk named Barlabei, was so amazed by this prodigy that he converted to Christianity, and was also martyred.

The remains were lovingly collected, and are to this day kept in the Cathedral of Otranto. On the 500th anniversary of the sacrifice of the Otrantini, Pope John Paul II visited the city and paid homage to the martyrs.

Benedict XVI officially recognized their martyrdom in 2007, bringing Antonio Pezzula and his companions a step closer to their canonization.

This "hour of the laity" at Otranto, separated from us by a half a millennium, still resonates as an example of witness to the love of Christ. Few of us will ever be asked the same heroic sacrifice as Antonio Pezzuli and his fellow weavers, farmers and townsfolk, but how would we answer his exhortation: "Stand strong and constant in the faith: With this temporal death we will gain eternal life."

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On St. John Eudes
"He Wanted to Remind People … of the Heart"

CASTEL GANDOLFO, Italy, AUG. 19, 2009 - Here is a translation of the address Benedict XVI delivered today during the general audience held at the papal summer residence of Castel Gandolfo. He reflected on St. John Eudes and the formation of the clergy.

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Dear brothers and sisters:

Celebrated today is the liturgical memorial of St. John Eudes, tireless apostle of devotion to the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, who lived in France in the 17th century, a century marked by opposing religious phenomena and also by great political problems. It was the time of the Thirty Years War, which devastated not only a great part of Central Europe, but also devastated souls.

While contempt was being spread for the Christian faith by some currents of thought that were prevalent then, the Holy Spirit inspired a fervent spiritual renewal, with prominent personalities such as that of Berulle, St. Vincent de Paul, St. Louis Mary Grignion de Montfort and St. John Eudes. This great "French school" of holiness also had St. John Mary Vianney among its fruits. By a mysterious design of Providence, my venerated predecessor, Pius XI, proclaimed John Eudes and the Curé d'Ars saints at the same time, on May 31, 1925, offering the Church and the whole world two extraordinary examples of priestly holiness.

In the context of the Year for Priests, I wish to pause to underline the apostolic zeal of St. John Eudes, directed in particular to the formation of the diocesan clergy.

The saints have verified, in the experience of life, the truth of the Gospel; in this way, they introduce us into the knowledge and understanding of the Gospel. In 1563, the Council of Trent issued norms for the establishment of diocesan seminaries and for the formation of priests, as the council was aware that the whole crisis of the Reformation was also conditioned by the insufficient formation of priests, who were not adequately prepared intellectually and spiritually, in their heart and soul, for the priesthood.

This occurred in 1563 but, given that the application and implementation of the norms took time, both in Germany as well as in France, St. John Eudes saw the consequences of this problem. Moved by the lucid awareness of the great need of spiritual help that souls were feeling precisely because of the incapacity of a great part of the clergy, the saint, who was a parish priest, instituted a congregation dedicated specifically to the formation of priests. He founded the first seminary in the university city of Caen, a highly appreciated endeavor, which was soon extended to other dioceses.

The path of holiness he followed and proposed to his disciples had as its foundation a solid confidence in the love that God revealed to humanity in the priestly Heart of Christ and the maternal Heart of Mary. In that time of cruelty and loss of interior silence, he addressed himself to the heart so as to leave in the heart a word from the Psalms very well interpreted by St. Augustine. He wanted to remind people, men and above all future priests of the heart, showing the priestly Heart of Christ and the maternal Heart of Mary. A priest must be a witness and apostle of this love of the Heart of Christ and of Mary.

Today we also feel the need for priests to witness the infinite mercy of God with a life totally "conquered" by Christ, and for them to learn this in the years of their formation in the seminaries. After the synod of 1990, Pope John Paul II issued the apostolic exhortation "Pastores Dabo Vobis," in which he took up and actualized the norms of the Council of Trent and above all underlined the need for continuity between the initial and permanent moments of formation. For him, for us, this is a real point of departure for a genuine reform of priestly life and apostolate, and it is also the central point so that the "new evangelization" is not simply an attractive slogan, but rather is translated into reality.

The foundations of formation in the seminary constitute that irreplaceable "humus spirituale" in which it is possible to "learn Christ," allowing oneself to be progressively configured to him, sole High Priest and Good Shepherd. The time in the seminary should be seen, therefore, as the actualization of the moment in which the Lord Jesus, after having called the Apostles and before sending them out to preach, asks that they stay with him (cf. Mark 3:14).

When St. Mark narrates the vocation of the Twelve Apostles, he tells us that Jesus had a double objective: The first was that they be with him, the second that they be sent to preach. But in going always with him, they truly proclaim Christ and take the reality of the Gospel to the world.

In this Year for Priests, I invite you to pray, dear brothers and sisters, for priests and for those preparing to receive the extraordinary gift of the priestly ministry. I conclude by addressing to all the exhortation of St. John Eudes, who said thus to priests: "Give yourselves to Jesus to enter into the immensity of his great Heart, which contains the Heart of his Holy Mother and of all the saints, and to lose yourselves in this abyss of love, of charity, of mercy, of humility, of purity, of patience, of submission and of holiness" (Coeur admirable, III, 2).

With this spirit, we will now sing together the Our Father in Latin.

[Translation by ZENIT]

[At the end of the audience, the Pope greeted pilgrims in several languages. In English, he said:]

I offer a warm welcome to the English-speaking visitors present at today’s Audience, including the pilgrims from India and Nigeria. Our catechesis considers Saint John Eudes whose feast we celebrate today. He lived in seventeenth-century France which, notwithstanding considerable trials for the faith, produced many outstanding examples of spiritual courage and insight. Saint John Eudes’ particular contribution was the foundation of a religious congregation dedicated to the task of giving solid formation to the diocesan priesthood. He encouraged seminarians to grow in holiness and to trust in God’s love revealed to humanity in the priestly heart of Jesus and in the maternal heart of Mary. During this year let us pray in a special way for priests and seminarians that, inspired by today’s saint, they may spiritually "enter into the heart of Jesus", becoming men of true love, mercy, humility and patience, renewed in holiness and pastoral zeal. My dear Brothers and Sisters, upon you and your families I invoke God’s blessings of joy and peace!

©Copyright 2009 - Libreria Editrice Vaticana

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On the Curé d'Ars
"Since His Earthly Youth He Sought to Conform Himself to God

VATICAN CITY, AUG. 17, 2009 - Here is a Vatican translation of the address Benedict XVI gave Aug. 5 at his Summer Residence in Castel Gandolfo, during which commented on the Holy Curé d'Ars.

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Dear Brothers and Sisters,

In today's Catechesis I would like briefly to review the life of the Holy Curé of Ars. I shall stress several features that can also serve as an example for priests in our day, different of course from the time in which he lived, yet marked in many ways by the same fundamental human and spiritual challenges.

Precisely yesterday was the 150th anniversary of his birth in Heaven. Indeed it was at two o'clock in the morning on 4 August 1859 that St John Baptist Mary Vianney, having come to the end of his earthly life, went to meet the heavenly Father to inherit the Kingdom, prepared since the world's creation for those who faithfully follow his teachings (cf. Mt 25: 34).

What great festivities there must have been in Heaven at the entry of such a zealous pastor! What a welcome he must have been given by the multitude of sons and daughters reconciled with the Father through his work as parish priest and confessor!

I wanted to use this anniversary as an inspiration to inaugurate the Year for Priests, whose theme, as is well known, is "Faithfulness of Christ, Faithfulness of Priests". The credibility of witness depends on holiness and, once and for all, on the actual effectiveness of the mission of every priest.

John Mary Vianney was born into a peasant family in the small town of Dardilly on 8 May 1786. His family was poor in material possessions but rich in humanity and in faith. Baptized on the day of his birth, as was the good custom in those days, he spent so many years of his childhood and adolescence working in the fields and tending the flocks that at the age of 17 he was still illiterate.

Nonetheless he knew by heart the prayers his devout mother had taught him and was nourished by the sense of religion in the atmosphere he breathed at home. His biographers say that since his earthly youth he sought to conform himself to God's will, even in the humblest offices.

He pondered on his desire to become a priest but it was far from easy for him to achieve it.

Indeed, he arrived at priestly ordination only after many ordeals and misunderstandings, with the help of far-sighted priests who did not stop at considering his human limitations but looked beyond them and glimpsed the horizon of holiness that shone out in that truly unusual young man.

So it was that on 23 June 1815 he was ordained a deacon and on the following 13 August, he was ordained a priest. At last, at the age of 29, after numerous uncertainties, quite a few failures and many tears, he was able to walk up to the Lord's altar and make the dream of his life come true.

The Holy Curé of Ars always expressed the highest esteem for the gift he had received. He would say: "Oh! How great is the Priesthood! It can be properly understood only in Heaven... if one were to understand it on this earth one would die, not of fright but of love!" (Abbé Monnin, Esprit du Curé d'Ars, p. 113).

Moreover, as a little boy he had confided to his mother: "If I were to become a priest, I would like to win many souls" (Abbé Monnin, Procès de l'ordinaire, p. 1064). And so he did. Indeed, in his pastoral service, as simple as it was extraordinarily fertile, this unknown parish priest of a forgotten village in the south of France was so successful in identifying with his ministry that he became, even in a visibly and universally recognizable manner, an alter Christus, an image of the Good Shepherd who, unlike the hired hand, lays down his life for his sheep (cf. Jn 10: 11).

After the example of the Good Shepherd, he gave his life in the decades of his priestly service. His existence was a living catechesis that acquired a very special effectiveness when people saw him celebrating Mass, pausing before the tabernacle in adoration or spending hour after hour in the confessional.

Therefore the centre of his entire life was the Eucharist, which he celebrated and adored with devotion and respect. Another fundamental characteristic of this extraordinary priestly figure was his diligent ministry of confession.

He recognized in the practice of the sacrament of penance the logical and natural fulfillment of the priestly apostolate, in obedience to Christ's mandate: "if you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained" (cf. Jn 20: 23).

St John Mary Vianney thus distinguished himself as an excellent, tireless confessor and spiritual director. Passing "with a single inner impulse from the altar to the confessional", where he spent a large part of the day, he did his utmost with preaching and persuasive advice to help his parishioners rediscover the meaning and beauty of the sacrament of Penance, presenting it as an inherent demand of the Eucharistic presence (cf. Letter to Priests for the inauguration of the Year for Priests).

The pastoral methods of St John Mary Vianney might hardly appear suited to the social and cultural conditions of the present day. Indeed, how could a priest today imitate him in a world so radically changed? Although it is true that times change and many charisms are characteristic of the person, hence unrepeatable, there is nevertheless a lifestyle and a basic desire that we are all called to cultivate.

At a close look, what made the Curé of Ars holy was his humble faithfulness to the mission to which God had called him; it was his constant abandonment, full of trust, to the hands of divine Providence.
It was not by virtue of his own human gifts that he succeeded in moving peoples' hearts nor even by relying on a praiseworthy commitment of his will; he won over even the most refractory souls by communicating to them what he himself lived deeply, namely, his friendship with Christ.

He was "in love" with Christ and the true secret of his pastoral success was the fervor of his love for the Eucharistic Mystery, celebrated and lived, which became love for Christ's flock, for Christians and for all who were seeking God. His testimony reminds us, dear brothers and sisters, that for every baptized person and especially for every priest the Eucharist is not merely an event with two protagonists, a dialogue between God and me. Eucharistic Communion aspires to a total transformation of one's life and forcefully flings open the whole human "I" of man and creates a new "we" (cf. Joseph Ratzinger, La Comunione nella Chiesa, p. 80).

Thus, far from reducing the figure of St John Mary Vianney to an example albeit an admirable one of 18-century devotional spirituality, on the contrary one should understand the prophetic power that marked his human and priestly personality that is extremely timely.

In post-revolutionary France which was experiencing a sort of "dictatorship of rationalism" that aimed at obliterating from society the very existence of priests and of the Church, he lived first in the years of his youth a heroic secrecy, walking kilometers at night to attend Holy Mass. Then later as a priest Vianney distinguished himself by an unusual and fruitful pastoral creativity, geared to showing that the then prevalent rationalism was in fact far from satisfying authentic human needs, hence definitively unlivable.

Dear brothers and sisters, 150 years after the death of the Holy Curé of Ars, contemporary society is facing challenges that are just as demanding and may have become even more complex.

If in his time the "dictatorship of rationalism" existed, in the current epoch a sort of "dictatorship of relativism" is evident in many contexts. Both seem inadequate responses to the human being's justifiable request to use his reason as a distinctive and constitutive element of his own identity.

Rationalism was inadequate because it failed to take into account human limitations and claims to make reason alone the criterion of all things, transforming it into a goddess; contemporary relativism humiliates reason because it arrives de facto at affirming that the human being can know nothing with certainty outside the positive scientific field.

Today however, as in that time, man, "a beggar for meaning and fulfillment", is constantly in quest of exhaustive answers to the basic questions that he never ceases to ask himself.

The Fathers of the Second Vatican Council had very clearly in mind this "thirst for the truth" that burns in every human heart when they said that it is the task of priests "as instructors of the people in the faith" to see to the "formation of a genuine Christian community", that can "smooth the path to Christ for all men" and exercise "a truly motherly function" for them, "showing or smoothing the path towards Christ and his Church" for non-believers and for believers, while also "encouraging, supporting and strengthening believers for their spiritual struggles" (cf. Presbyterorum Ordinis, n. 6).

The teaching which in this regard the Holy Curé of Ars continues to pass on to us is that the priest must create an intimate personal union with Christ that he must cultivate and increase, day after day.

Only if he is in love with Christ will the priest be able to teach his union, this intimate friendship with the divine Teacher to all, and be able to move people's hearts and open them to the Lord's merciful love. Only in this way, consequently, will he be able to instil enthusiasm and spiritual vitality in the communities the Lord entrusts to him.

Let us pray that through the intercession of St John Mary Vianney, God will give holy priests to his Church and will increase in the faithful the desire to sustain and help them in their ministry. Let us entrust this intention to Mary, whom on this very day we invoke as Our Lady of the Snow.
 

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South Africa's 1st Saint?
Diocese Sends Case for Benedict Daswa to Rome

TZANEEN, South Africa, JULY 17, 2009- The first case for a South African native saint was advanced as officials concluded a diocesan inquiry into the life and death of Servant of God Benedict Daswa.

A press release from the South African bishops' conference reported Monday that the inquiry was completed at the beginning of July, and the final documents sent to the prefect of the Congregation for Saints' Causes, Archbishop Angelo Amato.

These documents, which will be brought to Rome by Archbishop James Green, South Africa's apostolic nuncio, include over 850 pages of testimonies about Daswa.

He was born in 1946 to a traditionalist family in a small Lemba tribe, an ethnic group claiming common descent and some similar traditions as Jewish people.

Benedict Daswa lived among the Venda people in the Limpopo province, the northernmost region of the country.

He was preparing to be a primary school teacher when he converted to Catholicism.

In his new faith life, he saw a conflict between Catholic beliefs and the witchcraft present in his culture.

Thus, Daswa took a strong stance against it, both privately and publicly, stating that witchcraft led to the killing of innocent people.

He openly rejected using "muti" or "medicine" derived from natural substances and used for "protection against evil or for success in sports and other activities."

The bishops' conference stated that this stance eventually led to his death.

Benedict was stoned and bludgeoned to death on Feb. 2, 1990, a few days after refusing to give money for witchcraft causes.

The conference stated that all evidence shows that Daswa led a holy life and was martyred for the faith.

Now, it continued, five years after the initiation of the diocesan inquiry, prayer cards will be prepared to encourage people to pray for Divine favors through his intercession, which will further his cause for beatification.

A biography is being produced to make the Servant of God more widely known.

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Pope Approves Cardinal Newman Miracle
Recognizes Martyrdom of Dachau Victim, Spanish Priests

VATICAN CITY, JULY 3, 2009 - Today, Benedict XVI authorized the promulgation of decrees recognizing miracles, martyrdom and heroic virtue in several causes for canonization.

A Vatican communiqué reported that the Pope received in private audience Archbishop Angelo Amato, prefect of the Congregation for Saints' Causes, and authorized the congregation to promulgate the following decrees.

Miracles attributed to the intercession of the following:

-- Blessed Cándida Maria de Jesús Cipitria y Barriola (1845-1912) (born Juana Josefa), Spanish founder of the Congregation of the Daughters of Jesus.
-- Servant of God John Henry Newman (1801-1890), English cardinal and founder of the Oratories of St. Phili p Neri in England.

-- Servant of God Angelo Paoli (1642-1720) (born Francesco), Italian professed priest of the Order of Carmelites of the Strict Observance.
-- Servant of God Maria Alfonsina Danil Ghattas (1843-1927) (born Soultaneh Maria), cofounder of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Most Holy Rosary of Jerusalem.

The martyrdom of the following:

-- Servant of God José Samsó i Elías (1887-1936), Spanish diocesan priest, pastor and archpriest of Santa María de Mataro, killed during religious persecution in Spain.
-- Servant of God Teófilo Fernández de Legaria Goñi (1898-1936) (born Beniamino), and four companions, professed priests of the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, killed during religious persecution in Spain in 1936.

-- Servant of God Georg Häfner (1900-1942), German diocesan priest, killed in the concentration camp of Dachau, Germany.
-- Servant of God Zolt an Ludovico Meszlenyi (1892-1951), Hungarian titular bishop of Sinope and auxiliary of Esztergom, killed at Kistarcsa, Hungary.

Proclamation of the heroic virtue of the following was also approved:

-- Servant of God Engelmar Unzeitig (1911-1945) (born Uberto), German professed priest of the Congregation of Missionaries of Mariannhill.
-- Servant of God Anna María Janer Anglarill (1800-1885), Spanish founder of the Institute of Sisters of the Holy Family of Urgell.

-- Servant of God Maria Serafina del Sacro Cuore di Gesu Micheli (1849-1911) (born Clotilde), Italian founder of the Institute of Sisters of the Angels.
-- Servant of God Teresa Manganiello (1849-1876), Italian laywoman of the Third Order of St. Francis.

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Miracle Healing Advances Cardinal Newman's Cause
Birmingham Oratory Prepares for Beatification

BIRMINGHAM, England, JULY 3, 2009 - Members of the Oratory in Birmingham are preparing to celebrate the imminent beatification of Cardinal John Henry Newman, after today's announcement that Benedict XVI approved a miracle through his intercession.

A press release distributed by the bishops' conference of England and Wales affirmed that the beatification of the theologian and Catholic convert is now certain.

The miracle that was approved by the Pope as a step in the cause of canonization was the 2001 healing of Deacon Jack Sullivan of the Boston, Massachusetts, area.

Sullivan, now 70, had a debilitating back injury that interrupted his diaconal studies and threatened to leave him paralyzed. After receiving this diagnosis, he went to his home and turned on the television as a distraction from the pain and disappointment.

A program about the life of Cardinal Newman was being aired, and it ended with a request to contact the postulate for the cause of his beautification if any favors were received through his intercession.

Sullivan recited a prayer to the cardinal, and the next morning, he awoke free of pain.

He was able to return to his studies, but eight months later, in April 2001, the pain came back. He once again prayed for Cardinal Newman's intercession, and when the pain disappeared, doctors stated that there was no human explanation for the immediate recovery.

Sullivan, who was ordained a permanent deacon in September 2002, affirmed, "Upon hearing of the recent developments in Rome regarding Cardinal Newman's cause for beatification, I was left with an intense sense of gratitude and thanksgiving to Almighty God and my intercessor Cardinal John Henry Newman."

He continued, "I have dedicated my vocation in praise of Cardinal Newman, who even now directs all my efforts."

Anticipation

In Rome, Father Edoardo Cerrato, procurator-general of the Oratory, stated, "On behalf of the 82 houses of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, Newman's own congregation, I welcome this decision with joy and look forward to the ceremony of beatification with great anticipation."

Father Paul Chavasse, provost of the Birmingham Oratory, which was Cardinal Newman's community, affirmed, "The prayers of Christ's faithful all over the world have now been answered."

The priest noted that it is "providential that the beatification of this great English theologian will occur in the pontificate of Benedict XVI, a major theologian in his own right whom Cardinal Newman has influenced profoundly."

Cardinal Newman was declared venerable in 1991 by Pope John Paul II.

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Papal Homily at Canonization Mass
"Let Us Thank the Lord for the Gift of Holiness"

VATICAN CITY, MAY 7, 2009 - Here is a translation of the homily Benedict XVI gave on April 26 at the canonization Mass of five newly recognized saints.

* * *

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

On this Third Sunday in the Easter Season, the liturgy once again focuses our attention on the mystery of the Risen Christ. Victorious over evil and over death, the Author of life who sacrificed himself as a victim of expiation for our sins "is still our priest, our advocate who always pleads our cause. Christ is the victim who dies no more, the Lamb, once slain, who lives for ever" (Easter Preface iii).

Let us allow ourselves to be bathed in the radiance of Easter that shines from this great mystery and with the Responsorial Psalm let us pray: "O Lord, let the light of your countenance shine upon us."

The light of the face of the Risen Christ shines upon us today especially through the Gospel features of the five Blesseds who during this celebration are enrolled in the Roll of Saints: Arcangelo Tadini, Bernardo Tolomei, Nuno de Santa Maria Álvares Pereira, Geltrude Comensoli and Caterina Volpicelli. I willingly join in the homage that the pilgrims are paying to them, gathered here from various nations and to whom I address a cordial greeting with great affection.

The various human and spiritual experiences of these new Saints show us the profound renewal that the mystery of Christ's Resurrection brings about in the human heart; it is a fundamental mystery that orients and guides the entire history of salvation. The Church therefore, especially in this Easter Season, rightly invites us to direct our gaze to the Risen Christ, who is really present in the Sacrament of the Eucharist.

In the Gospel passage, St Luke mentions one of the appearances of the Risen Jesus (24: 35-48). At the very beginning of the passage the Evangelist notes that the two disciples of Emmaus, who hurried back to Jerusalem, had told the Eleven how they recognized him in "the breaking of the bread" (v. 35).

And while they were recounting the extraordinary experience of their encounter with the Lord, he "himself stood among them" (v. 36). His sudden appearance frightened the Apostles. They were fearful to the point that Jesus, in order to reassure them and to overcome every hesitation and doubt, asked them to touch him -- he was not a ghost but a man of flesh and bone -- and then asked them for something to eat.

Once again, as had happened for the two at Emmaus, it is at table while eating with his own that the Risen Christ reveals himself to the disciples, helping them to understand the Scriptures and to reinterpret the events of salvation in the light of Easter.

"Everything written about me," he says, "in the law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled" (v. 44). And he invites them to look to the future: "Repentance and forgiveness of sins [shall] be preached in his name to all nations" (cf. v. 47).

This very experience of repentance and forgiveness is relived in every community in the Eucharistic celebration, especially on Sundays. The Eucharist, the privileged place in which the Church recognizes "the Author of life" (Acts 3: 15) is "the breaking of the bread," as it is called in the Acts of the Apostles. In it, through faith, we enter into communion with Christ, who is "the priest, the altar, and the lamb of sacrifice" (cf. Preface for Easter, 5) and is among us.

Let us gather round him to cherish the memory of his words and of the events contained in Scripture; let us relive his Passion, death and Resurrection. In celebrating the Eucharist we communicate with Christ, the victim of expiation, and from him we draw forgiveness and life.

What would our lives as Christians be without the Eucharist? The Eucharist is the perpetual, living inheritance which the Lord has bequeathed to us in the Sacrament of his Body and his Blood and which we must constantly rethink and deepen so that, as venerable Pope Paul VI said, it may "impress its inexhaustible effectiveness on all the days of our earthly life" (Insegnamenti, v [1967], p. 779).

Nourished with the Eucharistic Bread, the Saints we are venerating today brought their mission of evangelical love to completion with their own special charisms in the various areas in which they worked.

St Arcangelo Tadini spent long hours in prayer before the Eucharist. Always focusing his pastoral ministry on the totality of the human person, he encouraged the human and spiritual growth of his parishioners. This holy priest, this holy parish priest, a man who belonged entirely to God ready in every circumstance to let himself be guided by the Holy Spirit, was at the same time prepared to face the urgent needs of the moment and find a remedy for them.

For this reason he undertook many practical and courageous initiatives such as the organization of the "Catholic Workers Mutual Aid Association," the construction of a spinning mill and a residence for the workers and, in 1900, the foundation of the "Congregation of Worker Sisters of the Holy House of Nazareth" to evangelize the working world by sharing in the common efforts after the example of the Holy Family of Nazareth.

How prophetic the charismatic intuition of Father Tadini was and how timely his example remains today in an epoch of serious financial crisis! He reminds us that only by cultivating a constant and profound relationship with the Lord, especially in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, can we bring the Gospel leaven to the various fields of work and to every area of our society.

Love for prayer and for manual labour also distinguished St Bernardo Tolomei, the initiator of a unique Benedictine monastic movement. His was a Eucharistic life, entirely dedicated to contemplation, expressed in humble service to neighbour. Because of his rare spirit of humility and brotherly acceptance, he was re-elected abbot for 27 years, until his death. Moreover, in order to guarantee the future of his foundation, on 21 January 1344 he obtained from Clement VI papal approval of the new Benedictine Congregation called "Our Lady of Monte Oliveto".

During the epidemic of the Black Death in 1348, he left the solitude of Monte Oliveto for the monastery of S. Benedetto at Porta Tufi, Siena, to attend to his monks stricken with the plague, and died, himself a victim, as an authentic martyr of love.

The example of this Saint invites us to express our faith in a life dedicated to God in prayer and spent at the service of our neighbour, impelled by a love that is also ready to make the supreme sacrifice.

"Know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself; the Lord hears when I call to him" (Psalm 4: 3). These words of the Responsorial Psalm express the secret of the life of Bl. Nuno de Santa María, a hero and saint of Portugal. The 70 years of his life belong to the second half of the 14th century and the first half of the 15th, which saw this nation consolidate its independence from Castille and expand beyond the ocean not without a special plan of God opening new routes that were to favour the transit of Christ's Gospel to the ends of the earth.

St Nuno felt he was an instrument of this lofty design and enrolled in the militia Christi, that is, in the service of witness that every Christian is called to bear in the world. He was characterized by an intense life of prayer and absolute trust in divine help.

Although he was an excellent soldier and a great leader, he never permitted these personal talents to prevail over the supreme action that comes from God. St Nuno allowed no obstacle to come in the way of God's action in his life, imitating Our Lady, to whom he was deeply devoted and to whom he publicly attributed his victories. At the end of his life, he retired to the Carmelite convent whose building he had commissioned.

I am glad to point this exemplary figure out to the whole Church particularly because he exercised his life of faith and prayer in contexts apparently unfavourable to it, as proof that in any situation, even military or in war time, it is possible to act and to put into practice the values and principles of Christian life, especially if they are placed at the service of the common good and the glory of God.

Since childhood, Geltrude Comensoli felt a special attraction for Jesus present in the Eucharist. Adoration of Christ in the Eucharist became the principal aim of her life, we could almost say the habitual condition of her existence. Indeed, it was in the presence of the Eucharist that St Geltrude realized what her vocation and mission in the Church was to be: to dedicate herself without reserve to apostolic and missionary action, especially for youth.

Thus, in obedience to Pope Leo XIII, her Institute came into being which endeavoured to translate the "charity contemplated" in the Eucharistic Christ, into "charity lived," in dedication to one's needy neighbour.

In a bewildered and all too often wounded society like ours, to a youth, like that of our day in search of values and a meaning for their lives, as a sound reference point St Geltrude points to God who, in the Eucharist, has made himself our travelling companion. She reminds us that "adoration must prevail over all the other charitable works," for it is from love for Christ who died and rose and who is really present in the Eucharistic Sacrament, that Gospel charity flows which impels us to see all human beings as our brothers and sisters.

St Caterina Volpicelli was also a witness of divine love. She strove "to belong to Christ in order to bring to Christ" those whom she met in Naples at the end of the 19th century, in a period of spiritual and social crisis. For her too the secret was the Eucharist. She recommended that her first collaborators cultivate an intense spiritual life in prayer and, especially, in vital contact with Jesus in the Eucharist. Today this is still the condition for continuing the work and mission which she began and which she bequeathed as a legacy to the "Servants of the Sacred Heart."

In order to be authentic teachers of faith, desirous of passing on to the new generations the values of Christian culture, it is indispensable, as she liked to repeat, to release God from the prisons in which human beings have confined him.

In fact, only in the Heart of Christ can humanity find its "permanent dwelling place." St Caterina shows to her spiritual daughters and to all of us the demanding journey of a conversion that radically changes the heart, and is expressed in actions consistent with the Gospel. It is thus possible to lay the foundations for building a society open to justice and solidarity, overcoming that economic and cultural imbalance which continues to exist in a large part of our planet.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us thank the Lord for the gift of holiness that shines out in the Church with rare beauty today in Arcangelo Tadini, Bernardo Tolomei, Nuno de Santa Maria Álvares Pereira, Geltrude Comensoli and Caterina Volpicelli.

Let us be attracted by their examples, let us be guided by their teachings, so that our existence too may become a hymn of praise to God, in the footsteps of Jesus, worshipped with faith in the mystery of the Eucharist and served generously in our neighbour.

May the maternal intercession of Mary, Queen of Saints and of these five new luminous examples of holiness whom we venerate joyfully today, obtain for us that we may carry out this evangelical mission. Amen!

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Salesian Missionary Declared Venerable

by Fr. Albert Münch

Editor's Note: Fr. Alfred Delp was a German Jesuit priest who was imprisoned in Berlin. At the time of his arrest, he was the Rector of St. Georg Church in Munich, and had a reputation for being a gripping, dynamic preacher, and one who was an outspoken critic of the Nazi regime. He was an important figure in the Resistance movement against Nazism.

Accused of conspiring against the Nazi government, he was arrested in 1944, tortured, imprisoned, and executed on February 2, 1945. While in prison, Fr. Delp was able to write a few meditations found in Advent of the Heart: Seasonal Sermons and Prison Writings, 1941-1944, which also includes his powerful reflections from prison during the Advent season about the profound spiritual meaning and lessons of Advent, as well as his sermons he gave on the season of Advent at his parish in Munich. These meditations were smuggled out of Berlin and read by friends and parishioners of St. Georg in Munich. This year marks the 100th anniversary of Fr. Delp's birth and the 70th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood.

The following article contains some of the thoughts and recollections of Fr. Albert Münch, a close friend of Fr. Delp. It was first published in Reden und Ansprachen zum Gedenken an Pater Alfred Delp, S.J., Hammerich, Lampertheim, 1975, vol. 1, pp. 13-26. Translation from the German by Abtei St. Walburg.


Personal experiences with Alfred Delp

As you know, he was born in the year 1907 in Mannheim and then moved with his family to Lampertheim. The local pastor, Father Unger, helped him to go to high school in order start him on the way to a career that would be "suitable" for him. I met him in Dieburg, at the diocesan seminary for boys, and attended my last two years of high school there with him.

I can tell you a few things about him: Delp was a difficult person; he was always restless, but he fit with his times. If, today, we say that youth are restless and that, in the past, they were different--that is nonsense. In the past, the youth were also restless. And even in the youth movement, in which we were both involved—he with "Neudeutchland", I with "Quickborn"—there was plenty of unrest. However, one thing was certain: We always met one another on a common foundation. We knew where to find our footing. We were people who were believers, for whom the Lord God was in no way a problem, but rather, a part of life. Faith gave us security, and we never tried any kind of hairsplitting, either, over faith, or its deepest meaning, or the Lord God. We tried to envision man and the world in such a way that they fit in with these thoughts of God. That was the most important thing.

Also, there was something else besides this, a second foundation. Back then, the youth movement had a great idea: We wanted to get out into nature, to see in it the will of the Creator, and to live out of His Creation. Our hiking and camping trips came from this idea, and often we would hike from Dieburg to Breuberg, through the forests of the Odenwald. In Breuberg, we met with Dr. Gottron, a dear friend and youth leader, who gave us an introduction into the liturgy, Vespers, and devotions. The singing of the Psalms there remains something unforgettable.

Those were two foundations, and today, when we look back on Father Delp's life, we can say that these were two points he never forgot. He stood by them and, we can say, they were simply the Christian attitude, or simply a matter of course in his life. He never turned aside from them.

He graduated with us in 1926. Let me look back once more to the time before graduation. Alfred Delp could not be still, as I said. His whole personality, his mind and spirit sparkled. Therefore, there were often discussions, even in the school with our teachers. Although we did not want to criticize them at all, they often had their own pace, their own way. They often wanted no change. And it was Alfred, of course, his mind bubbling over with ideas, who would interrupt in a way that was fun. And many times, when he spoke that way, his speech got ahead of him, you might say, and kept on going. He often floundered just because his train of thought was already too far ahead, before the thought was verbalized.

The same thing showed up in his handwriting. I love to recall the moment when our German teacher said: "Delp, buy yourself a typewriter, at long last! I can no longer read anything you write." For when he wrote, his mind went on ahead and entire lines came out almost like a stenograph, which nobody could read except him. Thus, one can say he had a scintillating mind and, even back then, a restless spirit that looked further ahead. However, he was someone who had foundations, who stood for something. For him, the foundation would remain unquestionable throughout all of his struggles and all of the difficulties he would have to experience.

Vocation and ordination

After graduation, he went to Munich to the Jesuits. Another friend went with him, but soon left the Order. One classmate went to Würzburg and studied theology there. Unfortunately, as a pastoral assistant, the friend from Würzburg had a fatal motorcycle accident when a child ran into the street. I went to Mainz. The classmate who withdrew from the Jesuit Order became a physician. Delp studied and worked in Munich. In the Jesuit Order, one had to be thirty years old for ordination, but he was not idle during this waiting period. As early as the year 1935, he wrote a book: Tragic Existence. He wrote it in opposition to the fashionable philosophy of Heidegger. Not only the godlessness, but modern man's "incapability of God", must be seen, for that was the tragedy of the time. Delp saw this and worked it into his writings for Stimmen der Zeit. He wrote articles, books, and tried to navigate his way through.

It was in 1937, on June 24 in Munich, that we saw one another again. He was ordained to the priesthood there by the well-known Cardinal Faulhaber. I think we can say that Delp was pleased to be ordained by such a famous person who stood up and fought in those times.

Here in Saint Andreas Church, we celebrated his first Holy Mass. We were together again, but would very soon go our separate ways. Meanwhile, many things had happened. If I may say a couple of personal things, it will perhaps give a clearer view of those times. Oh, yes, you can hear how people make accusations: "Why didn't the people resist?" Anyone who knows how hard it was to risk saying just one word in the pulpit that was displeasing to those in power also knows that prison was certain to those who took that risk.

Resistance and ministry

Delp came to see me one more time, after the journal, Stimmen der Zeit, was abolished. After they had plundered that whole building and stolen all there was to steal, he showed up. We spoke about the situation. His plans seemed dangerous to me. "Be careful," I warned him. "Maybe you don't know these brothers well enough." At that point, I already had been in prison twice, and had been sentenced to four months in prison, and only got out of that through an amnesty. I had to change my workplace as Pastoral Assistant three times. Therefore I said: "Watch out!"

However, with what you could call boyish cheerfulness, he answered, "No problem. I've got my documents here." At any rate, he believed he would be able to get out of the country. Unfortunately that would no longer be possible. That was our last meeting. It was tragic to hear later what had happened to him.

He came to Bogenhausen in Munich and worked in the parish, as rector of St. Georg. I am sure he did well. We hear how he was a leader, decision-maker, and guide. As I already mentioned, with every word that we spoke from the pulpit, we had to very carefully consider how far we could go. Mostly we had to speak metaphorically and, in this way, we were understood by the faithful. The men of the Gestapo, the secret state police who mostly served as spies, understood us too, but could not touch us. I, myself, was arrested for a third time and then expelled from Germany.

Plans for the future

In 1942, Alfred Delp was faced with what can be called a challenge. Count Moltke asked the Jesuit Provincial, Father Rösch, to give him someone who could say something about the social teachings of the Church. Helmuth von Moltke and his people were not seeking to carry out a violent coup. However, they knew things could not go on that way much longer. Anyone who followed the situation—and I did, from Rome—had to say, "Maybe until 1944 or '45, then the whole thing is going to collapse." And these men made plans for what would become of our poor German people afterwards. First, of course, everything would have to collapse and we would stand on the brink of horrifying ruin—we experienced it in 1945.

Moltke invited Delp to join the group, which met in Kreisau on Moltke's estate, or in Munich, or Berlin, anywhere. It was too dangerous to keep meeting at the same place. They know that the "bloodhounds" were everywhere. I don't know if you know this: ten million Germans were constantly under surveillance by the Gestapo, and two million were in prisons and concentration camps. So you can picture how things were, how it seemed, how careful one had to be, and how dangerous it all was. Nevertheless, Delp worked with Moltke, with Gerstenmaier, with Gross, with Sperr and the others. And all but Gerstenmaier would lose their lives for it. Moltke was arrested in January 1944. He did not want a violent revolution, and had stayed out of the plans of those officers who, with Stauffenberg, were preparing to assassinate Hitler. He did not want that, but wanted to prepare for the day of Germany's defeat.

Arrest and imprisonment

Then they came for Father Delp as well. On 28 July 1944, he fell into the hands of the Gestapo. They arrested him in the morning after the Holy Mass. Two officers had stood in the back of the church and, after the service, they nabbed him and led him away. At first, friends thought he was in a camp, but then they found him in Berlin, at the Lehrter Stra?e prison. And then, alongside his martyrdom, the heroism of the laity began. We know that in Berlin and Munich, lay people cared for him and risked their own freedom—maybe even their lives—to save him, to help him. Anyone who has been in prison, who knows what it means to be stuck there with no connection to the outside, also knows what a comfort it is to find a piece of bread or a little message in a packet of laundry that someone was able to bring. That was a sign that there were people who were thinking of him and who sympathized.

When you read his letters and notes, written on small slips of paper that were smuggled out of the prison, you have to ask, astonished, where in the world did he get the strength? I return to what I said at the beginning, and answer, "From his faith in God, from that foundation from which he lived. From the joy that he had filled his soul with, not only through his studies and theological knowledge, but through the strength that he stored up in his soul when he was outside in nature, climbing mountains. That gave him a foothold to get through difficulties and tough times.

It was on 8 December 1944 that Alfred finally arrived at what he had long desired. He wanted to give himself completely and totally to his Lord God. It had already been planned that he make his final profession of vows on 15 August, but, because of his arrest, the date had to be postponed. On December 8, his confrere, Father Tattenbach came with full authorization to Berlin, to receive his final vows. It must have been an interesting scene, the two of them sitting at a table with a prison guard keeping watch. And Father Delp made his vows in the presence of his confrere.

Faithful unto death

Then came the day in January 1945, the horrible day of that stupid, idiotic, terrible show trial before the People's Court. Perhaps you have heard the name of Roland Freisler. In Berlin, they spoke of "Raging Roland" in his red robes, who held forth, foaming at the mouth, and shouted down, screamed down, and bellowed down everything, without rhyme or reason. It must have been a gruesome spectacle.

Moltke, Delp and the others stood before this man. It is astonishing how Father Delp, who otherwise let the sparks fly, stood quietly and matter-of-factly before the judge. The words of the Holy Scripture are true: When you stand before your enemies, do not ask what you should say, for the Spirit of God will tell you what you should say. And when Delp, in peace and certainty before the judge, point for point refuted the charges against him, especially those related to 20 July, then one can only marvel and say that it was not the man speaking here, but God.

Nevertheless, he was condemned to death with Moltke. Let's keep it brief. On 2 February 1945, he was strangled. None of us was there. No one knows the details...let's not speak of it—it is horrible. To think of these men who were intellectually outstanding, men who had ideals, men who wanted to survive and to give their best for their people—to think that these men had to depart from this life because of such a satanic system!

Valediction to Father Delp: A man who consistently went the way that he had recognized as the right way. Completely human, creature of God, completely Christian, faithful to his Master even unto death.

Grateful acknowledgement is due to Father Hammerich of St. Andreas Church, Lampertheim, for permission to publish text and photo. First published in Reden und Ansprachen zum Gedenken an Pater Alfred Delp, S.J., Hammerich, Lampertheim, 1975, vol. 1, pp. 13-26. Translation from the German by Abtei St. Walburg. Photo: Procession to the church for Father Delp's first Mass on 4 July 1937. Father Albert Münch (far left), Father Alfred Delp, S.J. (center).

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by Christopher Check

Imagine going to confession on a Saturday afternoon only to find no priest available. You drive to nearby — or even distant — churches and encounter only frustrated parishioners facing the same situation. A couple with a new baby cannot find a priest to baptize him. The last time anyone in the group attended Mass was months ago. This nightmare gives some sense of the profound evil that gripped Mexico nearly a century ago.

Socialist historians from Mexico and Russia have argued that the Cristeros were superstitious peasants manipulated by elites who felt threatened by the revolution's promise of progress and justice. To make such arguments they had to ignore the facts of the story (the wealthy of Mexico, including practicing Catholics, opposed the uprising), as well as the eleven centuries of Catholic militancy that informed it. Seduced by Marxist errors and Masonic superstitions, revolutionaries declared war on the Catholic Church. They seized control of the government and, in 1917, wrote a socialist constitution packed with anticlerical articles with the goal of marginalizing the Church's influence — if not driving her from Mexico altogether.

Backed by the full force of federal law, the Revolutionary Government confiscated all Church property, including hospitals, monasteries, convents, and schools. Priests were forbidden to wear their clerics in public. They were not allowed to express opinions on politics, even in private conversation. They could not seek justice in the Mexican courts. To take a religious vow became a criminal act. All foreign clergy were deported.

In 1926, the president of Mexico, Plutarco Elias Calles, added teeth to the persecution with additions to the penal code. The "Calles Law," as it came to be known, called for uniform enforcement throughout the country of the Constitution's anticlerical articles. It threatened severe sanctions for violations and for government officials who failed to enforce them. "As long as I am President of the Republic, the Constitution of 1917 will be obeyed," he vowed, saying he would not be moved by the "wailing of sacristans or the pujidos (groans) of the over-pious" (David C. Bailey, Viva Cristo Rey!: The Cristero Rebellion, and the Church-State Conflict in Mexico, 65).

Self-Proclaimed Enemies of God

Calles was, in one sense, just another anticlerical revolutionary in a century-old series of anticlerical revolutionaries. For him the Church represented a past he wished to see liquidated.

Unable to operate under these conditions, the Mexican bishops, after agonized deliberations and consultation with the Holy See, suspended public worship on July 31, 1926. Three bishops went into hiding; the rest left the country in exile. The next day, for the first time in more than four hundred years, no priest in Mexico ascended ad altare Dei to offer the holy sacrifice of the Mass.

Priests who remained in Mexico faced two choices: cooperation with the government or a life on the run. Those who cooperated were forced to abandon their parishes, to move to urban areas, and to register with their state governments — which now had the power to set clerical quotas. In the state of Tobasco, for example, Governor Tomas Canabal restricted the number of priests in his state to six, one for every thirty thousand citizens. He demanded these six take wives. In true Marxist fashion, he renamed his capital city, San Juan Bautista (St. John the Baptist), to Villa Hermosa (beautiful villa), and named his children Lenin, Lucifer, and Satan. His business card identified him as "The Personal Enemy of God."

A courageous minority of priests refused to register. They went into hiding and roamed Mexico by night and in disguise, doing their best to bring the sacraments to the faithful. If caught, they were arrested, fined, jailed, and sometimes tortured and executed.

Following the suspension of public worship, the National League for the Defense of Religious Liberty, an organization formed by middle-class Catholic intellectuals, circulated a petition signed by two million Mexicans demanding constitutional reform. Their cries were ignored; the government went so far as to deny the petition existed. The people responded with a nationwide boycott of government transportation services, energy, and entertainment. The boycott failed because Mexico's wealthy — including many practicing Catholics — felt the sting of the boycott and complained to the government. Federal police were sent in to break up picket lines. By January 1927, many of the faithful concluded that they had exhausted all peaceful means of protest. The Mexican landowning peasant class in the rural west took up arms.

Bishops: Fight or Flight?

Was this the effect that the bishops had desired? In the case of a few, perhaps, yes. Bishop Leopoldo Lara y Torres of Tacambaro wrote to Calles telling him that the bishops were prepared to seal their protest "in blood." The fiery tactics of Bishop Francisco Orozco y Jiménez of Guadalajara made Rome nervous; he endured three exiles for his public opposition to the government. Bishop José de Jesús Manríquez y Zárate of Huejulta had been arrested once already for circulating tracts condemning Calles and for using his pulpit to denounce his administration. Bishop Zárate would later help supply the Cristeros, and he even considered taking the field with them. For most of the bishops, however, suspension of public worship was a non-violent protest designed to bring popular pressure on the government.

The non-violent view was shared by José Anacleto Gonzales Flores, the heroic scholar and founder of the Catholic-action organization the Union Popular. As street demonstrations devolved into street violence, however, Flores reluctantly joined forces with the National League's Rene Capistran Garza in a nationwide call to arms. Flores told his followers that they were headed for Calvary.

    If one of you should ask me what sacrifice I am asking of you in order to seal the pact we are going to celebrate, I will tell you in two words: your blood. If you want to proceed, stop dreaming of places of honor, military triumphs, braid, luster, victories, and authority over others. Mexico needs a tradition of blood in order to cement its free life of tomorrow. For that work my life is available, and for that tradition I ask yours. (Bailey, Viva Cristo Rey!, 110)

Flores was martyred after an ordeal of brutal torture during which he was hung by his thumbs while federal soldiers skinned the soles of his feet. Before he died, he accomplished much more than organizing a military uprising. He and the leaders of the Union Popular operated catechesis programs for children and adults and relief efforts for the poor. Flores understood that a military victory would be hollow if there were no Catholic Mexico to replace Revolutionary Mexico. He was beatified in 1999 by Pope John Paul II.

No Support from Northern Neighbors

When the Cristeros took up arms in January 1927, they had very few arms to take up, only their battle cry, "Viva Cristo Rey!" The uprising occurred almost simultaneously in small towns and villages in a dozen western states including Zacatecas, Jalisco, Guanajuato, Durango, Michoacan, and Colima. Hundreds of small, poorly organized bands of sharecroppers and rancheros bearing machetes and a few rifles took over local municipalities by disarming the garrisons at federal outposts, as well as local police and militia units.

Lack of a long-term plan, however, took some of the steam out of these initial victories. Capistran Garza had been a great one for creating pious fervor, but he was not the man to organize an armed rebellion. His job, as he saw it, was to cross the border and stir up sympathy for the Cristero cause among U.S. Catholics, sympathy that would translate into large gifts of cash with which to buy desperately needed ammunition. Garza knew that American support would dictate the outcome of the war, but the U.S. bishops were reluctant to give any sign of supporting an armed rebellion against a government recognized by the United States. Meanwhile, most of the Mexican bishops were looking for a negotiated settlement. Garza's northern sojourn yielded almost no fruit.

Knowing nothing of the diplomatic bargaining that their uprising had generated, the Cristeros pressed ahead with their war for the soul of Mexico. In some regions they were clearly winning; in others, at least they were holding their own. Taking over one rural village at a time, they began not only better to organize their army, but also to organize alternate governments in the territories they had liberated. They controlled a wide swath of towns and cities in the state of Zacatecas. The region of Coalcoman in western Michoacan sent Calles formal notification of its succession from Mexico.

Municipal governments under Cristero control collected taxes for the war effort but also discharged the ordinary functions of civil government, such as school administration. Deeply conscious of the Christian nature of their movement, Cristero lawmakers took a hard line on moral behavior. Unmarried couples were required to marry or separate. Prostitution, gambling, and public drunkenness were severely punished, and rape could draw a sentence of death. Catholic social justice informed Cristero economic policy, which forbade speculation in corn and other crops afflicted by shortages resulting from the war.

Women Wage War of Secrecy

The war raged for thirty months. The federal government attempted to deny Cristero victories, but in fact — and in spite of severe shortages of ammunition — Catholic soldiers defeated federal units in operations ranging from large cavalry engagements on the plains of Jalisco to guerilla operations in the mountains of Durango. The American military attaché described the "remarkable tenacity" of the Cristeros and the general disorder of the federal army.

The Cristeros lived by a strict moral code, one that stood in strict contrast to the behavior of federal troops, who were frequently drunk or stoned and who terrorized the civilian population with pillage and rape. Consequently, public sympathy for the Cristeros was strong. For example, there was an extensive logistics network run by the Feminine Brigades of St. Joan of Arc, a Catholic women's organization affiliated with the Unión Popular. These women devised creative and clandestine ways to keep soldiers supplied: special vests for smuggling ammunition out of federal factories and secret workshops for the production of homemade explosives, such as grenades made out of jelly tins. These courageous twenty-five thousand ladies also carried messages — written on silk and hidden within the soles of shoes — between units. All of their activities were carried out under an oath of secrecy. No evidence indicates that the oath was ever broken.

The heroic efforts of the Joan of Arc Brigades notwithstanding, the Cristero army never had enough ammunition to win a decisive victory. Too often, in the heat of battle, they had to disengage so as to live to fight another day. On several occasions they were reduced to rolling boulders (called "Hail Marys" and "Our Fathers") down a hill on advancing federal troops. Although the federal army was badly led and plagued by high rates of desertion, they were never short of arms and ammunition — supplied by the U.S. government. In at least one battle, American pilots provided air support for the federal army. Stalemate, albeit one that could last for years, seemed to be the best for which the Cristeros could hope.

"Animated by a Spirit of Good Will"

Plutarco Calles felt threatened nonetheless. The war was costing the government ninety-six million pesos a year, more than a third of its annual budget. This figure did not include the harm to his economy in reduced agricultural production (for which Calles' scorched-earth policy was to blame). Worse perhaps, his policy of relocating some 30 percent of the rural population of Mexico to urban areas in an effort to eliminate the Cristero support network was only provoking widespread resentment. Half a million Mexicans left the country, forming California's first wave of Mexican immigration. By the end of the fighting, military deaths approached one hundred thousand, 60 percent of which were federal troops.

Although Calles continued to call the shots, he turned over the presidency to his hand-picked successor, Emilio Portes Gil. Whether it was Portes Gil's more moderate positions on religious questions or Calles' growing fear that the Cristeros would never be defeated ("they are annihilating us," he told Gil), the Mexican government at last came to the bargaining table.

The man who negotiated the settlement was the U.S. ambassador to Mexico, Dwight Morrow (whose daughter Anne married Charles Lindbergh). Calles and Portes Gil knew that if the Mexican bishops restored public worship, the armed resistance would fade. Pope Pius XI would permit the restoration of public worship only if he believed that the persecution of the Church would abate and that Church property would be restored. Calles and Portes Gil had no plans to change the constitution, but they were willing to hint that enforcement could be relaxed.

On June 21, 1929, Mexico City's Archbishop Pascual Diaz and Archbishop Ruiz y Flores, the Apostolic Delegate, along with Portes Gil, issued statements to the press. The Mexican episcopal statement was brief, citing the spirit of good will in which negotiations had taken place and a desire that the restoration of public worship would "lead the Mexican people, animated by a spirit of good will, to cooperate in all moral efforts undertaken for the welfare of all the people of the country" (Bailey, Viva Cristo Rey!, 312).

Portes Gil assured the people of Mexico that the Constitution did not intend "to destroy the identity of the Catholic Church" nor "to intervene in any way with its spiritual functions" and that he was prepared to listen to "any complaints . . . regarding injustices . . . committed by undue application of the laws" (Bailey, Viva Cristo Rey!, 312). He clarified that the registration of clergy did not mean that the government could register clergy not appointed by ecclesiastical authority. He added that religious instruction could take place within the confines of a church, but not in schools, and that any law of Mexico was subject to appeal by one of her citizens.

On these two noncommittal statements, los arreglos (agreements) were brokered. Ruiz y Flores and Diaz had given the most generous interpretation possible to Pius XI's demand that Church property be restored: "In so far as could reasonably be expected," they told Morrow. Portes Gil told them that Church property not being used by the government would be returned immediately, but that the Church could give the government time to vacate buildings currently occupied. Portes Gil also ordered a total amnesty for all Cristeros, including free rail passes to return to their homes. Officers were permitted to keep their sidearms and horses.

At the conclusion of the meeting, the two bishops drove directly to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe and knelt at the high altar in thanksgiving. Public worship was restored. The faithful packed the churches. Word came from Pius XI to the Cristeros asking them to lay down their arms. Over the next three months, in obedience to the Holy Father, some more reluctantly than others, that is exactly what they did.

Betrayal, Persecution, and Mass Executions

But within a few months of the arreglos, signs emerged that all was not well. A significant number of churches, schools, and rectories remained in government hands. Ruiz y Flores and Diaz attempted to meet with the president but were ignored. When they at last met with Portes Gil's successor, Pascual Ortiz Rubio (also handpicked by Calles) and asked him to honor his predecessor's promises, they were told that Portes Gil had promised nothing.

Meanwhile, the Cristeros who were not willing to move out of their states were taken prisoner and executed. The "annihilation of Catholic militants after the 1929 agreement" (Bailey, Viva Cristo Rey!, 294) lasted for several years. There were mass executions in Jalisco, and reports of Cristero veterans being hunted down and killed lasted until the 1950s. It is not known how many thousands of them lost their lives after the war had been declared over.

The worst years for the Church in Mexico were 1934 and 1935. In this period Graham Greene set his novel The Power and the Glory, in which a "whiskey priest" fights persecution and his own weaknesses.

Most state governments closed the churches. Priests practically vanished, as they were again on the run. Less than a tenth of those who had served the faithful in 1925 were permitted to operate a decade later. In truth, the number was fewer, since those who wanted to practice legally had to marry. In 1934 there were 334 registered priests for fifteen million Mexicans.

Schoolteachers in Yucatan and Michoacan were required to take a public oath of atheism and to promise to teach against the Catholic religion. Archbishop Diaz's episcopal palace was never returned. He was thrown in jail for a time and then forced to rent rooms where he could find them. Fearing to lose their property, few were willing to rent to the aged priest. He died hated by the Mexican government and not altogether loved by Catholic militants who felt he had betrayed their cause.

Doubtless it was Diaz's voice that at last convinced Pius XI to call for an end to the Cristero uprising. However, we can render no just judgment on the members of the hierarchy who sought an end to the Cristiada without bearing in mind that the Church is not a political movement. It is an institution for the care of souls. We may wish ever to see the Church triumph over her enemies, but her path must be the path of her founder, a steady march to Calvary. Pius XI and his bishops needed first and foremost to restore the sacraments to the Mexican faithful, even if the circumstances under which they were to be dispensed were trying. They negotiated in good faith, which is more than can be said for anyone else at the bargaining table.

The Seed of the Church

The Mexican Church's climb out of the hell of the Revolution has been slow, and it is not finished. Mexican schoolchildren, to the extent that they even hear the story of the Cristeros, are as likely as not to get the socialist spin. Well into the 1970s, Catholic schools received regular inspections to ensure use of government textbooks. Religion could not be taught — only "values." Not until the 1980s were the anticlerical articles repealed. Not until the late 1990s, with the beatifications and canonizations of the Martyrs of the Mexican Revolution by John Paul II and, in 2005, Benedict XVI, did a sympathetic public awareness of the Cristeros resurface.

Nonetheless, the Calles Law may be off the books, but anticlerical sentiment remains, especially in the popular media, which fumed about "opening old wounds" when last summer Miss Mexico wore a dress honoring the Cristeros. When bishops in Mexico spoke against new laws permitting abortion, the press behaved as if they had no business commenting on a "political matter."

"The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church." After Tertullian wrote those words a century would pass before the Edict of Milan. How and when God will perfect the sacrifices of the Mexican Martyrs is up to him. For our part we can contemplate the ferocity with which the Church was persecuted not long ago in our own backyard, and the zeal of the faithful who defended her with Catholic hearts forged in centuries of fighting the enemies of Jesus Christ.

Mexico's Tarcisius: José Sánchez del Río

In 1913, in the state of Michoacan, a boy was born to Macario and Maria Sánchez del Río. They called him José. Macario and Maria were cattle ranchers who loved Jesus Christ with all their hearts and who reared their four children, of whom José was the third, to do the same. José cultivated a strong devotion to the Blessed Virgin of Guadalupe and said his rosary each day with great care. He instructed the other young children of his town in the Catholic faith, and encouraged them to make holy hours before the Blessed Sacrament. José loved to play marbles with his companions, and he learned to ride and care for horses. When José was thirteen, his older brothers, Macario and Miguel, left home to join the Cristeros. José desired to join them, but his mother forbade it. For a year he begged her to let him go. "Mother," he said, "Will you deny me the chance to go to heaven, and so soon?"

At last his mother relented, and with tears in her eyes watched her youngest son ride off to join the crusade. The Cristero commander in José's town refused the boy's appeal to enlist, so he made his way some twenty or thirty miles to the next town, Cotija, where he presented himself to the Cristero commander, Prudencio Mendoza.

"What contribution can so small a boy make to our army?"

"I ride well. I know how to tend horses, clean weapons and spurs, and how to fry beans and tortillas."

Mendoza was inspired by the boy's grit, so he made him the aide of the Cristero General Ruben Guizar Morfin. Impressed by José's service, Morfin promoted him to bugler. His job was to ride alongside the general in combat, carrying his battle standard and delivering the general's orders with his horn. The soldiers of José's regiment, inspired by his piety and fervor, nicknamed him Tarcisius after the Roman altar boy who died protecting the Blessed Sacrament from a pagan mob.

On February 6, 1928, the Cristero army was overwhelmed by the federal army in fierce and bloody combat outside of Cotija. General Morfin's horse was shot, and it looked as if he would soon be captured by the federal troops. José leapt off of his horse.

"General!" he shouted. "Take my mount and escape to safety. You are of far greater importance to the Cristero cause than I am."

Helping Morfin up into the saddle, José delivered a hard swat across the backside of the horse and sent it galloping away. He then took his rifle and bandolier and, taking cover behind a rock, began shooting the federal soldiers closing around him. At last the boy ran out of ammunition, and standing up shouted to the enemy, "I have not surrendered. I have only stopped shooting you because I am out of cartridges."

When the federal soldiers saw that they had been fired upon by a boy, they seized him in a fury. They put José in irons and dragged him off to the local church, which they had converted into a jail, a stable for their horses, and a coop for roosters they used in cockfights. These they had leashed to the church's monstrance. José scolded the soldiers for desecrating a holy place.

"Now we will see, hombrecito, how tough you are!" they sneered.

To test his resolve, they forced José to watch as they took another captured Cristero, tortured him, and hanged him from a telegraph pole. Instead of looking away, José encouraged the prisoner, telling him that they would soon meet up in heaven. For two days, José was locked in the sacristy of the church, during which time he wrote to his mother, telling her that he had no fear, that he had welcomed the will of God and looked forward to dying in the light of our Lord.

The captain of the guard offered José his freedom in exchange for information about the Cristeros, including the names of the people who were supplying them. José refused, so they pinned him down and cut the skin off the soles of his feet. At eleven at night, they marched José to the cemetery on the edge of town, all the while telling him that if he would deny Jesus Christ they would spare his life.

"Viva Cristo Rey!" shouted José, the rallying cry of the Cristeros. "Viva Cristo Rey!" over and over as he limped in his bloodied feet over the gravel and twigs. "Long Live Christ the King! Long Live the Virgin of Guadalupe!" At the graveyard, José was pushed into a shallow grave. Struggling to his feet he again shouted, "Viva Cristo Rey!" To avoid the sound of gunfire, the commander of the firing squad ordered his men to stab the boy with their bayonets. "Viva Cristo Rey!" Again the bayonet into his side. "Viva Santa Maria de Guadalupe!"

"Say 'Death to Christ the King' and save your life!" demanded the captain of the guard.

"Viva Cristo Rey!"

The captain lost all patience and drew his own pistol. The first bullet struck José in the head, knocking him to the ground. As blood pooled next to his face, José, in a final act of defiance against the enemies of Jesus Christ who had taken over his country, dipped his hand in his blood and with it drew a cross in the dirt, then touched his lips to the cross. Six more bullets at point-blank range sent the martyr into the arms of his Savior.

Torture and Death

While Cristeros often spared the lives of captured federal soldiers, the reverse was not true. Cristeros who were captured in battle were executed after undergoing torture designed to force the Catholic soldiers to reveal military secrets and to deny the faith. Electric shock, burning with blow torches, hanging by thumbs, and broken bones were common. It was also common to drag prisoners behind a horse and then quarter them alive. A widespread form of torture was to flay the soles of the feet and force the victim to walk on rock salt. Nonetheless, many Cristero prisoners died bravely, and the accounts of their deaths inspired their brothers-in-arms.

Priests captured by the Mexican government, whether they were actively serving with the Cristeros or had simply refused to register with the government, were hanged or shot. Among them was the sixty-two year old Fr. Mateo Correa Magallanes, who refused to tell federal officers what Cristero prisoners had told him in confession. Most famous of the martyred priests is Bl. Miguel Pro, unjustly implicated in a failed assassination attempt on Calles' successor, Alvaro Obregon. Pro died before a firing squad with his arms outstretched like our Lord crucified, shouting "Viva Cristo Rey!" Calles ordered the execution photographed, hoping that the grisly images would discourage Catholics supporting the Cristeros. But the photos had the opposite effect, and soon Calles was forbidding papers to print them. Although Fr. Pro himself was not part of any armed rebellion, his martyrdom inspired others to take up arms in support of the Cristeros.

Further Reading

    * Blessed Miguel Pro: Twentieth-Century Mexican Martyr by Ann Ball (TAN)
    * Blood-Drenched Altars: A Catholic Commentary on the History of Mexico by Most Rev. Francis Clement Kelley (TAN)
    * The Cristero Rebellion: The Mexican People Between Church and State by Jean A. Meyer (Cambridge; out of print)
    * Mexican Martyrdom: Firsthand Experiences of the Religious Persecution in Mexico by Wilfred Parsons, S.J. (TAN)
    * The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene (Penguin)
    * Robbery Under Law: The Mexican Object Lesson by Evelyn Waugh (Akadine: Common Reader)
    * Viva Cristo Rey!: The Cristero Rebellion, and the Church-State Conflict in Mexico by David C. Bailey (University of Texas; out of print)
    * Young Faces of Holiness by Ann Ball (Our Sunday Visitor)

Christopher Check is executive vice president of The Rockford Institute and a lecturer on military and Church history. He gratefully acknowledges the kind assistance of Roberto and Margarita Ucero in preparing this article.

Caroline Chisholm, Australia's next saint?

A second Australian saint could be on the cards as supporters of Catholic pioneer Caroline Chisholm push for her beatification.

Chisholm, who died in 1877, was known as “the emigrants’ friend” for her work in helping single women and families settle in Australia and for rescuing homeless girls in colonial Sydney.

The Friends of Mrs Chisholm are preparing historical data to petition the Vatican for her eventual rise to Sainthood, The Age reported.

To be considered for sainthood, supporters will need to establish signs of two miracles — intercessions in response to prayer from beyond the grave.

A public campaign, including the printing of prayer cards and a new website, will be launched next year to coincide with the 200th anniversary of her birth.

Chisholm has always been held in high regard and was the first woman other than a monarch to feature on Australian currency, gracing the $5 note until 1992.

But the path to canonisation could be problematic as Chisholm died in England and the process of seeking sainthood needs to be triggered by the local bishop there.

Friends of Mrs Chisholm spokesperson Clara Geoghegan spokeswoman said what makes Chisholm special was her conviction and faith.

“I don't think what she did was possible by mere human effort,” Ms Geoghegan said.

"She was responding to the call of the Holy Spirit to deal with the contemporary issues of her day.

“At the very least she is as deserving as Mary MacKillop (of sainthood), but what she didn't do was to work in the name of the church.”

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The road to sainthood for Mary MacKillop may be one step closer as a second miracle has been revealed. Vice-postulator of MacKillop’s cause for sainthood Sr Maria Casey has publicly announced she believes the recovery of a woman who was on her deathbed is the evidence which will elevate her to full sainthood, the Sydney Morning Herald reported. A devout Catholic, Rosa – who does not want her last name revealed – was miraculously healed as she lay in a coma, suffering multiple organ failure after enduring two bouts of breast cancer. On the night she recovered – coincidentally the Feast day of Mary MacKillop - her family were praying to Australia’s saint-in-waiting for her intercession. Among them was Father Raphael Beltrame who left the sad gathering for his presbytery to await the call back to Rosa's deathbed. However, the call never came. While Mary MacKillop was beatified in 1995, the church needs signs of two miracles from beyond the grave to award her sainthood. Sr Casey is not looking for Rosa's doctors to declare her recovery a miracle, only to ask them if they can explain it. "There are circumstances if the recovery is remarkable that there could be a shortening of the time span for investigation," Sr Casey said. Rosa, a mother of two said she does not invite the celebrity but, while others might be sceptical of supernatural intervention, she is certain that faith in MacKillop is the reason she is alive. "I've always been a devout Catholic and I've got a lot of faith - and I feel faith has pulled me through. I went back to the doctors and his exact words were, 'It wasn't what we did, we saw a miracle'. He still can't believe it," she said.

Father Kolodiejchuk on Unity With Jesus

ROME, SEPT. 4, 2007 (Zenit.org).- Feeling or not feeling love, Mother Teresa of Calcutta knew that she was united with Jesus, for her mind was fixed on him and him alone.

The founder of the Missionaries of Charity expressed this in a letter written to a spiritual director, now published with many other letters in a volume titled "Come Be My Light," edited and presented by Father Brian Kolodiejchuk.

In this interview with ZENIT, Father Kolodiejchuk, a Missionary of Charity priest and the postulator for the cause of canonization of Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, discusses his new book and the interior life Mother Teresa kept hidden from the world.

Q: The extraordinary interior life of Mother Teresa was discovered after her death. Aside from her spiritual directors, how was this life, especially her suffering of spiritual darkness, kept from all who knew her?

Father Kolodiejchuk: No one had any idea of her interior life because her spiritual directors held onto these letters. The Jesuits have some, some were at the archbishop's house, and Father Joseph Neuner, another spiritual director, had some.

These letters were discovered when we went looking for the documents for the cause.

When she was alive, Mother Teresa asked that her biographical information not be shared.

She asked Archbishop Ferdinand Perier of Calcutta not to tell another bishop about how things had begun. She said, "Please don't give him anything from the beginning, because once people come to know the beginning, like the locutions, then the focus would be on me and not on Jesus."

She kept saying, "God's work. This is God's work."

Even the closest sisters had no idea of her interior life. Many would have thought that she would have had a great intimacy with God to keep her going in light of the difficulties of the order and the material poverty she suffered.

Q: The book discusses Mother's secret vow that she made early in her vocation, where she promised not to refuse God anything on pain of mortal sin. What role did this play in her life?

Father Kolodiejchuk: Mother Teresa made this vow, in 1942, to never refuse God anything.

Her inspiration letters from Jesus soon followed. In one of them, if not both of them, Jesus says, picking up on her vow, "Wilt thou refuse to do this for me?"

So the vow is the background to her vocation. Then you see in the inspiration letters where Jesus makes her call clear.

She then pushes forward because she knows what Jesus wants. She is motivated by thought of his longing and his pain because the poor don't know him, so they don't want him.

This was one of the pillars that kept her going through the trials of the darkness. Because of her certainty of her call and this vow in one of the letters she says, "I was at the point of breaking and then I remembered the vow, and that picked me up."

Q: There has been a lot of discussion about Mother Teresa's "dark night." It is described in your book as a "martyrdom of desire." This element, her thirsting for God, has largely been missed. Can you describe this?

Father Kolodiejchuk: A good book to read to understand some of these things is Father Thomas Dubay's "Fire Within."

In Father Dubay's book, he speaks of the real pain of loss and a pain of longing, with the pain of longing being more painful.

As Father Dubay explains, in the path to authentic union with God, there is the purgative stage called the dark night, after this a soul then goes to a stage of ecstasy and true union with God.

The purgative stage for Mother Teresa seems to have been during her time of formation at Loretto.

At the time of her profession, she said her companion was most often the darkness. The kind of letters that you read there, in the dark night, are typical letters you would read of someone in the dark night.

Father Celeste Van Exem, her spiritual director at the time, said that maybe in 1946 or 1945 she was already close to ecstasy.

After that, there is a reference to when the inspirations and locutions came, when the difficulty against faith stopped.

Later she wrote to Father Neuner, explaining: "And then you know how it worked out. And there, as if our Lord just gave himself to me to the full. The sweetness and consolation and union of those 6 months passed but too soon."

So, Mother Teresa had six months of intense union, after the locutions and ecstasy. She was already in the real transforming union. At this point, the darkness returned.

But now, however, the darkness she experienced was within that union with God -- so it wasn't that she had the union and then lost it. She lost the consolation of the union and alternated between the pain of loss and a deep longing, a real thirst.

As Father Dubay said, "At times the contemplation is delightful, and at other times it is a strong thirsting for him." But in Mother Teresa's case, apart from one month in 1958, she did not have this consolation of union.

There is one letter in which she said: "No Father, I am not alone, I have His darkness, I have His pain, I have a terrible longing for God. To love and not to be loved, I know I have Jesus in the unbroken union, for my mind is fixed on him and him alone."

Her experience of darkness within union is very rare even among the saints because for most, the end is union without it.

Her suffering, then, to use the Dominican theologian Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange's term, is reparatory, much more for the sins of others, not purificatory, for her own sins. She is united to Jesus in enough faith and love to share in his experience in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross.

Mother Teresa made the comment that the suffering in the Garden was worse than the suffering on the cross. And now we understand where that was coming from, because she understood Jesus' longing for souls.

The important thing is that it is union, and as Carol Zaleski pointed out in her article in First Things, this kind of trial is a new kind of trial. It is a modern kind of experience for the saints over the last 100 years or so, to suffer the feeling that one does not have any faith, and that religion is not true.

Q: The name of the book, "Come Be My Light," was a request Jesus made to Mother Teresa. How did her redemptive suffering for others in such extreme darkness connect with her particular charism?

Father Kolodiejchuk: During the 1950s, Mother surrendered and accepted the darkness. Father Neuner [one of her spiritual directors] helped her to understand it by linking the darkness with her charism, of satiating Jesus' thirst.

She used to say that the greatest poverty was to feel unloved, unwanted, uncared for, and that's exactly what she was experiencing in her relationship with Jesus.

Her reparatory suffering, or suffering for others, was part of her living her charism for the poorest of the poor.

So for her, the suffering was not only to identify with the physical and material poverty, but even on the interior level, she identified with the unloved, the lonely, the rejected.

She gave up her own interior light for those living in darkness, saying, "I know this is only feelings."

In one letter to Jesus, she wrote: "Jesus hear My prayer -- if this pleases You -- If my pain and suffering -- my darkness and separation gives You a drop of Consolation -- My own Jesus do with me as You wish -- as long as You wish without a single glance at my feelings and Pain.

"I am your own. Imprint on my soul and life the sufferings of Your heart. Don't mind my feelings -- Don't mind even, my pain.

"If my separation from You, brings others to You and in their love and company -- you find joy and pleasure -- why Jesus, I am willing with all my heart to suffer all that I suffer -- not only now, but for all eternity, if this was possible."

In a letter to her sisters, she makes the charism of the order more explicit, saying: "My dear children, without suffering, our work would just be social work, very good and helpful, but it would not be the work of Jesus Christ, not part of the redemption -- Jesus wanted to help us by sharing our life, our loneliness, our agony and death.

"All that He has taken upon Himself, and has carried it in the darkest night. Only by being one with us He has redeemed up.

"We are allowed to do the same: All the desolation of Poor people, not only their Material poverty, but their spiritual destitution must be redeemed and we must have our share in it, pray thus when you find it hard -- 'I wish to live in this world which is far from God, which has turned so much from the light of Jesus, to help them -- to take upon me something of their suffering.'"

And that captures what I consider her mission statement: "If I ever become a Saint -- I will surely be one of 'darkness.' I will continually be absent from Heaven -- to [light] the light of those in darkness on earth…"

This is how she understood her darkness. A lot of the things she said make more sense and have a much deeper meaning now that we know these things.

Q: So what do you say to those who call her experience a crisis of faith, that she didn't really believe in God, or somehow imply that her darkness was a sign of psychological instability?

Father Kolodiejchuk: It wasn't a crisis of faith, or that she lacked faith, but that she had a trial of faith where she experienced the feeling that she did not believe in God.

This trial required a lot of human maturity, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to do it. She would have become unbalanced.

As Father Garrigou-Lagrange said, it is possible to have seemingly contradictory feelings at the same time.

It is possible to have "objective Christian joy," as Carol Zaleski called it, while at the same time going through the trial or feeling of having no faith.

There are not two people here, but one person with feelings on different levels.

We can really be living the cross in someway -- it is painful, and it hurts, and just because we can spiritualize it does not take way the pain, but one can be joyful because one is living with Jesus. And that is not false.

This is how and why Mother lived a life so full of joy.

Q: As the postulator of her cause for canonization, when do you think we might be able to call her St. Teresa of Calcutta?

Father Kolodiejchuk: We need one more miracle -- we have looked at a few, but none has been clear enough. There was one for beatification but we are waiting for the second.

Perhaps God has been waiting for the book to come out first, because people knew that Mother Teresa was holy but because of her ordinariness and simplicity of expression, they did not have an understanding of how holy.

I heard about two priests talking the other day. One said he was never a big fan of Mother Teresa because he thought she was just pious, devout, and did nice, admirable works, but then when he heard about her interior life, it changed everything for him.

Now we have more of an idea how developed she was spiritually, and now something of her deeper characteristics are being revealed.

Once the miracle comes in, it could take a couple of years, although the Pope could do it faster if he wanted to.

Q: What has happened to the order since Mother's death?

Father Kolodiejchuk: The order has grown by almost 1,000 sisters, from around 3,850 at her death to 4,800 today, and we've added over 150 houses in 14 more countries.

God's work goes on.

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 Jerome Lejeune  Saintly scientist   
Written by Carolyn Moynihan  
Thursday, 26 April 2007

The Frenchman who discovered trisomy 21 was heroically professional when he insisted it could be cured.

Jerome Lejeune Is there any field of medical science trendier than genetics? Stem cell research might cap it, but genetics is far better established and has plenty of runs on the board. Both, given their practitioners' propensity to test the ethical limits of medicine, seem unlikely fields in which a person might earn a reputation for sanctity. Yet, that is what the late Jerome Lejeune did in the course of his career as one of the fathers of modern genetics. In 2004, ten years after his premature death from cancer, and in response to popular demand, the Vatican called for the process which could see the French doctor declared a saint to be opened. Earlier this month, Paris Archbishop Andre Vingt-Trois launched the process for his beatification.

Lejeune's scientific and spiritual fame centres on his 40-year commitment to finding a cure for Down's syndrome (for pedantic reasons now known as "Down syndrome" in North America and elsewhere). At the very beginning of his medical career in the 1950s he found himself drawn to the young, mentally handicapped children, so often segregated in institutions and denied treatment which could have relieved associated health problems. He also felt deeply for the parents who learned that they had given birth to a "Mongol" child ("Mongolian idiocy" was the cruel technical term for the condition) and who fell under suspicion of breeding racial degeneracy. In earlier decades Down's sufferers had been targets of the eugenics movement.

Fellow feeling for these innocent outcasts turned the young Parisian doctor into a research scientist, his mind and heart set on solving the mystery of their condition and relieving their suffering. He would not accept that his profession could turn its back on one whole group of people. Already some scientists speculated that Down's was caused by a fault in the chromosomes. Following this lead and using the new technique of karyotyping he discovered, in 1958, that a patient with Down's had an extra chromosome at the 21st pair. The genetic diagnosis known as Trisomy 21 was born, establishing the first ever link between mental disability and a chromosome disorder -- and heralding a new era in genetics.

It was a discovery of incalculable importance to people with the condition and their families -- if only at first from a symbolic point of view. The embarrassing and misleading term "mongolism" was gradually retired (although it still crops up) and the term Down's adopted after John Langdon Down who first described the syndrome.

But Lejeune's contribution went beyond the scientific into the realm of what we might call "public relations" as he sought to open people's eyes to the human dignity of those affected by the syndrome and their claim on our love and effort. With his trademark combination of precise observation, moral insight and poetry he once wrote:

  "With their slightly slanting eyes, their little nose in a round face and their unfinished features, trisomic children are more child-like than other children. All children have short hands and short fingers; theirs are shorter. Their entire anatomy is more rounded, without any asperities or stiffness. Their ligaments, their muscles, are so supple that it adds a tender languor to their way of being. And this sweetness extends to their character: they are communicative and affectionate, they have a special charm which is easier to cherish than to describe. This is not to say that Trisomy 21 is a desirable condition. It is an implacable disease which deprives the child of that most precious gift handed down to us through genetic heredity: the full power of rational thought. This combination of a tragic chromosomic error and a naturally endearing nature, immediately shows what medicine is all about: hatred of disease and love of the diseased."

For that testimony alone, one feels, he should be canonised.

Indeed, he is as likely to be recognised by the Church as much for his verbal defence of the human being -- in whatever condition -- as for his scientific work, since the one quickly became as necessary as the other. As he and colleagues turned his surgery at the Necker Hospital for Sick Children (Paris) into one of the largest cytogenetics centres in the world, studying more than 30,000 chromosomic cases and treating more than 9000 patients with genetically-linked intellectual disabilities, the medical profession became involved in a great betrayal, using the new science for prenatal diagnosis leading to abortion. By the 1990s as many as 90 per cent of Down's syndrome babies in Britain were deliberately aborted. Since 2003 every pregnant woman in Britain is offered a screening test whose main purpose is to make abortion possible.

This trend was a source of tremendous anguish for Lejeune and drove him to defend his patients publicly from what he called "chromosomic racism". This put him in demand as a speaker and expert witness for the pro-life movement -- adding to his already enormous workload of teaching, research and clinical work -- but led to his being ostracised by many of his peers. "Medicine has become mad," he said, "when it attacks the patient instead of fighting the disease. We must be on the patient's side, always." Fighting on two fronts his life must have become a kind of martyrdom -- albeit one marked by joy and good humour -- shared by his staunch wife and five children.

(In her biography of her father, La Vie est un bonheur (life is happiness) Clara Lejeune Gaymard recounts how every summer when the children were young Lejeune would pack the family into the car and drive them to Denmark -- where his wife's family lived -- for a long holiday. Then he would drive back to the heat of Paris to do research which he had no time for while teaching.)

Lejeune was convinced that a cure for Down's syndrome was possible and that it would open the way to a cure for all the other genetic diseases. "It is obvious that we'll find a way," he said. "The intellectual effort is much simpler than putting a man on the moon." And, "The patients are waiting for me, I have to find the answer." However, although he laboured to the last weeks of his life -- exploring the use of folate therapy, for example -- he died in April 1994 without achieving his mission, and feeling that he was "abandoning them".

Jerome Lejeune received many awards and honours during his life -- including warm recognition within the Catholic Church and in particular from Pope John Paul II, who was a personal friend -- but he would have traded them all, no doubt, for support from his profession for his great mission of finding a cure for genetic diseases. Even today the Paris-based Jerome Lejeune Foundation struggles to awaken greater interest in research on Trisomy 21.

It would console the saintly scientist, however, that there seems to be a sort of grassroots rebellion brewing against the culture of death that has stifled the lives of countless thousands of Down's babies prenatally. Articulate middle class parents, who tend to have their children later and to that extent run a greater risk of Down's, have been speaking up in the media about their disabled children. A fine example appeared in the London Times last year, a testimony by the paper's chief sports writer to the joy he has had from his second son, who has Down's.

The writer, Simon Barnes, is at pains to make it clear he is "not a saint", just a dad who enjoys life and takes it as it comes -- including in the form of an intellectually impaired son, whom he has found it quite natural to love. While respecting his sensibilities about "sainthood" one should perhaps warn him that sanctity could still sneak up on him. After all, Jerome Lejeune did no more than love the children in front of him in a perfectly natural way -- as a man, a father and a professional.

There is much more to say about the geneticist who could be a saint. But this much can be said with confidence: that his profession was never in greater need of the ideals he represents and a model for living them than it is now.

Carolyn Moynihan is Deputy Editor of MercatorNet.

Has Archbishop Fulton Sheen been declared an American saint? Not exactly. In fact, not at all. At least not yet. Only now is the process of opening his cause for canonization begun. It would be presumptuous, then, to declare Sheen a saint-in-the-making. We aren't in a position to anticipate the Church's judgment and even though not everyone who is a saint by virtue of making it to heaven is declared a saint by the Church, we can't settle the question of "who's in" and "who's not" by our own lights. But we can say that Sheen certainly embodied two qualities that characterized many canonized American saints: zeal for personal sanctity and a drive to realize the unique possibilities for spreading the Gospel that America affords. -- Mark Brumley

On May 8, 1895, in El Paso, Illinois, a son born to Newton and Delia Sheen was given the name Peter. Yet, when it came time to enroll him in parochial school and his maternal grandfather (whose last name was Fulton) was asked the boy's name, he replied: "It's Fulton." The Confirmation name "John" completed the name that would become world-famous as one of the most vibrant spokesmen for the Church since the Protestant Reformation: Fulton J. Sheen.

Archbishop Sheen notes in his autobiography, Treasure in Clay, that in Gaelic "Fulton" means "war" and "Sheen" means "peace." It is as though his very name foretold the kind of life he was to have: an uninterrupted warring against the powers of darkness to promote the peace of Christ's kingdom.

After high school, while attending St. Viator's College, the young Sheen took part in a national examination and won a scholarship entitling him to three years of university training with all expenses paid. His close friend, Fr. William J. Bergan, counseled him not to accept the prize, but, instead, to enter the seminary. He took his friend's advice, and after completing theological studies at St. Viator's and at St. Paul's Seminary in Minnesota, he was ordained to the priesthood on September 20, 1919.

Since he had excelled in his studies for the priesthood, he was selected to attend the Catholic University of America for advanced academic work. It was there that he earned his S.T.L. and J.C.B.

In September of 1921--just two years after ordination--he was off to the University of Louvain in Belgium where he took his Ph.D. in 1923. Offers of teaching positions at Columbia and at Oxford were declined in obedience to his bishop. Instead of a prestigious academic post, he would be an assistant pastor assigned to a parish where the streets had not even yet been paved.

Academic offers continued (an invitation to organize and head the philosophy department at the seminary in Detroit was especially attractive), but Sheen dedicated himself to the task at hand, immersing himself in the work of the parish.

Then, late in the summer of 1926, his bishop told him that he was to join the faculty at Catholic University. He remained on the faculty there for the next twenty-five years. So popular were his lectures that sometimes extra seats were brought in to accommodate the overflow.

Two years after his appointment to Catholic University, he began a parallel career: a long-time media presence as a Catholic spokesman and apologist on radio and, later, on television. After anchoring a series of religious broadcasts on radio, he was selected to host The Catholic Hour on NBC radio until he moved to TV. In 1952, Bishop Sheen (he had been named auxiliary bishop in New York under Cardinal Spellman in 1951) starred in the first religious television show in New York: Life Is Worth Living. That program (with his trademark "God love you") brought him instant recognition by the American TV-viewing public in the early-to-mid 1950s.

By 1954, his ratings were competitive with those of Mr. Television himself, Milton Berle. His popularity increasing, Sheen moved to ABC for a national hook-up. By 1956, his show was being broadcast on one-hundred eighty-seven stations in the U. S. and Canada. He said, "Little did I know in those days that it would be given to me through radio and television to address a greater audience in half an hour than Paul in all the years of his missionary life."

Athanasius Redux

If God raised up the great bishop Athanasius to fight Arianism in the fourth century, perhaps it is not too far afield to think that he raised up the great bishop Sheen to combat Communism in the twentieth. Sheen stressed the need for reason in dealing with Communism, which had continued to gain appeal in America since the 1920s. His prophetic program on Stalin's death, which was broadcast live a week before the Soviet ruler died, cemented Sheen's position as America's top Catholic anti-Communist. Some high-level party members called him "Public Enemy No. 1."

Contrary to some, Sheen was no intellectual featherweight, and he brought his formidable powers of intellection to bear on the problem of Communism, the better to refute it. He absorbed Marx, Lenin, and Stalin to prepare himself for the assaults he would sustain in his attack on their theories. He was a tremendous success. He converted or influenced a number of Communists and leftists in the heyday of American Communism, including Louis Budenz, Elizabeth T. Bently, Bella Dodd, and Heywood Broun.

One incident related in his autobiography is worth recounting here, revealing as it does the intensity of pro-Communist sentiment in America during the Spanish Civil War of 1936-39. According to Bishop Sheen's own account, "The foreign policy of the United States was considering lifting [sic] the embargo against sending arms to the Communists in Spain. In order to combat this movement, a meeting was held in Constitution Hall, Washington. The speakers were three: a former Spanish Ambassador, a young woman who had been in Spain and had fought against the Communists, and myself. Thousands were turned away from Constitution Hall. It is very likely that the meeting had something to do with breaking down the movement to send arms to the Communists."

Sheen used that episode to lead into an anecdote that reveals to us something about President Franklin Roosevelt that his apologists would prefer remain unspoken. Bishop Sheen recalled that the day after the meeting in Constitution Hall, he had a meeting with FDR. He went to ask for a political favor for an old friend who had lost his re-election bid to Congress. During the meeting, FDR took Sheen to task for something that he mistakenly thought the bishop had said at the Constitution Hall meeting. Sheen tried to disprove Roosevelt's allegation, but the President would not permit him to follow through. Next Roosevelt said: "You think you know a great deal about the Church's attitude toward Communism, don't you? I want to tell you that I am in touch with a great authority, and he tells me that the Church wants the Communists to win in Spain." Sheen answered: "Mr. President, I am not the least bit impressed with your authority." FDR: "I did not tell you who it was." The bishop checkmated Roosevelt with: "You are referring to Cardinal Mundelein, and I know that Cardinal Mundelein never made the statement you attributed to him."

Roosevelt had stuck his foot in his mouth; but Bishop Sheen wanted to conduct the business he came for in the first place. He said: "Mr. President, I came to see you about a position in Housing." FDR said: "Oh, Eddie voted for everything I wanted in Congress. He wants to be in Housing, does he not?" Sheen said that was correct. Roosevelt made a note on a pad and continued: "The moment you leave this office I will call Mrs. So-and-So [he mentioned the name of the woman who was in charge of Housing] and you call Eddie and tell him he has the job." When Sheen left the White House he called Eddie and said: "Eddie, I saw the President. I am sorry, you do not get the job." Eddie said: ""Is that what the President said after all I did for him?" Sheen said: "No, he said you would have it." Eddie never got the job. Needless to say, Bishop Sheen was a shrewd observer of the human heart.

Sheen also told a story that reveals the depth of pro-Soviet sympathy in America during his radio days. He said that because of his position on the USSR, his talks were closely monitored. If he "veered from the then-popular position of Russia being a democracy," a technician in the studio would cut him off. Once he submitted a manuscript for an upcoming broadcast that had the line, "Poland was crucified between two thieves--the Nazis and the Soviets." Sheen got a telegram from the Bishops' Conference asking him not to say that, because one of the thieves was, of course, the USSR. Never one to miss a beat, the bishop answered the telegram with: "How would it be to call Russia the 'good' thief?"

20th Century Missionary Giant

In 1950, Bishop Sheen was tapped to head the national office of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith. He founded a magazine named Mission and published God Loves You, a weekly column in Catholic newspapers. Between 1950 and 1966, he irrigated the fields of the foreign missions with $200 million (a tremendous sum these days; how much more so then!).

In Treasure in Clay, Archbishop Sheen recounts some of his dealings with the foreign missions. For example, he tells the story of a missionary priest in Australia who labored in the desert there. The heat averaged 125 degrees, and the only kind of food he could carry was canned peaches, since everything else exploded in the desert heat. His "rectory" was his Volkswagen, which was eventually swept away in a flood. Bishop Sheen wrote him a check for a new VW. In his capacity as national head of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith, his decisions benefited the mission efforts in New Guinea, Borneo, Pacific Islands, China, Africa, Pakistan, Kenya, Uganda, and countless other locales.

Prodigious author

Archbishop Sheen, known primarily for his oratorical skills, was, nonetheless, a superb prose stylist. (He wrote more than sixty books!) And he gave full exercise to both of these talents in defending and promoting the Church. His many works include such gems as God and Intelligence in Modern Philosophy, Philosophy of Religion, Preface to Religion, Three to Get Married, The Divine Romance, Peace of Soul, Life Is Worth Living, The Seven Last Words, The Way of the Cross, This Is the Mass, The Power of Love, The Divine Verdict, The Armor of God, Way To Inner Peace, God Loves You, Thinking Life Through, and Thoughts For Daily Living.

Consummate Churchman

In 1966, Pope Paul VI appointed him Bishop of Rochester, New York, where he served for four years before stepping down at age seventy-four. He was named titular Archbishop of the Titular See of Newport (Wales) in 1969.

His quicksilver wit and golden smile softened the patrician bearing that would quickly stiffen in defense of Christ's Church and the honor of His Bride. And he had a marvelous sense of humor: Pope Paul VI once reportedly told him that he would have a high place in heaven. "Is that an infallible statement?" he grinned.

His high-caliber intellect (steeped as it was in the wisdom of St. Thomas Aquinas), the magnitude of his writing and speaking skills, his shrewd sense of theater, and his unflagging love for Christ's Church combined to produce the most colorful and effective Catholic apologist in twentieth century America.

Humble priest

By his own account, each day of his priestly life included a continuous hour in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. This daily prayer and mediation and his deep devotion to the Blessed Mother formed the spine of his fidelity to his priestly vocation and the foundation for the holiness to which he aspired.

Some two months before his death, he met the visiting John Paul II, who embraced him warmly and told him: "You have written and spoken well of the Lord Jesus. You are a loyal son of the Church." Archbishop Sheen died in New York City on December 9, 1979.

This article originally appeared in the July/August 2001 issue of Catholic Dossier magazine.


Archbishop Sheen books and videos available through Ignatius Press:

• Treasure in Clay
• Life Is Worth Living
• The Priest Is Not His Own
• The World's First Love
• Through the Year with Fulton Sheen
• Fulton Sheen: Good Friday (VHS)
• Bishop Fulton J. Sheen: His Irish Wit and Wisdom (VHS)
• Fulton Sheen: His Last Words (VHS)
• Bishop Sheen on Angels (VHS)
• Sheen Gems (VHS)
• Retreat with Fulton Sheen (DVD)
• Fulton Sheen Mission Rosary (CD)
• Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen: A Prophet for Our Time (VHS)
• Fulton Sheen: His Last Words (DVD)


• The Hour That Makes My Day | Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen | From Treasure in Clay
• On Advent and Eternity | Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen | From Through the Year with Fulton Sheen


Charles F. Harvey worked at Ignatius Press from 1998 until his death in February 2003. He became the full-time managing editor of Homiletic & Pastoral Review in 2001. He had previously worked for Catholic Answers, the San Diego diocesan Office of Social Ministry, and St. Joseph Communications.

Interview With Pope's Great-Nephew Marco Roncalli

ROME, NOV. 24, 2006 (Zenit.org).- The life of Pope Blessed John XXIII is still the focus of intense debate and numerous clichés which distort his intellectual and spiritual figure.

To clarify the matter, a book has just been published in Italian by Marco Roncalli, entitled "Giovanni XXIII -- Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli. Una vita nella storia" (John XXIII -- Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli: A Life in History), published by Mondadori.

The author is John XXIII's great-nephew, who, among other things, has been the editor of the correspondence (1933-1962) between Loris Francesco Capovilla, Giuseppe De Luca and Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, published this year by Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura.

The new biography of John XXIII was to be presented today in Bergamo, Italy, by Archbishop Loris Capovilla, who was John XXIII's secretary, and by Monsignor Gianni Carzaniga, president of the Giovanni XXIII Foundation.


To understand better the figure of John XXIII, ZENIT interviewed his great-nephew, Marco Roncalli.

Q: What are the clichés that you hope to refute on the human and spiritual history of the beloved Pope John XXIII?

Roncalli: I would say they are many. They stand out clearly if one revises carefully all the Roncalli sources, especially those that are unpublished.

I am thinking of certain youthful notebooks, agendas or diaries, some collected letters and collections of homilies. But I'm also referring to documentation relative to his figure, which has appeared in several archives and was known by few specialists in the most recent congresses.

And we can start with those of long ago. Let us think of the spent cliché of a peasant Roncalli, virtually the receiver of an ancestral wisdom. It is true that his roots are important, also his family.

But let's not forget that he entered the seminary while still a child and that was his new family. The seminary formed the man, and the man of the Church.

In sum, Roncalli's social extraction is not a secondary fact -- though common to most of the Italian northern clergy at the beginning of the 20th century: From this extraction a certain tenacity and constancy are derived, joined to a strong practical sense and respect for the times necessary in each cycle […], all elements of his character.

And from this stems also a certain harmony between nature and the supernatural, a way of living in the present, looking at the future with unconditional confidence in God's providence.

However, I repeat, the cliché of Roncalli as an exclusive product of a peasant culture -- or of the country boy who became Pope who does not forget the "least," as if Roncalli's roots alone "sic et simpliciter" could explain everything to us -- does not stand on its own.

Instead, beginning with the years of the seminary, without breaking or attenuating the bond with his own and his land, the awareness soon matures in him of being a member of the universal Church. Once elected Pope, he said immediately that the world was his family.

Another cliché is that of a simple Roncalli, whereas whoever studies his life has before him a complex figure -- but a figure in which culture has had an important role: studies, meetings with writers, philosophers, theologians, etc., in the course of his life.

Thus, exploring the archives, we come across a very young Roncalli who is, yes, the one known until now for the "Diary of a Soul," his spiritual compendium, but also a very sensitive seminarian, attentive to the widest cultural horizons of his time.

We see him at the dawn of the 20th century, very aware of the problematic relationship between tradition and renewal, of the need for the Church's progressive attention to new cultural realities.

Whoever, for example, leafs through one of his unpublished notebooks entitled "Ad Omnia," sees him wondering not only about the phenomenon of Modernism, a storm through which he also goes through, but also about Americanism: ecclesiological theories, his idea of the unavoidable confrontation between Christianity and modernity.

Another point: Pope John has often been depicted as a weak Pope, who suffered. Instead, if one wishes to weigh up his gestures in a correct manner, suffice it to read his agendas or diaries to realize how well he was able to move decisively.

Some biographers have said that John XXIII read at the last minute texts prepared by others. Nothing could be further from the truth. Several journal notes document whole days spent preparing an address in his own handwriting.

On June 28, 1962, for example, he wrote: "Day of the vigil of St. Peter: occupied entirely in preparing an address in St. Peter's after Vespers. It was a bit of an effort for me to write it, word by word as I do, and all by myself in these circumstances. But in the end, though I'm not always delighted with myself, I am happy to fulfill a function, and to transmit to the clergy and the faithful a sentiment that is entirely my own. I am Pope by the will of the Lord who is my good witness: But to be a parrot who repeats by heart others' thought and voice, truly mortifies me."

He certainly was born -- to use a slogan -- "to bless and not to condemn," but his humble and amiable being was not equivalent to being weak or accommodating.

He was certainly less decisive than his predecessor; however, he put meekness to one side when it became an alibi for others.

I am thinking of May 1962, when the so-called crisis of exegesis continued, and, seeing the inactivity of the commission with the same name -- to say nothing of the frictions with Cardinal Augustin Bea's work, ever more active in the Council's preparation -- he wrote a letter to Cardinal Eugène Tisserant which seems like an ultimatum: "Either the commission intends to move, work and provide, suggesting to the Holy Father measures appropriate to the needs of the present hour, or it is worthwhile for it to be dissolved and a higher authority provide 'in Domino' a reconstitution of this organism.

"However, it is absolutely necessary to remove the impression about uncertainties circulating here and there, which honor no one, of fears about clear positions that must be taken on the orientations of persons and schools. [...] It would be a motive of great consolation if with the preparation of the Ecumenical Council a biblical commission could be established of such resonance and dignity that it would become a point of attention and respect for all our separated brothers who, leaving the Catholic Church, took refuge as shelter and salvation under the shadows of the sacred Book, diversely read and interpreted."

This fact emerges also in relations with his collaborators. When someone did something he didn't like, while being careful to safeguard relations, he was not afraid to make his interlocutors understand his displeasure.

It happened especially with Cardinal Alfredo Ottaviani, but also with Cardinal Angelo Dell'Acqua. An example? The latter -- the day after the ministerial crisis of the winter of 1961, centered on Fanfani -- realized the Pope was colder toward him.

The reason? It became known that Dell'Acqua, the substitute of the Secretariat of State, had dined at Fanfani's home, and the family dinner became, thanks to the Curia's "telltale," a meeting for the definition of the government's team with the outstanding role of Dell'Acqua.

The substitute's quick clarification was the occasion to hear from the Pope words of dissociation from Italian political issues: "I was told something else and I'm sorry! We cannot be concerned with issues that correspond exclusively to the Italian state: We are not the ones who must intervene in this matter.…"

Examples with Ottaviani are more numerous. And so John XXIII intervened directly with Ottaviani when he was worried about the identity of the Holy Office, which was running the risk of being no longer, as he wrote in his diary, that "monastery of very strict cloister, left to its task, severe certainly, but most reserved in all that concerned the vigilance, custody and defense of the doctrine and precepts of the Lord," no longer the "Supreme Congregation of which the Pope is the true Superior" and "from whose authority all should depend and by right and in fact does depend, at least in the most important and significant matters" -- but rather the "bulwark" around which, even from the perspective of defending Christian values, ends up by engaging one in unimportant politics.

Also recently there has been talk of a naive Pope in the face of Khrushchev. We read what John XXIII wrote in his diary on September 20, 1961, commenting on the Soviet leader's speaking well of the Pope for the first time, after the papal radio-message of September 10.

This is his private comment: "In the afternoon on TV they reported the communication of Khrushchev, the despot of Russia, on my appeals to statesmen for peace: respectful, calm, comprehensible. I believe it is the first time that a Pope's invitatory words to peace were treated with respect. In regard to the sincerity of the intentions of one who is proud to profess himself an atheist and materialist, though he speak well of the Pope's word, to believe him is something else. Meanwhile, this is better than silence or contempt. 'Deus vertat monstra in bonum' [God converts monsters into something good]. It is enough?"

Q: What were the Pontiff's real expectations in regard to Vatican II?

Roncalli: In the last four chapters of the book, in fact, I concentrate on the Council. Based on new sources, I recount how this idea germinated, how it was received.

I follow the venture of Vatican II in the coming to light of the first idea, in the phase that preceded the preparation, in the preparation itself, in the beginning, also talking about a free confrontation -- what the Pope called the holy freedom of the children of God -- which the whole world witnessed.

And I reflect on the anxieties and consolations of the Pope who every day thought of the Council.

The Council was not his invention. It was a valuable instrument verified by history of the Church which he knew well. The instrument that would have enabled him to interpret -- in the line of tradition, but open to updating -- the role to which he had been called; an instrument that would have allowed him to make the Church advance on her path in step with the world, questioning the whole episcopate involved in the exercise of collegiality in an extensive "universal" reflection.

But let us go back to the beginning of it all: the idea of the Council. As he stated, it did not ripen within him "as the fruit of a prolonged meditation, but as the spontaneous flower of an unexpected spring."

Therefore, he applied to himself that rather familiar spiritual rule "of absolute simplicity in accepting divine inspirations, and prompt submission to the apostolic needs of the present time."

"In announcing the ecumenical Council, we have listened to an inspiration; we have considered its spontaneity, in the humility of our soul," he said in a message to the Venetian clergy.

It's true, he had the applause of the secretary of state, Domenico Tardini, as the latter's diary documents. And there are also the statements of Cardinal Ruffini and of others who maintain -- plausible fact -- that they suggested to the Pope the idea of a Council, an idea that, moreover, according to several unanimous and concordant statements, Roncalli had also expressed repeatedly during the years of delegation in Istanbul to Monsignor Righi, to Jacquin of the Institut Catholique of the Paris Nunciature, to Monsignor Bortignon of the Venetian Patriarchate, and also to his nephew Privato Roncalli, my father.

We should recall that the convocation of a Council had already been considered at least twice in the 20th century, by Pius XI in 1923 -- who then put it to one side awaiting a solution to the "Roman question" -- and by Pius XII -- to whom in fact Cardinals Ruffini and Ottaviani had written a memorandum enumerating the reasons for a convocation.

There were two outlines, held for a long time in strict secret, for the second of which Monsignor Francesco Borgoncini Duca -- a friend of Roncalli, who also might have spoken about it with him, but before 1954, the year when he died -- was appointed director general of all the preparatory works.

And this is not all. There were also other prelates in the past who had supported the idea of a Council for a long time as a "necessity" or "wish," such as Monsignor Celso Constantini, author of a lengthy dossier dated February 15, 1939, and reported under the title "The Council: On the Appropriateness of Convoking an Ecumenical Council."

A week after Constantini's reflections, Giovanni Papini wrote in Il Corriere della Sera: "We like to think that the new Pontiff will see to the reopening of the Vatican Council that was suspended on October 20, 1870. (...) Now that the independence and authority of a sovereign have been restored to the Pope, a resumption of the Council interrupted seventy years ago, will take place in a more moderate climate and would be welcomed with very great joy by Catholics worldwide."

And now we come to the central point: the meaning that John XXIII wished to give, at least in the focus, to "his" Council, something that at the beginning was not at all defined: that it should probably be more pastoral than dogmatic -- pastoral, however, but not in a reductive sense.

It should make room to evaluate everything. As Monsignor Dell'Acqua has attested, Pope Roncalli "never thought of opening and closing the Ecumenical Council. Whoever thinks this, is outside of the truth. Pope John told me repeatedly: 'What matters is to begin; the rest we leave to the Lord'; in how many other circumstances a Pope began a Council that was concluded by another Pope. It was not his intention, therefore, to speed things up."

When he announced it for the first time, take note, he wrote in his own writing on the text that he invited everyone to pray for "a good beginning, continuation and happy success of these intentions of hard work, for the light, edification and joy of the whole Christian people, as a kind and renewed invitation to our brethren of the separated Churches to take part with us in this encounter of grace and fraternity."

Moreover, the event of the Council convoked by John XXIII, in keeping with the preceding perspectives and being open to the breath of the Spirit, should manifest to the Church and the world the holy freedom of the children of God, in the sign of a less defensive general vision, […] more open to confidence, respect, to confrontation, to co-responsibility, to the "signs of the times."

Evaluated carefully, it was also a courageous choice. Conscious of his age, he could have remained tranquil between blessings and canonizations, ordinary activity and the writing of some document, leaving to his successors all the problems that cardinals and bishops put on his desk, and dismissing situations in continual evolution.

Instead, he did the opposite. He addressed everything and not on his own. It was his sensitivity, his historical studies: "A Council is necessary." He confided to his secretary a "biblical reason" to explain his idea: "Did Jesus ever speak to Peter on his own? No, the other disciples were always present."

Q: In what ways was Pope John XXIII prophetic?

Roncalli: Suffice it to read his October 11 address with which he opened the Second Vatican Council, a memorable text because of the breadth of its horizon and prophetic inspiration. Do you not perceive in him, in his essence, the force of a religion that unifies?

It was Pope John's prophetic task, however, to indicate the goal of peace: urgent, which cannot be delayed. ... Let us think of his encyclical testament, "Pacem in Terris."

He is the one who is writing -- speaking of himself in that text as "the vicar of Him whom the prophet announced as the Prince of Peace, [we] conceive of it as Our duty to devote all Our thoughts and care and energy to further this common good of all mankind. Yet peace is but an empty word, if it does not rest upon that order which Our hope prevailed upon Us to set forth in outline in this encyclical. It is an order that is founded on truth, built up on justice, nurtured and animated by charity, and brought into effect under the auspices of freedom."

An Indiana nun once banished from her congregation by a bishop will be proclaimed a saint on Sunday, providing a model of virtuous life to America's Roman Catholics — even if they find themselves at odds with church leaders.

Pope Benedict XVI will canonize Blessed Mother Theodore Guerin as the first new U.S. saint in six years, a span marked in this country by the scandal over the sexual abuse of minors by clergy.

The pontiff also will canonize a Mexican bishop and two Italians who founded religious orders.

The celebration of a new saint offers a respite from the lawsuits and settlements that have dominated much of the discussion of the U.S. church in recent years, and Guerin's life story can inspire those struggling in their own faith, said members of the religious order she founded, the Sisters of Providence of St. Mary-of-the-Woods.

"The bishop here in Vincennes was impossible to work with, yet she always kept her faith. She held on to it," said Sister Marcia Speth, one of the order's leaders. "In that way, she witnesses to us how to be today in an imperfect, flawed, sinful church."

Guerin led a group of six French nuns who arrived in Indiana on Oct. 22, 1840, to establish a community in the woods outside Terre Haute. She and Vincennes Bishop Celestin de la Hailandiere struggled over control of the fledgling order, and he dismissed Guerin from her vows, threatened her with excommunication and banished her for a time from St. Mary-of-the-Woods. She did not return until after his resignation in 1847.

In that way, she is like many saints who found themselves bucking church authorities while alive, only to be acclaimed as saints after their deaths, said the Rev. Richard McBrien, a theologian at the University of Notre Dame and the author of the 2001 book "Lives of the Saints."

"So many leading figures who had tussles with their bishop or other high-ranking ecclesiastical officials were later rehabilitated. History remembers them, but not the officials who gave them a difficult time," McBrien said. "I dare say that Mother Guerin, as a soon-to-be-canonized saint, will achieve an elevated status that will forever elude the bishop who dismissed her."

When Guerin and fellow sisters stepped off the stagecoach at St. Mary-of-the Woods, only a simple church in a dense forest awaited them. They boarded with a local family until acquiring a small cabin that was so cold their bread froze. They faced anti-Catholic prejudice in frontier western Indiana.

Guerin raised money and built an academy for girls billed as the oldest Roman Catholic college for women in the U.S. It's known today as St. Mary-of-the-Woods College. The sisters also founded schools across Indiana. Today the order has 465 sisters, with 10 women currently in formation to become nuns.

Guerin, who died in 1856 at the age of 57, remains a role model for women at the college, said Samantha Dumm, a 19-year-old sophomore from Morgantown, Ind., who is traveling with other students to the
Vatican for Sunday's canonization.

"She wants us to be strong women, stand up for ourselves and make our own way in life," Dumm said.

Guerin will become the eighth U.S. saint and the first one canonized since Sister Katherine Drexel in October 2000.

A little more than a year after Drexel's canonization, the scandal over the sex abuse by Catholic priests erupted in the Archdiocese of Boston and spread across the country. Since then, hundreds of millions of dollars in settlements have been paid out, and bishops' popularity has waned, despite reform measures.

Sister Marie Kevin Tighe, who promoted Guerin's cause for sainthood for the order, said she hopes the canonization will refocus the attention of Catholics and non-Catholics alike on holiness.

"I think every time it happens, it is an impetus for the rest of us," Tighe said. "God did not create just some people to be special. We are all on earth on a faith journey to heaven."

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In the first beatification to take place in Hungary since that of St Stephen nearly 1000 years ago, Sara Salkahazi, a nun honoured by Jewish organisations for saving the lives of dozens of Jews during World War II, is to be declared Blessed in Budapest later this month.

Sara Salkahazi, who was recognised in 1972 by Yad Vashem, was killed by the Arrow Cross - the Hungarian allies of the Nazis - on 27 December 1944 for hiding Jews in a Budapest building used by her religious order, the Sisters of Social Service, the Jerusalem Post reports.

Salkahazi was taken along with several other occupants of the home and shot, their bodies falling into the Danube River and never recovered.

The beatification rite will take place 17 September at St Stephen's (St Istvan's) Basilica, Budapest and will be the first beatification to take place in the country since the beatification of St Stephen himself who was beatified in 1083 along with his son, St Imre, and St Gellert, an Italian bishop who had a key role in converting Hungarians to Christianity.

"Sara Salkahazi heroically exercised her love of humanity stemming from her Christian faith," said Budapest Cardinal Peter Erdo, who will celebrate the beatification mass. "This is for what she gave her life."

Salkahazi was born in the city of Kassa in 1899, at the time in Hungary but now known as Kosice and part of Slovakia.

Changes introduced by Pope Benedict again allow beatification rites to be held around the world, instead of only in the Vatican, as was the norm for centuries.

Church officials also highlighted Salkahazi's modest middle-class roots, saying she will be first Hungarian to be beatified who is not royalty or a member of the country's aristocracy, the Post added.

Before taking her religious vows in 1930, Salkahazi worked as a bookbinder, journalist and newspaper editor.

Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Martyrs' and Heroes' Remembrance Authority, was established in 1953 by an act of the Israeli Knesset. Since its inception, Yad Vashem has been entrusted with documenting the history of the Jewish people during the Holocaust period, preserving the memory and story of each of the six million victims, and imparting the legacy of the Holocaust for generations to come through its archives, library, school, museums and recognition of the Righteous Among the Nations.

Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross | Edith Stein | August 9th

August 9th is the Feast Day of St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, who was martyred on that day in 1942 in the Auschwitz concentration camp.

Fr. Charles P. Connor, in Classic Catholic Converts, writes:

The story of the Jewish Carmelite Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, known in the world as Edith Stein, presents us with one of the more brilliant converts to come to the Faith in [the twentieth] century; it also places us in close contact with a horrendous tragedy of the modern world, the Holocaust.

Edith Stein was born in Breslau, Germany on October 12, 1891, the youngest of eleven children. In 1913 she began studies at the University of Göttingen in Germany. She soon became a student of the phenomenologist Edmund Husserl and was later attracted to the work of Max Scheler, a Jewish philosopher who converted to Catholicism in 1920. A chance reading of the autobiography of Saint Teresa of Avila revealed to her the God of love she had long denied. She entered the Church in 1922.

For eight years Edith lived with the Dominicans, teaching at Saint Magdelene's, which was a training institute for teachers. She wrote:

Initially, when I was baptized on New Year's Day, 1922, I thought of it as a preparation in the Order. But a few months later, when I saw my mother for the first time after the baptism, I realized that she couldn't handle another blow for the present. Not that it would have killed her—but I couldn't have held myself responsible for the embitterment it would have caused.

In fact, after her conversion Edith continued to attend synagogue with her mother. Meanwhile, she continued to grow and impress as a philospher. In 1925 she met the Jesuit Erich Pryzwara, a philosopher who would have a tremendous influence on Hans Urs von Balthasar. Pryzwara encouraged Edith to study and translate St. Thomas Aquinas; she eventually wrote a work comparing Usserl with Aquinas.

In 1933 Edith entered the religious life with the Carmel of Cologne, Germany. She fell in love with the person and writing of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux. She wrote:

My impression was, that this was a life which had been absolutely transformed by the love of God, down to the last detail. I simply can't imagine anything greater. I would like to see this attitude incorporated as much as possible into my own life and the lives of those who are dear to me.

After taking her first vows, Edith was known as Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. She continued to write, Fr. Connor notes, "continually developing the theme that Christ's sacrifice on the Cross and the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass are in fact one and the same sacrifice. From her religious background, she knew the importance of sacrificial prayer for Old Testament prophets." She wrote of how Jesus' sacrifice as the Incarnate God-man was the final, perfect sacrifice that replaced all of the sacrifices of the Old Testament.

Because of the rise of Nazi power, Edith and her sister Rosa, who had also converted to Catholicism, moved to Holland in 1938. On August 2, 1942, Edith and her sister were taken from the convent by two S.S. officers. She was martyred seven days later. Fr. Connor writes: "On October 11, 1998, fifty-six years, two months, and two days after her death at Auschwitz, Edith Stein, Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, was canonized a saint of the Roman Catholic Church by Pope John Paul II."

Ferdinand Holböck writes in New Saints and Blesseds of the Catholic Church : 1984-1987 (Volume 2):

The Church now presents Sister Teresa Benedicta a Croce to us as a blessed martyr, as an example of a heroic follower of Christ, for us to honour and to emulate. Let us open ourselves up for her message to us as a woman of the spirit and of the mind, who saw in the science of the cross the acme of all wisdom, as a great daughter of the Jewish people, and as a believing Christian in the midst of millions of innocent fellow men made martyrs. She saw the inexorable approach of the cross. She did not flee in fear. Instead, she embraced it in Christian hope with final love and sacrifice and in the mystery of Easter even welcomed it with the salutation,"ave crux spes unica". As Cardinal Höffner said in his recent pastoral letter, "Edith Stein is a gift, an invocation and a promise for our time. May she be an intercessor with God for us and for our people and for all people."

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Edith Stein: A Biography
by Waltraud Herbstrith

A powerful and moving story of the remarkable Jewish woman who converted to Catholicism, became a nun, achieved remarkable success in the male-dominated world of German philosophy, and was sent to a Nazi death camp when she refused to deny her Jewish heritage.

Waltraud Herbstrith has fashioned a warm, memorable portrait of this woman who, as Jesuit philosopher Jan Nota points out in the introduction, "discovered in Christ the meaning of human existence and suffering ... Edith Stein was one of those Christians who lived out of a hope transcending optimism and pessimism." Hers is a voice that speaks powerfully to all of us today, and a life that stands as testimony to the profoundest values of human existence, the significance of the individual, and the truths of faith that can reconcile Christian and Jew, philosophy and religion, oppressor and oppressed to heal a troubled world.

A Study In Faithful Obedience |

Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers | New Foreword to From Slave to Priest

Sister Caroline Hemesath's powerful narrative of Father Augustine Tolton's life is a poignant reminder that with God all things are possible. This welcome new edition, reacquaints us with the first black American priest of the United States and chronicles the profound struggle for equality and acceptance faced by black Catholics in the postbellum era. Confronted with a succession of seemingly indomitable challenges (a narrow escape from slavery, his father's death, abject poverty, exclusion from American seminaries), Father Tolton's fervent desire to study Catholicism, his intense longing for the priesthood and his mother's loving support were the wellsprings from which he drew the strength to persevere.

Father Tolton knew that unconditional trust in God meant that he must become completely vulnerable before the God who made him. Father Tolton reveled in the folly of divine abandonment, confidently exposing the deepest parts of his soul before God who gave him the strength to exercise his priestly ministry under the weighty yoke of racism. He was a beacon of hope to black Catholics in the nineteenth century who were trying to find a home in the American Church. Father Tolton, in his abiding faith and selfless charity, was the instrument through which God's love shone brightly. The resplendent chorus, "I have come ... not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me" (Jn 6:38) echoed majestically throughout Father Tolton's brief life.

Despite the oppressive hardships placed upon Father Tolton by a culture firmly rooted in the arid soil of hatred and malevolence, God brought him out of the heart of darkness and used him as an instrument of grace. Father Tolton was a tireless messenger of the Gospel and "was not afraid to go into the deep South, where racial hatreds had reached a high pitch and where segregation was decreed by harsh laws." Despite the novelty of being the only black priest in an all-white clergy, the gifted Father Tolton was able effectively to convey the richness, beauty and truth of the Catholic faith, which penetrated even the hardest hearts ("Wherever he went, he was respected and honored").

When we look beneath the surface of our national life, we see that the septic undercurrent of racism flows largely unabated. Racism is alive and well, and is intricately woven into the fabric of American culture. But unlike the 1950s and '60s, where racism was overt, extreme, and statutorily institutionalized, the structure of racism today is more subtle and covert, exhibiting itself through outward manifestations of a now unconscious and tacit philosophy of dehumanization.

Since the 1960s and '70s, many black Catholics, in response to racism in the Church, have turned to and been heavily influenced by liberation theology, a Christian belief in the transcendent as a vehicle for social liberation. Liberation theology does not ask what the Church is, but rather what it means to be the Church in the context of liberating the poor and oppressed. As such, the Church's primary mission is to challenge oppression and identify herself with the poor. For liberation theology, the Magisterium (that is, the teaching authority of the Church) is part of the oppressive class by definition since, in this view, it does not participate in the class struggle. Ultimately, in this "liberation" version of Catholicism, faith is subordinate to political ideology, and the Church becomes an instrumental good rather than remaining an intrinsic good and the necessary means of salvation.

Father Tolton, a former slave become Catholic priest, knew well that the basis for any authentic theology of liberation must include the truth about Jesus, the Church and man's dignity. He endured years of frustration, humiliation, and rejection in a country boasting openness to religious freedom and tolerance. Despite the fact that slaves were "free", they were far from liberated. In Father Tolton's own words: "We are only a class-a class of dehumanized, brutalized, depersonalized beings." The nation failed the "freedom" litmus test rooted in its own Declaration of Independence, while the Catholic Church in America failed to live up to the tenets of her own creed and gospel by not recognizing that genuine liberation means freedom from the bondage of iniquity and sin.

With the assistance and support of several very persistent and undaunted priests, Father Tolton was finally accepted by the Catholic Church--in Rome! He thrived in the Eternal City where his priestly vocation was nurtured and where his gifts and talents were recognized, prompting even the prefect of the Sacred Congregation de Propaganda Fide to note what the American Church failed to appreciate: "Father Tolton is a good priest, reliable, worthy, and capable. You will discover that he is deeply spiritual and dedicated." For his part, Father Tolton acknowledged the great gift of his Catholic faith and, despite bitter trials and turmoil, remained faithful to the teachings of the Church. He was a visionary who saw far beyond race and politics, looking inward-into the heart of the Church herself. He taught, "The Catholic Church deplores a double slavery--that of the mind and that of the body. She endeavors to free us of both .... She is the Church for our people."

The life of Father Tolton is a study in faithful obedience. When the Vatican assigned Father Tolton to serve as a missionary priest in the United States, where he was "a slave, an outcast, a hated black", he obeyed in faith. His was not the faith of blind obedience, like that of an automaton or domesticated animal, but a spirit of faith that, as a child of our Heavenly Father--in complete humility and generosity--he continually strove to discern and fulfill the will of God under the loving guidance and direction of the Holy Spirit. It is precisely duc et altum--into the void, the unknown--that Father Tolton received his mission to be a fisher of men.

The greatest legacy of Father Augustine Tolton does not lie in the fact that lie was a pioneer, the first black American priest in the United States. Yes, he was that-but lie was so much more! Father Tolton loved and served the Lord with great fervor and intensity. He knew that God's love is so immense, its power so limitless, its embrace so tender and intimate, that Love Himself brings forth life. Father Tolton was a living testimony to God's creative, life-giving work.

Father Tolton serves as a role model for those who seek to be configured more perfectly to Christ. Amid great persecution, Father Tolton showed us that being configured to Christ means emptying ourselves so that God can fill us; it means exposing the weakest parts of who we are so that God can make us strong; it means becoming blind to the ways of this world so that Christ can lead us; it means dying to ourselves so that we can rise with Christ. I pray that everyone who reads this biography will be inspired by Father Augustine Tolton, who, guided by the Holy Spirit, became a living example of what it means to be fully alive in our Catholic faith.

-- Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers
Portland, Oregon
Holy Thursday, 2006

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Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers, MTS is a deacon in the Archdiocese of Portland, Oregon, and the founder of Aurem Cordis, an apostolate dedicated "to promote the truth and beauty of the gospel by encouraging others to submit themselves freely to the life-giving love of the Trinity and to become living witnesses to that love in the world." Deacon Burke-Sivers gives talks around the country on spirituality, family life, lay vocations, and other topics, and has appeared on "Catholic Answers Live", EWTN, and many local television and radio programs. He has a BA in economics from Notre Dame and an MTS from the University of Dallas. He, his wife Colleen, and their four children live in Portland, Oregon.

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