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5/31/2023 0 Comments May 31st, 2023 In hiding from the priest-killing Bolshevik regime running Mexico, Father Elias del Socorro Nieves de Yuridia was denounced by a Socialist sympathizer. Federales found him and two parishioners - the Sierra brothers - who were executed by gunshot after they refused to leave the priest and tried to protect him. The captain of the guard said to the priest, “Now it is your turn. Let’s see if dying is like celebrating the Mass.” "I ask a favor," the priest said. "Yes." "I want to give you a blessing." All the soldiers of the platoon fell to their knees, but the leader suddenly pulled out his pistol. "Viva Cristo Rey!" cheered the priest before fatally shot, March 10, 1928. 
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5/30/2023 0 Comments May 30th, 2023 With extreme hatred for the Catholic Church, the Socialists in the Mexican regime not only enacted legislation to destroy the Church, but also created its own Socialist-ideological Mexican Apostolic Catholic Church to supplant the true Catholic Church. After schismatic Catholic priest Jose Joaquin Perez Budar took over La Soledad church (with eight other priests), in Mexico City, on February 21, 1925, as its "patriarch," parishioners rioted, and the regime used its might against the Faithful Catholics.  5/29/2023 0 Comments May 29th, 2023RECOMMENDATION: Short history of Christ the King Monument, Cerro del Cubilete, Silao, Guanajuato, Mexico https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tg49Ls1RzcY  5/29/2023 0 Comments May 29th, 2023A treasonous act in Bolshevik Mexico: Religious leaders laid the first stone for a second, grandiose monument for Christ the King on Cerro del Cubilete, in Silao, with close to 50,000 pilgrims attending the January 11, 1923, celebrations. President Plutarco Calles ordered the bombing of the smaller statue, on January 30, 1928.    5/28/2023 0 Comments Hanged by his own hand To kill the body, one must cut off the head, explains Revolutionary, Socialist Mexico's executions of many priests, including Father Jose Maria Robles Hurtado -- brutally hanged, at the summit of Sierra de Quilaon, June 26, 1927, for celebrating Catholic Sacraments in a land that outlawed Catholicism.
Understanding that his moment of martyrdom neared, Robles fell to his knees, prayed for a few minutes, raised his hand to bless his parish, and raised his hand to bless his executioners, forgiving them for what they were about to do. He then kissed the ground and stood. A man with a rope approached the priest. The two knew one another. He was Robles’ compadre, Enrique Vazquez. “My friend, do not stain your hands,” Robles said. Taking the noose, he blessed the rope and kissed it as if it were a priest’s stole, acknowledging the yoke of Christ, and pulled it over his head until it encircled his neck and draped over his shoulders. “May my blood fall on my people as a sign of blessing and forgiveness,” he said. Seconds before his hanging, he exclaimed, “Yours, always yours, Eucharistic Heart of Jesus! Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit!” 5/26/2023 0 Comments May 26th, 2023 Anti-Catholic, pro-Socialist, written during the Mexican Revolution, the 1917 Mexican Constitution (which served as a model for the Weimar Constitution of 1919 and the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic Constitution of 1918) included:
Article 3 banned religious schools and demanded secular education only; Article 5 forbade the establishment of monastic orders; Article 24 outlawed acts of public worship, which were ordered to be held only in churches under the strict supervision of civil, not religious, authorities; Article 27, a continuation of the Agrarian Reform Decree of January 6, 1915, permitted the government confiscation of land owned by the Catholic Church and prohibited the Church from owning land; And Article 130 mandated that only native-born Mexicans could be priests; that only state legislatures could determine the number of priests; that matrimony was exclusively a contract under the auspices of civil authorities; that Catholic churches were to be controlled by the Ministry of the Interior; that spoken and written criticism of the government by religious was absolutely prohibited; and that spiritual formation of priests was forbidden. 5/25/2023 0 Comments May 25th, 2023 To rid Catholic ideology from the masses and indoctrinate them with Socialist ideology, Revolutionary Bolshevik Mexico outlawed religious schools and set up secular schools.
Furious at the government for its actions, the townspeople and the Cristero army of Father Jose Reyes Vega converged upon the Official School, in Arandas, and burned all the official government books, on January 10, 1927. 5/23/2023 0 Comments May 23rd, 2023 Victoriano Ramírez López, renowned as “El Catorce” after he killed 14 federal soldiers during a shootout, was a very flawed man: a thief, a drunk and a womanizer with many bastards. But, somehow, he ended up on the right side of the Cristero War, when the Socialist Mexican government persecuted Catholics. An outlaw, he was recruited into the Regiment of Jalpa de Canovas, because he was a great shot, fearless, insanely brave, and he had nothing to lose. No one loved him. No one even liked him, but he ended up fighting for a Holy Cause, a fight for the Faithful. The life of El Catorce proves that each person has a part in God's perfect plan no matter how imperfect the person. VIVA CRISTO REY! 5/17/2023 0 Comments The Execution of Father Miguel Pro By Theresa Marie Moreau
All doors have been closed, except those of Heaven. General Miguel Gregorio de la Luz Atenogenes Miramon y Tarelo (1831-67) “Miguel Pro!” Crowds stirred. Heads turned. Flashbulbs popped atop leather-bellow cameras. Forward, stepped the Jesuit. Religious garb had been outlawed in Mexico the previous year, 1926, so the 36-year-old Roman Catholic priest wore street clothing that he’d slept in while locked up the last six days: rumpled black jacket and pants, white shirt and a tie tucked into a button-down sweater vest with a horizontal zigzag pattern. Escorted by two men wearing overcoats and fedoras, the three proceeded into a secured, wall-enclosed courtyard filled with reporters, photographers, uniformed soldiers, mounted police and even representatives of the diplomatic corps. In the center of all, stood four teams of five-man firing squads. Nearby, two Green Cross ambulances waited for the bodies. Among the observers stood Roberto Cruz Diaz (1888-1990), chief police inspector and veteran general of the Mexican Revolution (1910-20). He dressed in a brand-new uniform for the occasion: jodhpurs and jackboots, high-collar jacket wrapped in a Sam Browne belt including shoulder strap, and a visored cap with an enamel tri-color cockade displaying the colors of the Mexican flag: green for hope, white for purity, red for bloodshed, lots of bloodshed. Relaxed, he stood casually, leaning his weight onto his left leg, as he sucked on a smoldering cigar. Cruz admired himself, thought of himself as a cultured man, certainly not an old-fashioned, religious believer in cockamamie superstition. An apostate who turned his back on the Roman Catholic Church, he scornfully looked at the priest, who stared straight ahead as he walked by, calmly, silently. The General – tapped to oversee the executions – noticed that the blood had drained from the face of the condemned man. His dark skin appeared pale. His lips, like paper. But the face – Cruz grudgingly admitted to himself – appeared intelligent and cultured. At the shooting range, the priest, the Alter Christus, stopped before the human silhouettes used for target practice. The lifeless figures – pockmarked with bullet hits – stood askew in front of stacked logs protecting a small section of the concrete wall that surrounded Mexico City’s Federal District General Police Inspectorate. “Any last requests?” asked Major Torres, commander of the firing squads. “Yes, I want to pray a little.” Upon the earth, he kneeled, slowly crossed himself, blessing himself, and clasped his hands in prayer, reminiscent of Albrecht Durer’s pen-and-ink “Study of the Hands of an Apostle.” Reverently, he kissed the small crucifix that he had removed from around his neck. On his knees, in front of the firing squad, he calmly pulled from his pocket a rosary and then stood with such a determined enthusiasm that it briefly softened some of the stone-hearted soldiers – his executioners – assembled in front of him. The priest refused a blindfold, kissed the crucifix in his right hand and gripped the rosary dangling from his left, as he faced death. “Attention!” Major Torres called to the death squad waiting orders. “God is my witness that I am innocent of the crime you impute to me!” declared the priest. “Step in!” Five snappy-uniformed soldiers stepped forward and formed a line. “God have mercy on you all,” prayed the priest for his killers, and with his crucifix he made a large sign of the cross over the gunmen. “Ready!” yelled the commander, raising his right arm, brandishing a sword, pointed heavenward. “With all my heart, I forgive my enemies.” “Aim!” In an act of philopassionism, the priest thrust his arms out to the side, in imitation of Christ, raised his eyes to the skies and slowly, distinctly shouted, “Viva Cristo Rey!” “Fire!” the commander yelled, with a swift downstroke of his sword. To the ground, the priest collapsed. Police Medical Doctor Horacio Cazale walked over and found him still alive, but quickly remedied when a gunman, the squad’s officer, a sergeant, pointed his rifle a few inches from the right side of the priest’s head and administered the exploding coup de grace. It was 10:30 in the morning, November 23, 1927. A Wednesday. “Luis Segura!” Forward stepped a 24-year-old man, dressed in a light-colored, three-piece business suit, with a tie tucked into his vest and a handkerchief sticking out of his jacket’s chest pocket. Escorted from his basement jail cell to the courtyard, he advanced toward the wall. As he neared the body of the priest, he stopped, respectfully bowed, and then proceeded a few more steps. “Do you want to be blindfolded?” Torres asked him. “No. I am ready, gentlemen,” he answered, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, then quickly removed them, swinging them behind his back, thrusting out his chest, prepared to receive the bullets. Silence, as Segura looked ahead, serenely. Cruz looked at him with admiration, for his bravery, for his steel-bound acceptance of it all. “Attention!” “Step in!” The second squad of five riflemen stepped forward. “Ready!” Major Torres raised his sword. Executioners raised their long guns to their shoulders. “Aim!” “Viva Cristo Rey!” Segura yelled. “Fire!” Sword dropped. Rifles fired. From the impact of the bullets, Segura’s arms swung forward, and he fell to the ground, face forward. “Humberto Pro!” As he neared his elder brother sprawled on the ground, he lovingly touched the dead priest with his foot, a final loving gesture. He stood, positioned between the bodies. His straight black hair, slicked back. Under his jacket, a white cricket sweater that would soon soak up his blood. He, too, refused a blindfold. “Attention!” “Step in!” The third squad stepped forward. “Ready!” “Aim!” “Viva Cristo Rey!” yelled the 24-year-old. “Fire!” He fell, on his back, near Segura. “Juan Tirado!” Cruz stared at the shivering 20-year-old Tirado, an impoverished worker suffering from pneumonia. Wrapped in a blanket, he stood among the three crumpled, bloodied bodies. Why would he want a blanket, if he is soon going to be cold, cold forever? thought Cruz. In the preceding days, Tirado had suffered horrendous water torture between interrogations intended to coerce him to talk, to inform against others. With his mouth tightly gagged, his tormentors slipped a water hose through a slit between his lips and turned on the tap. Water gushed into his mouth, choking him as it forcefully rushed down his throat, flooding his stomach, causing sharp pains that caused his body to convulse. But nothing. He revealed nothing, saying only that he knew nothing about the assassination attempt, that he had simply been waiting nearby for a train and was merely curious about the commotion on the street when he was captured. Standing before the execution wall, he was asked a final question. “Any last request?” asked Torres. Weak from torture, he barely gasped, “I want to see my mother.” “Impossible! Put your back to the wall!” “Attention!” announced Torres, with sword in hand. “Step in!” “I want to see my mother,” Tirado repeated. “Ready!” “Aim!” “I want to see my mother!” “Fire!” The line of gunmen fired, hit their flesh-and-blood target, spinning him around, before he fell sideways to the ground, face down. Newspaper photographers from the national broadsheets Excelsior and El Universal rushed over to the bodies and snapped close-up shots of the four dead believers. El Universal Grafico even ran a special edition, which the National League for the Defense of Religious Liberty – a Catholic group the men belonged to – quickly snapped up. And the published photographs did what all the League-produced pamphlets and leaflets detailing the religious persecution could not do: immediately impact the faithful. Photos revealed the truth that could not be denied by Mexican President Plutarco Elias Calles (birth name: Francisco Plutarco Elias Campuzano, 1877-1945), or by his Socialist government or by the Callistas, his supporters. An old Bolshevik tactic, Calles intended to use the executions as a warning to terrorize Catholics into submission with the stark newspaper coverage. But it failed. Thoroughly. Not only did the graphic images reinforce their faith, but it also united them even more so against the violent, intolerant, anti-clerical, anti-Christian government. *** Placed upon stretchers, the four bodies were removed from the execution courtyard and transferred to the Military Hospital, where autopsies were hastily performed. Both Pro brothers had five bullet holes in their chests. Placed in caskets, their sister Ana Maria Pro Juarez (1892-1936) was finally able to see them. As she kneeled beside the wooden boxes, she heard the voice of their recently widowed father, Miguel Pro Romo: “Where are my sons? I want to see them!” Raising the lids, he kissed the forehead of his eldest son Miguel and pulled a handkerchief from his own pocket to wipe the blood from the dead man’s face; he then kissed the forehead of Humberto. With his daughter sobbing in his arms, he tried to reassure her, “My daughter, there is nothing to cry about.” From the hospital, the Pro brothers were carried to their father’s home, at 5 Calle Rio Panuco, where thousands of faithful, including workers and even soldiers, flocked to see the martyrs, beginning at 5 that evening until nearly midnight. For the wake, a priest garbed illegally in vestments led the prayers, as the two executed men – wrapped in their eternal shrouds – lay in state. Upon the chest of the priest: a pyx containing the Blessed Sacrament. On his knees beside his sons, the patriarch of the family sobbed, “The Father was an apostle; Humberto was an angel all his life, and they died for God. They are already with him in Heaven!” Outside, the following morning, at 6 a.m., more men, women and children surrounded the home and demanded to see the brothers, martyred, each with a second baptism, the baptism of blood. Inside, pall bearers prepared the dead in their caskets and hoisted them, to transport them to their graves. “Let the martyrs through!” shouted Miguel Palomar y Vizcarra, when the doors finally swung open, at 3 p.m. Silence gripped everyone, but as soon as the faithful saw the caskets borne aloft through the doorway, carried by priests, cries of “Viva Cristo Rey! Via Cristo Rey! Via Cristo Rey!” rose, followed by a spontaneous outburst of cheers and applause. Thousands and thousands surrounded the martyrs. Mourners filled the streets from sidewalk to sidewalk along the Avenida Paseo de la Reforma, which ran across the heart of Mexico City, just as the martyrs ran across the hearts of Catholics. Many genuflected to honor the men and to acknowledge their sacrifice. From the streets below and the balconies above, faithful tossed bouquets and single blossoms upon the passing caskets. “Long live the holy martyrs! Long live the Pope! Long live our bishops and priests!” they cheered. During the 6.2-mile-long procession to the largest cemetery in Mexico, the Panteon de Dolores, mourners sang “Salve Cristo Rey,” heard by Calles, who opened the windows of Chapultepec Castle, the presidential residence, to view the cortege. At the cemetery, thousands more waited, despite the threatening authorities who surrounded them. Cries of “Long live the first Jesuit martyr of Christ the King!” rose from the crowd after the priest was entombed in the Jesuit’s crypt, Plot 35. With his brother interred nearby, their father was the first to throw shovels of earth into the grave. “We have finished,” he said solemnly, and then began the first notes of, “Te Deum Laudamus,” a hymn of praise and thanksgiving to God, which the attending priests finished singing. Amidst a great following, Tirado was laid to rest, and Segura was buried in the Panteon del Tepeyac in the Villa de Guadalupe, near the Basilica of Santa Maria of Guadalupe. *** For more than 100 years, Catholics suffered at the hands of tyrannical rulers, who forced their way to power by any means necessary, often gunning down political enemies. The bloody saga all began after Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821) – excommunicated Catholic, first emperor of France, destroyer of the Holy Roman Empire – forced the abdication, in 1808, of the King of Spain, Ferdinand VII (1784-1833), and Crown over what was then the Viceroyalty of New Spain. The military genius then installed his own brother Joseph-Napoleon Bonaparte (1768-1844) as Spain’s new sovereign, on May 6, 1808. Napoleon planned to export his Revolutionary, anti-Catholic policy to the territories. When Francisco Javier Venegas de Saavedra y Raminez de Arenzana (1754-1838) arrived ceremoniously in New Spain, on September 14, 1810, to accept his role as newly appointed viceroy, devout Catholics in the territory demanded independence rather than be ruled over by the secular French who had seized the Spanish throne. Two days after Venegas’ assumption of power, Roman Catholic priest Father Miguel Gregorio Antonio Ignacio Hidalgo y Costilla y Gallaga Mandarte Villasenor (1753-1811) protested the takeover and urged Catholics to defend their religion and to fight the French, anti-Catholic government, in a New World extension of the Peninsular War (1807-14) raging in the Old World’s Iberian Peninsula against its French invaders. After celebrating Sunday Mass, in Dolores, Guanajuato, Hidalgo delivered El Grito de Dolores, the address in which he encouraged fellow Catholics to join him in a rebellion against the government usurpers, and to do so in the name of their deposed King Ferdinand VII, held captive by Emperor Napoleon I, in France’s Chateau de Valencay. Hidalgo’s cry, on September 16, 1810, triggered the Mexican War of Independence that lasted until September 27, 1821. From the territory’s independence, in 1821, to the presidential election, in 1920, of Alvaro Obregon Salido (1880-1928), chaos ruled supreme in the bourgeoning Mexican governing bodies that were often rabidly anti-Catholic. In 99 years, there were an estimated 84 transfers of power – often bloody – to various individuals and regencies, with some losing and regaining power, despite a head-spinning number of coups and executions to keep former leaders from re-grabbing control. Obregon was a survivor. A wealthy garbanzo farmer and a former general in the Mexican Revolution, he nearly died when his right arm was blown off, during the 1915 Battle of Celaya, in which he dealt major blows to his former comrade in arms, Pancho Villa (born Jose Doroteo Arango Arambula, 1878-1923). During his four years in office, Catholics were often targeted. On November 14, 1921, Luciano Perez Carpio – an employee of the private secretariat of Obregon – planted several sticks of dynamite tucked into flowers below the altar in the Basilica of Santa Maria of Guadalupe. Only feet away from the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the ensuing blast bent a metal altar crucifix and altar candlesticks, but did no harm to the image. A diplomatic incident occurred when Bishop Ernesto Eugenio Filippi (1879-1951), apostolic nuncio, was expelled from Mexico for conducting a religious service in ceremonial garb, in public, offending Article 33 of the 1917 Political Constitution of the United Mexican States. The bishop had officiated over the celebration of Christ proclaimed Rey de la Nacion, King of the Nation, atop the summit of Cerro del Cubilete, in Silao, Guanajuato, the approximate geographic center of Mexico, where a reported 40,000 faithful attended the national ceremony, on January 11, 1923. As the end of Obregon’s presidency neared, he faced a mandatory office term limit. Since he could not run, he pushed as his successor Calles, who won, in 1924. A true Revolutionary, prior to his inauguration, Calles traveled to Germany and the birthplace of Socialism: France, to study their ideology and labor movements. And not only was Calles the first leader in the Western Hemisphere to establish relations, in 1924, with the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, but he also went on to be one of the founders of Mexico’s National Revolutionary Party, on March 4, 1929. With the tyrannical ascendency to the presidency of Christophobic Calles – another veteran general of the Mexican Revolution – tension between the State and the Church intensified, with frequent descensions into violence, often at the hands of Callistas, such as the Regional Mexican Workers Confederation. Headed by Luis Morones Negrete (1890-1964), Secretary of Industry, Commerce and Labor, the labor union spearheaded the founding of the state-sponsored Mexican Catholic Apostolic Church, in February 1925, that culminated in riots between the Roman Catholics and the schismatics of the State-ruled Church of Santa Cruz and la Soledad, originally consecrated in 1792, in Mexico City. Then in 1926, the megalomaniac Calles began the big push against Catholics. Born a bastard and orphaned at a young age, he was raised by a maternal aunt and an atheist uncle, who inculcated in him a great hatred for the Church. During the last week of February 1926, he ordered governors to enforce the articles on religion, as written in the 1917 Constitution: Article 3 banned religious schools and demanded secular education only; Article 5 forbade the establishment of monastic orders; Article 24 outlawed acts of public worship, which were ordered to be held only in churches under the strict supervision of civil, not religious, authorities; Article 27, a continuation of the Agrarian Reform Decree of January 6, 1915, permitted the government confiscation of land owned by the Catholic Church and prohibited the Church from owning land; And Article 130 mandated that only native-born Mexicans could be priests; that only state legislatures could determine the number of priests; that matrimony was exclusively a contract under the auspices of civil authorities; that Catholic churches were to be controlled by the Ministry of the Interior; that spoken and written criticism of the government by religious was absolutely prohibited; and that spiritual formation of priests was forbidden. Those five articles were in conformity with the Reform Laws, anti-Catholic laws enacted between 1855 and 1863 and elevated to Constitutional status, with the Act of September 25, 1874, which outlined the separation of Church and State; mandated marriage a civil contract; prohibited any religious institution from acquiring property; repealed the religious oath; and banned the establishment of monastic orders. On March 5, 1926, Calles delivered a speech in which he described the Revolution as an effort to build a new Mexico, as a way to break away from the old Mexico and its religious past, “that past, which I strongly wish to see liquidated,” he noted. On April 3, he expressed revolutionary ideology: “We have to undertake today a terrible struggle, a struggle against the past, a struggle against the things which we must hope will disappear forever from the earth. Certain rich people and certain aristocrats want to obstacle our progress! It is incredible that there are still reactionaries in this country who consider it possible, in our century of social revolution, to raise the standard of religion and to provoke a new civil war. But the government is resolved to carry out its program without taking the slightest account of the grimaces of the sacristans, or of the protestations of the lazy monks.” Then, on June 14, 1926, he signed the Law for Reforming the Penal Code – the commonly called Calles Law – that was to take effect, on July 31, 1926. Posted on all church doors, the 33 extra articles of law added, outlined and enforced restrictions targeting the Catholic Church, such as: Article 6 immediately dissolved all religious orders; Article 18 prohibited the wearing of religious clothing outside of churches; And Article 22 declared all Church property to be property of the State. *** Jose Ramon Miguel Agustin Pro Juarez was born, on January 13, 1891, the eldest son of devout Catholics, Miguel Pro Romo and Maria Josefa de la Concepcion Juarez Munguia. His father, as head of the house, worked as a successful mining engineer. His mother, as heart of the house, served as a charitable role model for the children and led by example, including the founding of a hospital to treat the sick. As a youth, Miguelito was a good boy, fun to be around, naturally witty, a prankster and popular with the girls. He was also a talented guitarist, caricaturist and multilinguist. Never had he given much thought about a religious vocation, until around the age of 16, when he attended a mission held by the Jesuits, where he participated in its meditations and contemplations, as described in the “Spiritual Exercises,” by Saint Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556), who founded the Society of Jesus, in 1540. Like others, he found the exercises inspirational, and it was then that he first heard the whisper in his heart. But he did not seriously think about the priesthood until two of his favorite sisters, Maria de la Concepcion Pro Juarez (1888-1944) and Maria de la Luz Pro Juarez (?-?), entered a cloistered convent, the Sisters of the Good Shepherd. At first furious at the Jesuits, the spiritual directors of his sisters, his anger, eventually, subsided. Why shouldn’t I do the same thing? he pondered. Soon thereafter, at the age of 20, he entered the novitiate of the Society of Jesus, in El Llano, Aguascalientes, on August 10, 1911. Three years later, on August 13, 1913, he declared his First Vows, the perpetual simple vows of poverty, chastity and obedience to the Holy Roman Pontiff. Promoted to scholastic, he began his preparation for the priesthood with studies that included philosophy and theology. To commemorate the day, he received a crucifix that remained with him until the day of his execution. Prior to joining the religious community, he had not completed his secondary education, so he compensated for his lack of book knowledge by immersing himself in holy endeavors, prayers, for grace, for the perfection of his soul. His spiritual ways impressed his confreres so much so that they described him as “the brother who is convinced God wants him to be a saint.” At that time, the Revolution, ignited in 1910, still raged through Mexico. Revolutionary coalition rebels in the north fought under the command of the former governor of the state of Coahuila, Jose Venustiano Carranza de la Garza (1859-1920), designated as Primer Jefe, the First Boss. His men mobilized to depose Jose Victoriano Huerta Marquez (1850-1916), who had assumed the presidency after he orchestrated a coup d’etat and the assassination of Francisco Ignacio Madero Gonzalez (1873-1913), a democratically elected president. Carranza’s men drew up a plan of attack: a three-pronged march to Mexico City. From the north, Pablo Gonzalez Garza (1879-1950) advanced southerly along the eastern railroad, Pancho Villa along the central railroad, and Obregon along the western railroad. Along the way, Revolutionaries ransacked and plundered whatever treasures they could find to fill their pockets and to fund their Revolution. They imprisoned the rich and assassinated their political enemies – including Catholics, whom they randomly accused of supporting Huerta. Rape and torture were common torments inflicted by the Socialist soldiers, including Villa, who bragged about nailing a priest inside a coffin and leaving him inside to die. Carranza’s search-and-destroy march, which began in April 1914, ended on August 20, 1914, when he and 18,000 of his armed forces filed triumphantly into Mexico City, having defeated Huerta, who had abdicated on July 15. The victors carried flags with slogans, including: clergy is obscurantism; freedom is light! Only six years later, Carranza would be gunned down – in bed – making way for Obregon to run for president. But before his victory and ultimate bloody demise, Carranza ordered the pillaging and desecration of churches, convents and seminaries, including the Jesuit community, in El Llano, which was along the route of destruction. On August 5, 1914, Revolutionaries attacked the Jesuit’s main house and burned the library, just one of the countless casualties of the Revolution. The rector ordered the seminarians to remove their cassocks, replace them with street clothing and head for a safehouse in Guadalajara. Dressed as a peasant, to pass undeterred by the rebels who were everywhere, Pro fled, on August 15, the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. He arrived in the city, on September 2, to find his mother, three brothers and one of his sisters nearly destitute. Carrancistas had stripped his family of all possessions and chased them from their home, in Saltillo. His mother’s only possession: a picture of the Sacred Heart. A few weeks later, Pro and his confreres received word to make their way to the Jesuit novitiate in Los Gatos, California, in the United States of America. After a solemn Mass and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament on a First Friday, the refugees crossed the border and arrived at their destination, in October 1914. Welcomed, the exiled Catholics were offered the fourth floor of a building for their use. Pro remained for a year before leaving with 15 confreres, on June 21, 1915, to pursue his studies in Granada, Spain, where he survived the 1917-18 Spanish Flu epidemic. Ten years after his arrival in Europe, he received the Sacrament of Holy Orders, in Enghien, Belgium, on August 31, 1925, bestowed upon him by Bishop Charles-Albert-Joseph Lecomte (1867-1934), bishop of Amiens, France. That day, his ascendance unto the altar, with the priestly character imprinted on his soul by the Holy Ghost, gave birth to his divine and spiritual life. “On the day of my ordination,” he later confided to a confrere, “I simply asked Our Lord that I be useful to souls.” But being so far from his family for so long was difficult. His mother wrote to him, “I am getting older every day. I am afraid that you will no longer find me here on earth when you return to Mexico. I believe that the good Lord is asking me for the sacrifice of never seeing you at the altar.” Shortly after her death, on February 8, 1926, a few days after writing her last letter, her eldest son finally received permission to return to his homeland, nearly 12 years after his departure. On June 20, 1926, he boarded a ship in the port city of Saint-Nazaire, France, headed home, arrived in the port of Veracruz, on July 7, 1926, and settled in Mexico City, with family who had moved to the capital city. By the time of his return, the stringently anti-Catholic Calles Law was set to take effect on July 31. As a result, the Mexican bishops penned a collective pastoral letter, on July 25, expressing their desire for reform of the laws and announcing the withdrawal of clergy and the Blessed Sacrament from the churches on the same day that the legislation would become law. In response, the faithful flocked to churches to receive the Sacraments before the native priests went underground and the foreign priests were forced out of Mexico. Penitents sought the last Mass, the last Absolution, the last Blessing. Pilgrims of penance walked barefoot. Hymns and prayers filled the air. On July 30 – the day before the clerics were to vacate the churches – Pro’s priestly assignment was to hear confessions from a long line of those seeking absolution from their sins. From 5:30 a.m. to 11 a.m. and again from 3 p.m. to 8 p.m., he listened and absolved the penitents, which so exhausted him, he was removed twice from the confessional. On July 31, the Feast of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, the clergy withdrew. Altars abandoned. Ciboriums wiped clean. Patens put away. Linens folded. Tabernacles emptied. Sanctuary lamps snuffed. Bells silenced. The government remained steadfast and ignored the bishops’ request to reform the anti-Catholic laws. On August 2, 1926, Obregon blamed the victims: “The conflict will automatically disappear when the directors of the Catholic Church in Mexico subordinate their vanity, now injured, and declare their willingness to obey the laws and the authorities in charge of ensuring compliance, and advise this course of conduct to all believers.” The bishops refused, and Catholics continued practicing their faith. On October 31, 1926, for the celebration of the very first Feast of Christ the King, throngs of pilgrims arrived at the Basilica, many barefoot, some with crowns of thorns atop their heads, some progressed on their knees praying the rosary. From 4 in the morning to 7:30 that night, a steady stream of faithful passed before the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Even the Archbishop of Mexico, Jose Mora y del Rio (1854-1928) arrived around 4 in the afternoon, although Cruz and fists-ready firefighters tried to shut down the event. In his day-to-day life, Pro refused to let the estimated 10,000-plus secret police agents in Mexico City intimidate him. He baptized, presided at marriages, took Viaticum to the dying, performed Extreme Unction, found homes for abandoned babies. He heard confessions of those incarcerated in jails and brought them food, money, cigars, blankets, pillows. He organized traveling confessionals and Communion Stations, where he dispensed 300 to 400 daily Holy Communions. And on First Fridays, Communions surpassed 1,000. Unable to wear his cassock, he resorted to wearing disguises: student, shoeshine man, sometimes riding a bicycle, sometimes walking with a cane, sometimes strolling with his pet police dog at his heels. One time to give a retreat, in a courtyard surrounded by scrap metal, he concealed his priestly identity by dressing as a mechanic; his 50 retreatants were drivers, most wearing Texan cowboy hats. And he had help, lots of help. An angel of mercy to those in need, he managed to set up food pantries in vacant houses around the city, helped along by small armies who went out – gathered beans, rice, sugar, coffee, flour, live chickens and whatever else – and returned all to the safehouses and then distributed to hungry families. He wrote to one of his cousins: “All my personnel are reduced to half a dozen pious women and half a dozen pious men without jobs. In public, I call the former: Investigation and Supply Section! Between us, I call them: Beggars on the Lookout! They creep everywhere like rats, and every month they fill my well-flattened bags with coffee, corn, rice, sugar and fat. When the 25th or the 28th arrives, the bags no longer contain a single grain, a single crumb, although they are pressed and twisted without pity. The men, I call them in public: the Management Committee. Between us, I honor them with the pompous title of Resourceless Unemployed, because they do not miss an opportunity to beg from the first comer who presents himself, to support the royal family of God who live only on unemployment.” And there were close calls. One morning, at 6 a.m., in the midst of distributing the Holy Eucharist at one of the Communion Stations, he was interrupted. “Police!” alerted a servant girl. Terror filled the Communicants. “Be quiet,” warned the priest dressed in a gray suit. “Hide your veils, scatter through the rooms and don’t make any noise.” With the Blessed Sacrament hidden near his heart, he went to speak with the authorities. “There is public worship here,” they told him. “No, there is not,” he answered. “But there is, Sir, there is public worship here.” “Well, then, they have deceived you, gentlemen.” “I saw a priest enter,” said one. Another said, “We have orders to search the house. Follow us.” “Well, I like that! I follow you? At whose order? Let me see my name. Go through the house, and when you find public worship, come and tell me, so that I may hear Mass.” Through the house the authorities searched, room by room, accompanied by Pro, until, eventually, their hunt was exhausted, and they stood guard at the entrance to the house. “If I didn’t have something else to do, I should remain with you, until you seize the bold priest who made sport of the extraordinary vigilance of such keen-sighted policemen,” he told them. When they left, he quietly finished distributing Communion. Another time, as he neared the home where he was to say Mass, he saw two soldiers standing guard at the entrance. Afraid to go ahead, for fear of arrest, and afraid to turn around, for fear of abandoning the faithful, which would have been shameful, he jotted down the number of the house in his notebook, gathered all his courage and continued, straight ahead, exhibiting confidence. Nearing the soldiers, he opened his vest, as if showing them his secret police badge. “There must surely be a rat trapped here,” he said with a wink to the soldiers. To which they responded by giving him military salutes, permitting him to pass. Pro ran up the stairs, saying to himself, “Right now, here’s a rat trapped!” But amidst the persecution, he felt his life had a purpose. In the first weeks of November, he celebrated Mass at a convent. During the Unbloody Sacrifice of Calvary, he prayed that God would take his life, for he believed that a true blood sacrifice, the blood of priests, his blood, was needed for the salvation of Mexico. After Mass, he shared with the Mother Superior, “I feel that my offering was accepted.” *** After presidential term limits were repealed, in 1926, Obregon announced his intention to run again, in 1928, and formally began his campaign, in May 1927. In November, an assassination attempt was made upon his life. Immediately, the propaganda arm of the regime’s Socialist machine blamed Catholics, even presenting detailed confessions, veracity uncertain. They accused devout Catholic Luis Segura Vilchis (1903-27), created a police report about him as a ringleader who concocted a plan to kill Obregon and detailed how he recruited three men to help him carry out his scheme: Nahum Lamberto Ruiz, Juan Antonio Tirado Arias (1907-27) and Jose Gonzalez. Authorities reported the following took place: “Boys, we are going to try to execute Obregon to save our country. Are you willing to carry out this great work?” Segura asked. “Yes, we are,” his cohorts affirmed. “We are going to risk our lives, companeros,” he added. “The fate that one runs, we will all run. Do we swear to Christ?” “Yes, by Christ, we swear it.” “Come on, then. The time has come.” It was November 13, 1927, a Sunday. From the National League for the Defense of Religious Liberty, the group borrowed a car, an Essex, with a long body, square passenger cabin and wide running boards. Purchased by the priest’s brother Roberto Pro Juarez (1905-41) under a pseudonym. The car had been assigned to another brother, Humberto Pro Juarez (1903-27), to use for the activities of the League’s Advertisement Committee. The four young men piled into the Essex, driven by Gonzalez. Segura sat shotgun, with Lamberto and Tirado in the back. They arrived at the Colonia Station and surveilled Obregon. When he traveled to his home, on 185 Avenida Jalisco, they tagged behind at a safe distance and waited while he ate. They continued to follow him when he left, escorted by bodyguards in two other cars that drove toward the Chapultepec Forest, where the presidential candidate wanted to take a walk before going to the bullfights. As Obregon rode along the Calzada de los Filosofos, the Essex caught up to the general’s brand new, 1927 Cadillac. Segura threw a bomb that landed between two tires and broke several windows, but failed to kill the General. The Essex fled, and Obregon’s bodyguards chased the getaway car, following close behind and firing shots. “Don’t stick your heads out, boys, to avoid getting hit!” Segura warned during the ensuing pursuit and shootout as they drove along Avenida Chapultepec. When the car turned onto Avenida de los Insurgentes, Lamberto stuck his head out the window and fired back, emptying the rounds in his pistol, just as a bullet pierced through one of his ears and into his brain, causing immediate loss of his eyesight. “They got me,” he moaned, as he collapsed onto the floorboard. When the Essex crashed into a pole, Segura yelled, “Whoever can, save yourself!” as he, Gonzalez and Tirado jumped out and escaped through the curious crowd that began to gather. Gonzalez, quickly disappeared. Tirado, soon caught. Lamberto, pulled from the wreckage and transported to the Hospital Juarez de Mexico. Segura, with a ticket in his pocket, headed for the bullfights at the Plaza de Toros de la Condesa, the 1907 Colosseum-esque, round, steel-and-cement bullring. Once there, he spotted and sat near Obregon – who had dusted himself off after the bombing and returned home for a quick change before continuing on to the arena. Obregon would later attest to seeing Segura during the bullfight. In the aftermath of the attempted assassination, a police inspection officer informed Cruz, the chief police inspector, about the attack. Immediately, he began work on the case. That afternoon, he arrived at the Chapultepec Castle for instructions from Calles. “I want a quick and thorough investigation,” the president said without even greeting Cruz. Authorities reportedly got lucky. Lamberto, one of the accused, blinded during the shootout, lay in his hospital bed, surrounded by a security detail. A police agent went to his bedside and pretended to be a friend, speaking softly, whispering, as if it were dangerous if overheard; however, it was so that his voice would not be identified as a stranger’s. On his deathbed, he naively confessed and innocently gave the names of those involved, begging his “friend” to get word to the priest and to Segura: “They need to hide, right away,” said Lamberto, who succumbed to his wounds, on November 20, 1927. However, it was reported later by sources independent of the government that after the bullet penetrated Lamberto’s brain, he never regained consciousness. *** On the night of the attempted assassination, two Pro brothers – Humberto and Roberto – read about the attack and decided to go into hiding. Their eldest brother, the priest, decided to go with them. Together, they found refuge in a Catholic home. Three days after the assassination attempt, police received a tip about illegal religious ceremonies and raided the home leased to Josefina Montes de Oca, niece of Bishop Jose Maria Ignacio Montes de Oca y Obregon (1840-1921). They arrested Montes and searched the house, at 44 Calle Jose Antonio Alzate, in the suburb neighborhood of Santa Maria la Ribera. There authorities found a small, dark brown briefcase – a Mass kit with Hosts, oils, vials – that they linked to Pro, who had been boarding in the home for several months. Authorities learned of the whereabouts of the Jesuit priest and his brothers and surrounded the house, at 22 Calle Londres, owned by Maria Valdes. At 4 a.m., police forced their way inside and searched for their suspects. Detective Alvaro Basail Calero (1895-?) – agent with the Security Commission of the Federal District General Police Inspectorate and known for his hatred of the Church – opened a door and found the three brothers asleep in the same room. “Don’t move!” he shouted, pointing his revolver at the men. Scrambling out of their beds, Humberto told his brother, “I want to confess,” insisting on making a Confession, receiving the Sacrament of Penance, before they left, in custody. “Not allowed!” Basail said. “He will confess, all the same,” the priest said, taking his brother to the back of the room, where the penitent received absolution. “From this moment on, let us offer our lives to God, for the Church in Mexico, and let us do it, all three, in such a way that God may accept the sacrifice,” he told his younger brothers. Leaving the house, a woman saw the Jesuit and said, “I will go see you, right away.” “No, daughter,” he answered. “I will see you in Heaven.” Upon their arrival in the basement jail of the Inspectorate, Humberto was placed in a cell with Montes, arrested the prior evening. Miguel and Roberto shared a cell across the room. While in custody, each day the eldest brother led prayers, recited the rosary, bestowed blessings. On Sunday, after the Holy Mass was observed as best as could be, the incarcerated faithful sang the Jesuit anthem, “Noble Knight: Saint Ignatius of Loyola.” *** Continuing to stitch together their narrative against the Catholics, authorities reported the following occurred: The Monday after the assassination attempt on Obregon, Segura went to work as usual at the Mexican Light and Power Company, on Ghent Street, in the Hydraulic Department, where he was a Technical Engineer. On Thursday, November 17, he received a visitor. “Are you Engineer Luis Segura?” asked the visitor, Detective Basail. “Yes, sir, to serve you.” “I come, Engineer, with a problem; I am an agent of the General Police Inspectorate,” he said, staring at Segura, who nodded slightly. “Mr. General Cruz has entrusted me to beg you to come see him for an important matter.” “I will gladly go, if those are the wishes of Mr. General Cruz,” he answered, smiling. “I’ll accompany you right now.” “There is no need, Mr. Engineer; the General told me that he could wait for you until the time you wanted.” “No, I don’t want to keep General Cruz waiting. I can leave here at any time I want, and I will go right now. I have never been in trouble with the law.” “If you can’t go right now, Engineer, tell me what time we expect you.” “I’m going with you right away,” he said, tidying papers on his desk before he pulled on his jacket and left with Basail. Riding down the elevator from the third floor, Basail asked, “Are you nervous, Engineer? I’m sorry, but I’m a little shaky.” “Yes, I always go down the stairs, because the elevator, with its rapid descent makes me a little nervous,” he answered. At the General Police Inspectorate, Segura was introduced to Cruz. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Engineer. Sit down, Engineer, I’ve allowed myself to bother you to ask you some questions,” Cruz said. “Yes, General. I am at your service.” “Engineer, what do you know about the attack on General Obregon?” “What the press says, General.” “Nothing else?” “Nothing else, Mr. General.” “And could you tell me what you did [Sunday]?” “I won’t be able to do it in great detail, because I don’t think it could be of any use to me, but, you see, in the morning, I went to Mass.” “To Mass?” “Yes, sir, to Mass.” “Where?” “General, you are going to allow me to keep the secret, because I know the penalty incurred by the people in whose homes where Mass is said.” “Very well, but tell me, are you Catholic?” “Yes, sir, Catholic, Apostolic and Roman.” “Continue.” “After Mass, I went home to eat, and around 2 in the afternoon I went to the bullfights. You’ll see, because here I have the ticket stub.” He dug around in all the pockets of his jacket, until he pulled out the stub. “The bullfight was monumental! I was close to General Obregon. I remember that they dedicated a bull to him. After the bullfight, I went to eat at a nearby restaurant, then I went home, and in the night to the theater. So, broadly speaking, that’s all.” “And when did you find out about the attack on General Obregon?” “Today, in the morning.” Segura exuded confidence so much so that Cruz was convinced of his innocence. Even Obregon was certain of his innocence, and, as such, the cell door was opened. He was free to go. But then, while leaving, he reportedly spotted Tirado and the Pro brothers. He hesitated. “General Cruz, you gave me your word of honor that only those responsible for the attempt to kill Obregon will be sacrificed, and that the other prisoners – who did not take part in it but are accused of being the authors and executors of it – will be released. What if I tell you the truth about this matter?” “Yes, Engineer,” replied Cruz. “Well, General,” Luis began, standing, “the author, director and executor of the attempted execution of General Obregon, carried out on the 13th day, is me. Nahum Lamberto Ruiz and Juan Antonio Tirado Arias helped me carry out the plan. The Pro Juarez brothers had nothing to do with this matter, since they did not know what was going to be done, nor did they take any part in what was done.” “You make fun of me, Engineer. Your innocence is fully proven and General Obregon himself has testified in your favor. What you want is for the Pros to go free for lack of merit. You intend to save them by assuming all the responsibility yourself, so that after they are saved, you will argue that you are innocent, as it is, and also go free.” “No, General, I do not intend to make fun of you. Yes, I want to save the Pros, because it is my duty to do so, since they have no responsibility in the attempt to execute Obregon. This is not a maneuver of mine to save them and then claim my innocence to be released. I know that my confession will cost me my life, but it is a duty of conscience for me, which surely you do not understand, to proceed like this. If you kill the Pros after you have been shown that they are innocent, then it will be your crime, and I will have no responsibility, as I would have if I did not speak. And I am serious, General, and with the truth on my lips, I’m going to show you that what I just said is absolutely true.” Cruz asked, “But why did you try to kill my General Obregon?” “Because he is a hypocritical persecutor of my faith, a murderer of Catholics, a traitor to the country he intends to destroy.” “So, you don’t regret, Engineer, having tried to kill the only presidential candidate?” “If Obregon had 20 lives, I would take 20 to save the country from such ominous oppression.” “Go back to your prison cell!” “Do not forget that I am the only one responsible in this matter and that I claim all the consequences for myself.” Segura said before locked up. *** Obregon had many enemies, many political enemies. Even he believed that the attack on his life had not been by the accused Catholics, but had been conspired and carried out by political enemies. At first, he suspected vengeful comrades of snuffed-out revolutionary generals Francisco Roque Serrano Barbeytia (1889-1927) and Arnulfo R. Gomez (1890-1927). Serrano had been assassinated on October 3, and Gomez had been executed on November 4. Obregon was suspected of ordering the hits. Then his mind wandered to Calles and Morones. The idea that they had been behind the assassination attempt seeped inside his brain and fermented. In an effort to uncover the truth, he sent his attorney, Arturo Orci, to visit Cruz to order a trial. Appearing at the office of Cruz – unavailable at the time – Orci spoke with the General’s secretary, Benito Guerra Leal (1897-1960). Requesting the official arrest report of the suspects, Guerra presented him with some papers. After looking through the document, Orci said, “There’s no indictment on this paper. It’s just your police report. “That’s all we have,” Guerra said. “And what does the chief of police think about the guilt of the prisoners?” Orci asked. “The Pro brothers have in no way admitted any complicity in the conspiracy; no such complicity has ever been proven against them.” Guerra answered, slowly and clearly, promising that a public trial would take place the next day. *** On the eve of the execution, Calles and Cruz met in the Castle’s presidential office, seated across from one another. “All ready?” Calles asked. “Yes, sir. Here is the file against the alleged perpetrators of the dynamite attack.” Silence as Calles read through the file, page by page, while Cruz thumbed through an illustrated magazine. After 25 minutes, Calles said, “Then the guilt of these individuals has been proven, and of the priest, who was the mastermind.” Another silence as Calles stared at Cruz. “Does it not seem more convenient for us to consign them to the judicial authorities, to a court?” Cruz asked, suggesting that the case should go to trial, to keep up legal appearances. “No,” Calles answered crisply. “One must stop the evil in time, General Cruz. Execute them, and as soon as the order is fulfilled, come and give me an account of it.” *** In the basement of the Police Inspectorate, the Pro brothers awaited their fates. Earlier in the day, Cruz brought an Excelsior reporter to see the arrestees. The priest told the reporter, “I am grateful for the attention that I have received from those who arrested me, but I am an absolute stranger to the case of the attack against Obregon. I am a friend of order, I am in peace, and I hope that justice will shine in the light of day. I deny, unequivocally, to have taken any part in the conspiracy.” Later in the evening, of November 22, he tried to comfort his brothers: “Now, I think that we have finished the statements, I suppose that they will name a competent court and that we will be consigned to it.” But his thinking soon changed, when, starting around 9 p.m., a changing of the guard occurred every 30 minutes. To calm themselves, the brothers prayed five decades of the rosary, and after the last decade, the priest asked for the salvation of Calles. Roberto confessed to his brother, who absolved him. Then, all three were searched and photographed. “Now, things have gotten serious. I don’t know what’s coming, gentlemen, but I fear nothing good. Let’s ask God for resignation and strength for what may be, and let us resign ourselves to what will happen,” the priest said. The men suffered a restless night and woke around 6 the next morning. “I cannot explain why, I feel that today anything can happen, but it doesn’t scare me, because God will help us in anything. Let us ask Him for His grace,” the priest said. After mounted police assembled around the building, at 8 a.m., he warned, “This morning all three of us are going to be shot. Don’t worry. Rather, let us thank God that we have been chosen. Let us renew our offering, and let us pardon our enemies.” Around 9:30 that morning, the brothers heard the call of bugles and hustle of troops. When a police officer later arrived to retrieve the priest, he found all of them, surprisingly, in good humor. “Miguel Pro!” The priest heard his name called and started to leave without his sweater vest, until the officer ordered: “Put on your vest, and follow me.” Roberto helped him put his sweater vest on, and the priest gave his brother’s hand an emotional squeeze, walked through the door and was approached by one of the police officers who had arrested him. “I ask your forgiveness,” he begged of the priest. “Not only do I forgive you, but I will pray for you. I thank you for the great favor you are doing me today.” Roberto – who received a last-minute reprieve from execution – walked to the small window in his cell that peeked into the courtyard. Although boarded up, through a crack, he watched his brother walk by, escorted by two men in overcoats and fedoras. Moments passed. A cry from the courtyard: “Viva Cristo Rey!” And then, a fusillade of gunshots. *** Calles did not want the case to go to trial for a reason. Obregon was eventually assassinated, on July 17, 1928, and Calles lived on to become the Jefe Maximo, the Top Boss, during the Maximoto (1928-34), the period immediately after his presidency, when he was the real power behind the office. ************************************ Miscellanea and facts were pulled from the following: “Blessed Miguel Pro, SJ,” www.jesuit.org.sg/nov-miguel-pro-sj/. “Calles Believed About to Renew War on Church: Blaming Catholics for attack on Obregon thought to Preface Another Religious Persecution Outburst,” by Catholic News Service. “El gesto, el cuerpo y la memoria: los ecos históricos de la ejecución de Miguel Pro,” by Marisol Lopez Menendez. “El Indio que Mato al Padre Pro,” by Julio Scherer Garcia. “Martyr, Blessed and Saint? Father Pro,” by Pablo Serrano Alvarez. “Mexican Martyrdom,” by Wilfrid Parsons, SJ. “Miguel Agustin Pro, Martir de la Fe,” by Enrique Mendoza Delgado. “The Myth of Father Pro,” by Carlos Martinez Assad. Theresa Marie Moreau, an award-winning reporter, is the author of Martyrs in Red China; An Unbelievable Life: 29 Years in Laogai; Misery & Virtue; and Blood of the Martyrs: Trappist Monks in Communist China. Theresa may be contacted at TMMoreau@yahoo.com. 7/19/2022 1 Comment July 19th, 2022 The Life and Death of Father Jose Maria Robles Hurtado
Written by Theresa Marie Moreau If you are Catholic, the Cristeros are your ancestors in the Faith, no matter your nationality, race or social standing. – Anonymous Atop La Loma, a small rise in the foothills of the Sierra de Quila mountains, a tall, bespectacled priest – in a black, ankle-length cassock with a crucifix hanging from his neck – stood before a cross glinting in the sun. Father Jose Maria Robles Hurtado (1888-1927) officiated a spiritual participation, a local ceremony a few short miles north of the town of Tecolotlan, in the Mexican state of Jalisco, part of the national celebration of Christ proclaimed Rey de la Nacion, King of the Nation, on January 11, 1923. Without a roof, out in the open, the rood stood subject to nature’s whims. Several feet tall, absent a figure of The Nazarene, its simple adornments consisted of four plaques, one on each of its four arms. Top: Viva Cristo Rey; bottom: January 11, 1923; left: Tecolotlan of; right: Divine Heart. Around the object of devotion, gathered Robles, seven priests, two deacons, as well as 1,500 faithful from the nearest towns of Ayutla, Juchitlan, Tecolotlan, Tenemaxtlan and Union de Tula. Robles asked those present the following three questions: “Do you swear vassalage and fidelity to the Divine Heart? “Will you celebrate his holiday with primary character? “Do you swear filial and eternal consecration of the parish and the vicarage to the very Heart of Jesus?” “We swear!” all shouted together enthusiastically. The oath was identical to the one made nearly 200 miles away, where the Holy See’s Apostolic Delegate, Archbishop Ernesto Eugenio Filippi (1879-1951), officiated the national ceremony atop the summit of Cerro del Cubilete, the approximate geographic center of Mexico, near Silao, in the state of Guanajuato. An estimated 40,000 Catholics surrounded the monumental statue of Christ – with arms lovingly outstretched for an eternal embrace and its pedestal wrapped with a thick tri-color ribbon. For his public leadership and participation in the illegal public religious ceremony, the Archbishop would be expelled from the nation. And in 1928, the statue of Christ would be destroyed, bombed by the Socialist regime in an effort to erase all symbols of Catholicism. In honor of the day and to celebrate Christ as the King of the Nation, Robles – a poet at heart – composed a few lines: If as King my country proclaims you It is, sweet heart, that loves you, Heart of Jesus, You alone rule In my afflicted homeland; that waits for you. January 11 of the year 23, Jesus, my country said, He is my King! Long live Jesus the King of loves! May the flowers be for Him from Mexico. Heart of Jesus, sweet hope, In my soil your empire is luck. Christian believers suffered persecution at the hands of the Mexican Socialist government and its ratified Political Constitution of the United Mexican States of 1917 – yet another constitutional overhaul in the country riven with ideological chaos – that outlined forbidden practices of religion, specifically Catholicism, in Articles 3, 5, 24, 27 and 130. Article 3 banned religious schools and demanded secular education only. Article 5 forbade the establishment of monastic orders. Article 24 outlawed acts of public worship, which were ordered to be held only in churches under the strict supervision of civil, not religious, authorities. Article 27, a continuation of the Agrarian Reform Decree of January 6, 1915, permitted the government confiscation of land owned by the Catholic Church and prohibited the Church from owning land. And Article 130 mandated that only native-born Mexicans could be priests; that only state legislatures could determine the number of priests; that matrimony was exclusively a contract under the auspices of civil authorities; that Catholic churches were to be controlled by the Ministry of the Interior; that spoken and written criticism by religious of the government was absolutely prohibited; and that spiritual formation of priests was forbidden. Unjust laws. A man of peace and a man of love, especially for the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, Robles did not rebel against the authorities. Understanding that parishioners loved and respected him – as their spiritual father – and would do anything that he asked, he never encouraged them to act against the government, because he did not want to cause them trouble; however, he did encourage them to defend their God-given rights, in a non-violent fashion, completely in line with the doctrine of the Church. According to the Catechism of the Council of Trent (first published in 1566), in obedience of the Fourth Commandment, civil rulers – images of divine power – should be honored, respected and obeyed, because whatever obedience is given to the civil ruler is given to God. “However, should their command be wicked or unjust, they should not be obeyed, since in such a case they rule not according to their rightful authority, but according to injustice and perversity.” The Catholic country’s government had been seized by Socialists – opportunistic, anti-Christian ideologues fueled by a contempt for peaceful society and by a desire for Permanent Revolution, a theory hatched by Leon Trotsky (born Lev Davidovich Bronshtein (1879-1940). In 1931, Trotsky wrote: “The Dictatorship of the Proletariat, which has risen to power as the leader of the Democratic Revolution, is inevitably and very quickly confronted with tasks…The Democratic Revolution grows over directly into the Socialist Revolution and, thereby, becomes a Permanent Revolution.” The revolutionary leader – who conceived of and created the world’s first “concentration camps”: prisons for political enemies and counterrevolutionaries – lost a power struggle with Joseph Stalin (1878-1953), the head of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The exiled Socialist sought asylum in Mexico, where he engaged in adultery with Frida Kahlo (1907-54), a card-carrying member of the Mexican Communist Party. Trotsky was eventually hunted down in Mexico City and assassinated by Stalin’s hitman, Jaime Ramon Mercader del Rio (1913-78), a Soviet agent who wielded a mountaineering ice axe. Aggressive to achieve their Communist Utopia (from the Greek ou-topos, which translates to “no place”), Socialists may display antisocial mental disorders in which one has no remorse or conscience, no regard for traditional right or wrong, and feels free to take action – including violence or death – against perceived enemies: those who disagree, fail to do what is ordered, or refuse to affirm the inflated view of the politically elite vanguard. It’s a disorder in an individual that creates disorder in the world. That was the world in which Robles lived, and those were the dangers he faced, but the risks had never daunted his lifelong faith. As a boy – after attending a Parish Mission filled with fiery sermons and public acts of worship, in his hometown of Mascota – Robles heard a slight whisper in his heart that remained. Born on May 3, the Feast of the Finding of the Holy Cross, it seemed it was his destiny to embrace and follow the Cross. Although it was a financial struggle for his parents, Antonio de Robles and Petronila Hurtado, as well as his 11 brothers and sisters, at the age of 13, he answered God’s call. In October 1901, following a journey of two days by horseback and one by train to the city of Guadalajara, he entered the Minor Seminary of San Jose, located at Calle Reforma and Avenida Fray Antonio Alcalde. In 1904, he continued his philosophical and theological studies at the Major Seminary of San Jose, located at Calle Reforma, Calle Santa Monica and Calle San Felipe, where he studied Logic, Metaphysics, Cosmology, Psychology, Theodicy and Ethics. At the age of 16, he received the tonsure, on January 22, 1905, from Guadalajara Archbishop Jose de Jesus Ortiz Rodriguez (1849-1912). At the age of 25, in 1913, he received the Sacrament of Holy Orders. In 1916, to reach his new assignment in Nochistlan de Mejia, in Zacatecas, he walked two days along bridle paths to meet his pastor, Father Roman Adame Rosales (1859-1927), who would die a martyr’s death after he was captured and tortured by government forces, who executed him by firing squad on April 21, 1927. Despite living under the dark cloud of governmental anti-Catholicism, Robles continued to fulfill the duties of his state in life, consecrated to Christ, accepting his role in the natural order of the world, as the Will of God. To refuse would have been an offense against the Author of Nature. Embracing his vocation, Robles set to work fulfilling the needs that he saw in his parish. Because most of the religious from other countries had been forced to leave Mexico after the enactment of the 1917 Constitution, the young priest founded the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (las Hermanas del Corazon de Jesus Sacramentado), on December 27, 1918, to assist with the needs of the Catholic community. The first were: Amalia Vergara Chavez (Sister Superior), Adelina Vergara Chavez, Juana Yanez, Maria del Carmen Donlucas Sandoval, Maria Dolores Duan Gutierrez, Maria Elizalde and Maria Prieto. Robles put the Sisters in charge of a hospital, which had been dilapidated until he oversaw its renovations. There the Sisters ministered to the sick seeking help, and then they opened the first school, on August 4, 1919, in Nochistlan. When Robles transferred, in December 1920, to Tecolotlán, where he was promoted to pastor, the Sisters stayed behind, continuing their ministry with the sick, with the school and with some orphaned girls. Slowly, the noose began to tighten around the necks of Catholics, and then in a dramatic, anti-Catholic push, President Plutarco Elias Calles (1877-1945) passed laws that would give authorities more power over the Church and total control of the churches. On July 31, 1926, the Law for Reforming the Penal Code – the so-called Calles Law – was to take effect. The Catholic hierarchy reacted by ordering the suspension of Sacraments inside all churches to take effect on the same day. Like other priests in the 12,000 Catholic churches throughout Mexico, on Friday, July 30, 1926, Robles offered the Sacraments, steadily offering Holy Communion until midnight, and then carried the Blessed Sacrament to safety. The next day, he moved from the rectory of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, at 11 Gil Preciado Calle, in the heart of Tecolatlan. But he continued to tend to his flock, listening to confessions, visiting the sick, aiding the dying, offering Mass in homes. After the enactment of the Calles Law, the religious orders and communities began to be dissolved, including the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Robles sent the nuns, novices and postulants to their homes. Authorities targeted priests, including Robles, issuing a warrant for his arrest. However, instead of sending the warrant to the Tecolotlan mayor, it was mistakenly sent to the Teocuitatlan mayor, a devout Catholic who informed his parish priest with a warning, “May the priest hide himself quickly and well.” The Teocuitatlan priest informed Robles, on December 12, 1926, and hide well, he did. But despite the threat to his life, Robles celebrated Holy Hour at La Loma, on January 11, 1927, the anniversary of the national proclamation of Christ as the King of Mexico. Undaunted, Robles distributed national flags adorned with the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe to Cristeros, whom he encouraged to give their lives for Christ and for the Faith. Soon thereafter, on January 14, 1927, Robles went into hiding in the home of Vicente Santa and Maria de Jesus Ramirez. Three days later, Father Jenaro Sanchez Delgadillo (1886-1927), Robles’ vicar in the parish of Tamazulita, was out hunting, on January 17, 1927, when he was captured by agraristas, peasants armed by the regime. Hanged from a mesquite tree in his parish, his body swayed in the darkness of the night, until dawn, when his executioners returned, shot the corpse in the left shoulder, dropped him to the ground and finished with a coup de grace, a bayonet stab to the chest. Sanchez had been hounded by authorities for years, first jailed in 1917, after reading aloud to his parishioners during Sunday Mass the following pastoral letter from Archbishop Francisco Orozco y Jimenez (1864-1936): June 4, 1917, Pastoral Letter. Francisco, by the Grace of God and favor of the Apostolic See, Archbishop of Guadalajara. To the Very Reverend Dean and Chapter of the Cathedral and to the Reverend clergy, secular and regular, and to all the faithful of the archdiocese. Peace and Benediction in Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Beloved Brethren: Certain motives of prudence have prevented me from communicating directly with my beloved flock; although, I have not for one moment ceased to watch over its well-being; but now I deem it my duty to direct you a brief message breaking the silence, which was responsible for much anxiety to souls, although this time it was a silence which hard circumstances imposed upon us. Very well, it is known to everybody that the new political Constitution, while it recognizes many of the rights of the people, having put aside the Catholic Church altogether (under which the majority of the people live; although, they do not all receive our holy religion in its entirety, but are often the victims of modern errors), tries to subjugate and oppress that Church, often condemning her to the point of suppressing her very name. Are we able to reconcile this with the sacred and inalienable rights of this sacred Institution? And how can Catholics suffer an order of things that obliges them, not only to renounce the most sought gift of heaven, but also to ratify this oppression by their acquiescence? I found myself obliged to protest, as I did, against the new constitution, as a representative of this portion of the Catholic Church, and made such protest together with the greater part of the Mexican Episcopate, whose letter was formulated in United States on the 24th of February last, as you yourselves, dear beloved, must already know. Their measured words, and convincing reasons, and the declarations which appear in this protest, give you all to understand, in general terms, what ought to be the reasonable interpretation and real spirit of the new legislation, and also what should be your conduct toward it, as Catholics and faithful sons of the Church; they also make known to our enemies that it is not the spirit of sedition or conspiracy which animates the pastors of the Church, the venerable clergy or the faithful themselves. Be sure, my beloved sons, that the lot of the Spouse of Jesus Christ is not different from that of her Divine Founder: Tribulations, persecutions, shame, blood and martyrdom is her patrimony and her heritage. “The disciple is not better than his Master.” “If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you.” The history of the Church teaches us those things; making us also understand that, as it happened to the Barque of Peter, on Lake Gennesaret – after the tempest, will come calm and tranquility. And now that we realize the divine warnings, let us not content ourselves with vain laments, but, rather, secure the fruits of our sufferings and purify according to the high designs of the Savior, our souls, by contemplating the indestructible principles of our holy religion, which makes us love virtue and detest vice; also, to walk always in hold dread of God, and to encourage the hope of better times, and the upending goods, which alone we are permitted to covet. Now is the time to revive within us the true Catholic spirit, and eliminate all compromise with modern errors, condemned by the Church, to separate the straw from the grain; thus, then practically will shine forth the splendor of high Christian virtue, and thus the enemies of the Church will recognize and glorify God and His Christ. The venerable clergy is invited and exhorted by the present persecution, in a thousand ways, to serve as an example to the common faithful; for they have put their hand to the plow to procure their proper sanctification, which their high state exacts; and the faithful in whatever condition in which they are placed, having the clear and definite voice of the Divine Master, who applies to us His gentle lash, must also give a hand to the work of their own sanctification. If the contrary occur, it is to be feared that we may be abandoned by the Divine Clemency, and that for us there may come the terrible way when the Sun of Justice will be hidden from us forever. May He illumine our souls and concede us the grace to follow the truth, so that our faith may be revived, and our charity inflamed, and we may resolve anew to serve and love God and the Savior, with all the force of our souls. May the Holy Virgin of Guadalupe be very propitious to us! May we always implore those potent graces, so that we may the better be able to resist, in time of temptation, and tribulation, and, thus, to conserve unblemished our glorious faith and time-honored customs. I impart to you my paternal benediction, imploring from above all good things upon you. This pastoral letter is to be read in the usual manner. Given from one of my parishes, on the 4th day of June, 1917. +Francisco, Archbishop of Guadalajara. __________________________________________________________ After the odium fidei death of Sanchez, Robles predicted, “My turn will be soon.” And yet – even in hiding – he continued to tend to his parishioners, going out in street clothes, administering the Sacraments. When he heard that authorities had learned of his whereabouts, he fled in the middle of the night and found sanctuary, on February 9, 1927, in the home of Adelaida Brambila de Agraz, whose mansion stood across the way from the agrarista barracks. While staying at the mansion, his brother, Guadalupe, visited to take the priest home to safety in Mascota. He refused. “He who abandons his flock is not a good shepherd,” the priest answered and remained and continued to tend to his flock, and beyond. When he learned that the Holy Cross of La Loma had been smashed to pieces, he offered a Mass in reparation. At some point, Lieutenant Colonel Alonso Calderon received the following telegraph: “Proceed with all rigor against the rebel priest.” On Saturday, June 25, after authorities searched a few homes, they arrived at the Agraz mansion, as Robles prepared to say Mass for the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. When Calderon knocked on the door, Robles opened the door and readily surrendered. Escorted to the agrarista barracks across the street, he smiled to those he met. Placed in solitary confinement, he spent his time wisely, praying and writing. Parishioners tried to free him, but authorities already had the order for execution. Around midnight, seven agraristas quietly removed him from the barracks. Fearing that the townspeople would stop the execution, the group headed north out of town, for the foothills of the Sierra de Quila, the same foothills where Robles had dedicated the cross, parishioners, the vicarate and himself to Christ, the King of the Nation. In the midst of the June-July rainy season, the daily downpours made Robles’ Way of Sorrows even more physically difficult because of the thick mud. When he faltered, it was at La Loma where one of the men, who had brought an additional horse, offered it to Robles. And the darkness. With only a thin strip of the waning crescent moon shedding the faintest glimmer of light, the group lost its way. When one of his captors grew irate, the priest pulled a small candle stub from his pocket and lit the wick to show the way to his death. After the arduous journey of nearly four hours, the group arrived early in the morning at the summit of Sierra de Quila and stopped at an oak tree, around 4 a.m., still dark, on June 26, 1927. The agraristas readied the noose and tossed the rope over a branch of a leafy, gnarled, old oak tree, with speed, for they did not want the villagers to learn of their presence before the deed was done. During the last days and weeks of his life he had frequently exclaimed, “Yes! The Eucharistic Heart of Jesus will take me on this day.” His day had arrived. Understanding that his moment of martyrdom neared, Robles fell to his knees, prayed for a few minutes, raised his hand to bless his parish, and raised his hand to bless his executioners, forgiving them for what they were about to do. He then kissed the ground and stood. A man with a rope approached the priest. The two knew one another. He was Robles’ compadre, Enrique Vazquez. “My friend, do not stain your hands,” Robles said. Taking the noose, he blessed the rope and kissed it as if it were a priest’s stole, acknowledging the yoke of Christ, and pulled it over his head until it encircled his neck and draped over his shoulders. “May my blood fall on my people as a sign of blessing and forgiveness,” he said. Seconds before his hanging, he exclaimed, “Yours, always yours, Eucharistic Heart of Jesus! Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit!” Execution accomplished, the agraristas dropped the still-warm body and walked to nearby houses in Quila, a small village. They approached some muleteers and told them about the dead priest under an oak tree. Employees of a coal factory retrieved the body and placed it in a nearby coal cellar. When they learned the executed was a priest, they disinterred the body and reburied it in the cemetery, from where he was later exhumed and moved to Guadalajara, June 26, 1932. A poet at heart, hours before his martyrdom, Father Jose Maria Robles Hurtado penned his final verses: I want to love your Heart My Jesus, with delirium, I want to love you with passion, I want to love you until martyrdom. With my soul I bless you, my Sacred Heart. Tell me: has the moment come of happy and eternal union? Stretch out your arms to me, Jesus, because I am your little one; from them, safely protected, where you order it, I go!! Under the protection of my mother and running on her account, I, the little one of her soul, I fly into her arms smiling. __________________________________________________________ Decades after the death of Father Jose Maria Robles Hurtado, the oak tree – on which he hanged – perished, like its famous victim. A church dedicated to his memory was built, in Quila, on the spot by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. In the courtyard, another very old oak tree still stands and is honored as the Arbol Testigo (witness tree), because it witnessed the hanging of a martyr, who was beatified on the Feast of Christ the King, on November 22, 1992, and canonized on the fifth Sunday of Easter, May 21, 2000. I would like to especially thank Sister Eugenia Mayela Ortega, Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (las Hermanas del Corazon de Jesus Sacramentado). Without her, this piece would not have been possible. Miscellanea and facts were pulled from the following: New York Times; “San Jose Ma. Robles Hurtado: Sacerdote, Fundador y Martir,” by Ramiro Camacho, 470 pages; and “San Jose Ma. Robles Hurtado: Sacerdote, Fundador y Martir,” by Ramiro Camacho, 174 pages. Theresa Marie Moreau, an award-winning reporter, is the author of Martyrs in Red China; An Unbelievable Life: 29 Years in Laogai; Misery & Virtue; and Blood of the Martyrs: Trappist Monks in Communist China. This piece was originally posted in The Remnant Newspaper: https://remnantnewspaper.com/web/index.php/articles/item/6037-cristeros-spotlight-fr-jose-maria-robles 2/23/2022 1 Comment February 23rd, 2022On June 27, 2010, "With God in China" won top Los Angeles Press Club Journalism Award in the News Feature Category Judges' comments: “Her gripping account of life for two Catholic priests in China is superb. She calmly explains the constant political upheaval in China, the awful effects of those changes on Winance and Zhou — and their unflinching faith — and finally, how they emerged later with new lives. It’s a history lesson, a faith lesson and a stark recitation of a dark time in history.”  Father Eleutherius and Brother Peter, in 2009. With God in China: Father Eleutherius and Brother Peter by Theresa Marie Moreau First Published in The Remnant, April 2009 Joseph Marie Louis Stanislas Winance was 4 years old when he stood on a train platform in Mons, Belgium, in 1914. Surrounded by his family, he squeezed his way past long skirts and stepped over thick leather shoes to say goodbye to his Aunt Marta Reumont, who was heading to China that June morning to become a novitiate with the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. “Aunt Marta, one day I will go to China and be your cook,” he said, looking up into her smiling face. Little did that small boy realize how part of his childhood pledge would come true. For 20 years later, as a cleric in St. Andrew Abbey in Bruges, Belgium, Winance was walking along the cloister, reading his breviary when he received an order to go to the office of Father Abbot Théodore Nève. “My dear son,” Nève said to the 24-year-old dressed in the long black Benedictine habit, draped in the long black shadows of the late afternoon, “I plan to send you to China.”  Father Abbot Théodore Nève. “Yes,” was all Winance said, but he wasn’t prepared for what he heard. He didn’t sleep all that night. His thoughts dwelled on the trouble the Communists had caused in Szechwan, the province where he would be sent. His Aunt Marta, who had become Sister Marie Jeanne Françoise de Chantal, mourned the loss of several buildings her order had built in the city of Kangting and that the Red armies had burned and destroyed. Nonetheless, after a restless night, the morning brought a tranquility that sedated his soul. He accepted his fate as the will of God and wrote to tell his parents about the future mission of their eldest of four sons. Two years later, on the morning of September 4, 1936, the bells of St. Andrew rang out to celebrate the departure of three newly ordained priests: Father Vincent Martin, Father Wilfrid Weitz and Winance, who as a novitiate had taken the name Eleutherius. They were all young men in their 20s who had dedicated their lives and their work to God. They were headed for the Republic of China. Before leaving the cloister, Winance received a bon voyage gift from Nève. “The Rule of St. Benedict,” with the following inscription: “I wish never to see you again.” Winance smiled. He completely understood the message. Many had left the abbey for their missions, but some had failed and returned. He slipped the book into his leather suitcase – a gift from his Uncle Henri Reumont, a Capuchin missionary with the religious name Father Damian.  . Father Eleutherius. The three priests traveled to China via Moscow, the Communist capital of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. There they boarded the Trans-Siberian Railway’s Trans-Manchurian line and readied for the 5,568-mile trip to Peking (old form of Beijing), China’s northern capital. There he paid a visit to a woman he hadn’t seen in many years. “Here is my cook in China,” Aunt Marta joked as she introduced her lanky nephew to her sisters in the convent. She had not forgotten. It was a marvelous reunion. From Peking, it was another train, to Hankow, a big city on the third longest river in the world – the Yangtze, also known as the Chang Jiang and the Blue River. Then west. Their steamboat coughed its way along the water, which flowed red, a prophetic color of muddied blood, and chugged between moss-covered sky-high gorges. Winance stared at the mountains that broke through the water and stretched straight up, endlessly. One of the wonders of the world, he thought. Passing Chinese junks with their dragon-wing sails flapping, Winance’s boat pulled up for a breather in Chungking. Then one more ship, one more day, northward, to Hechuan, where Winance and his two confreres hired porters, lovers of the opium pipe who bore their burdens – priests and possessions – upon chairs dangling from poles that rode upon their calloused shoulders. Yes, the priests had traveled from West to East, from Occident to Orient, but in their journey, they had been, seemingly, transported – in all they saw, in all they experienced – from the 20th century back to the 14th. Late one afternoon, after a week of traveling on foot and upon chair through Suining, Pengxi, Nanchung, a final deep valley led up a hill to the other side. At the top, the men paused. Winance walked to the edge and looked down. Just below, for the first time, he saw his future home: SS. Peter and Andrew Priory of Nanchung.  Shishan. When they arrived at the hilltop, the day was gray. So, too, was Winance’s mood. I shall never be happy here, he thought. It was 5:15 in the afternoon, November 19, 1936. The sun, still up, but sinking fast. Winance looked at the main building, designed with a classical Chinese style, its roof corners decorated with upturned eaves, like erect dragon tails. A courtyard peeked out from the center. To the left, a small red-sand mountain covered with rows of mandarin orange trees leaning sunward, lurching from their three hillside terraces. For the final 10 minutes of a 10-week-long journey, Winance jogged downhill. The monastery had been founded in 1929, an answer to a plea for more priests in China that had been requested of Nève on Christmas 1926, during a visit to St. Andrew’s by the much-celebrated, newly ordained Chinese bishops, in photo below, from left to right: Bishop Kai-Min “Simon” Chu (1868-1960, Society of Jesus), Bishop Jo-Shan “Joseph” Hu (1881-1962, Congregation of the Mission), Bishop Chao-Tien “Aloysius” Tchen (1875-1930, Order of Friars Minor), Bishop Huai-Yi “Philippe" Tchao (1880-1927), Bishop He-De “Odoric Simon” Tcheng (1873-1928, Order of Friars Minor) and Bishop De-Zhen “Melchior” Souen (1869-1951, Congregation of the Mission).  The monks called their monastery Shi Shan, Chinese for Mountain of the West, in which it nestled. Although Winance knew French, Latin, Greek, English, he knew not a word, not a character of Chinese, so he had to learn the language. After a month-long rest, just before winter’s drizzle soaked monks and monastery, Winance headed – on foot – to Suining, about 70 miles. For the next nine months, Winance made his home with the Society of Foreign Missions of Paris in their two-story priory and offered Mass in its adjoining chapel – both built in a European style that stood like palaces surrounded by a city of hovels. To pick up the everyday language of the local dialect of Mandarin, the language of mainland China, his days were filled with hours of repetition. But the real challenge came after lunch, when local children gathered around the priests resting outdoors in the chapel’s garden. Among them was a slim, shy boy of 10, Bang-Jiu Zhou.  Zhou’s family, Catholics for who-knows-how-many generations, lived in a one-story, four-room wood structure without amenities. No electricity, only wicks soaked with oil of the colza plant gave light. Water, carried from a public well on the street corner. Bare earth served as the floor. Ventilation came from a hole in the roof above the coal cooker. Fresh air, and rain, entered from two broken windows in the loft. Property of the church, it was located on the other side of a wall behind the chapel, so close, that Zhou often attended and served daily Mass with his elder brother. But on Sundays and holy days of obligation, the Zhous walked several miles to the big parish church, located within the city walls. One Sunday in the winter of 1934, Nève, father abbot of the Benedictine monastery in Bruges, and Father Gabriel Roux, then-prior of Shi Shan, had both visited Suining. After Mass, Zhou’s father, Zi-Nan “Paul” Zhou, had an idea. Although he persevered at selling eyeglasses from his sidewalk table, with seven sons, the few yuan he earned never seemed enough. He wanted his No. 6 son to have a future. Following thanksgiving prayers, he pulled Zhou from the pew, and the two walked to the priory, where Nève, Roux and the Chinese pastor sat in the lounge, waiting for breakfast. Zhou and his father entered, kneeled before Nève and kissed his ring.  Father Abbot Théodore Nève (seated, with pectoral cross); to his immediate right is Bishop Wen-Cheng “Paul” Wang, Bishop of Nanchung; photo taken at SS. Peter and Andrew Priory of Nanchung, on October 3, 1934, the Feast of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, Patroness of the Missions. Please, receive my son in the monastery as an oblate to study to be a monk,” Zhou’s father asked. The Chinese pastor translated for the Belgians into Latin in sotto voce. The two visiting priests said nothing, but smiled. Four years later, in August 1938, when the monastery began accepting oblates, Zhou, at the age of 12, was one of the first. He wanted a better life, that was clear, but to be a monk, that was not clear. Even though life inside the monastery was – on most days – peaceful, life in China was anything but, for the country had been in turmoil for years. After the Republican Revolution of 1911, which ended a centuries-long dynastic rule, the Chinese Nationalist Party (Kuomintang) was formed by a number of Republican cliques that had ousted the traditional rulers. But in 1927, the Nationalists – after Kai-Shek Chiang assumed leadership – ousted its Communist contingent because of its incitement and sadistic fondness of mob violence – especially at the encouragement of its ringleader Tse-Tung Mao. But Mao, a notorious sore loser, never, ever forgot or forgave a slight. That snub in 1927 ignited the highly volatile on-again-off-again Chinese Civil War between the Nationalist and Communist factions that ravaged China for more than two decades. However, the Communists weren’t the only problem. There was also the Empire of Japan, which saw the fractures in China’s infrastructure as an opportunity to make land grabs. In an attempt to establish their own political and economic domination, in 1931, they invaded Manchuria, a region in northeast China, where they wanted to get their hands on China’s natural resources of coal, iron, gold and giant forests. Then in 1937, the Chinese-Japanese War began when the Imperial Japanese Army marched victoriously into Peking, then into Shanghai and on and on throughout China. As part of its plan of aggression, the Imperial Japanese Air Combat Groups dispatched war planes that dropped bombs upon populated areas, killing countless Chinese. When Japanese military aircraft crossed the Szechwan border, a high-pitched steam whistle all the way in Nanchung alerted everyone within earshot, including those in the monastery. Although several miles away, it was impossible to miss. Winance rounded up the oblates, including Zhou, and all sought safety outdoors, away from the buildings, usually under a rock or in a hole in the ground. More than once, as the planes dropped their cargo onto Nanchung, Winance listened to the descending whistles of the bombs before they exploded upon the earth. During the height of the Japanese invasion, the no-holds-barred death match between the Nationalists and the Communists was given a lengthy timeout when Communists kidnapped Chiang and compelled him to sign a truce, creating on paper a superficial United Front in the War of Resistance Against Japan to fight the invaders. That was the situation in China. It was a mess. And in Europe, World War II raged. The result: no communication, no money between Shi Shan and St. Andrew Abbey in Belgium. Cut off financially from its motherhouse, the fledgling religious community had to shutter Shi Shan in 1942 and seek refuge in Szechwan’s capital city, Chengtu, where Bishop Jacques Victor Marius Rouchouse offered the Benedictines a monastery and financial help. Slowly, the monks and oblates migrated from mountain to metropolis. Zhou moved to the new priory in July 1944. Winance stayed in Shi Shan until July 1945, when he received a short letter from the prior, Father Raphael Vinciarelli. “Come to Chengtu,” Vinciarelli wrote. With his breviary, diary, bits of paper with scribbles in Latin and Greek and a few other books packed away in the same leather suitcase his Uncle Henri had given him for his journey to Shi Shan in 1936, Winance shut the door to his cell a final time. He trudged up the hill he had jogged down 10 years before, turned and looked at the monastery one last time. I was wrong. I was very, very happy here, he thought. Never again did he see Shi Shan. It was a familiar journey to Chengtu. Winance hiked one day to Nanchung, where he hitched a ride on a truck, which nearly killed him when it overturned. But he made it, exhausted, and finally walked through the front gate of his new home, 172 Yang Shi Kai (Goat Market Street). One month later, on August 15, 1945, on the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, World War II ended, and with the defeat of the Japanese, the Chinese celebrated Victory Over Japan (V-J) Day. But it wasn’t fun and firecrackers for long. The end of the Japanese occupation also brought the end of the so-called truce between Mao’s Communists and Chiang’s Nationalists. An all-out civil war between the two ensued in an elimination battle. Mao hounded Chiang and eventually chased him from the mainland to Formosa (old Portuguese name of Taiwan). Nonetheless, with the theophobic Communists marauding around the northern border of Szechwan, the future looked grim for Catholics. Then when Mao – the materialist messiah of the “new” China – stood at the Gate of Heavenly Peace overlooking Tiananmen Square, on October 1, 1949, and announced the birth of the Marxist monster, the People’s Republic of China – with himself the head of the beast – that was truly the beginning of the end. But for Zhou, the theophilic Catholic, what happened in the material world mattered not to his spiritual world. On October 15, 1949, he stepped into the sanctuary of the monastery’s chapel, kneeled before the altar and was admitted into the novitiate. He dedicated his life to that Benedictine battalion in the Church Militant, his body received the habit and he received a new name: Peter. The final stages of the civil war continued. Throughout October 1949. Then November. In December, a constant firing of weapons outside the city could be heard inside the city. The Nationalists weakened. They couldn’t hold it together any longer. Following a two-week battle between the enemies in the countryside surrounding Chengtu, the Nationalists finally retreated. They gave up the fight, gave up the city, gave up the war and gave up the country. To Communism. Few realized what had happened at 3 o’clock that early Christmas morning. Winance had no idea as he mounted his bicycle around 9 a.m. and steered for a boulevard outside the city, which had turned oddly quiet. An affable sort, he wanted to spread holiday cheer and wish Merry Christmas to some Protestant intellectuals he had befriended at the Provincial Academy of Fine Arts, where they all taught. Wheeling along, he noticed freshly raised red flags flying everywhere, snapping in the winter wind and many new posters pasted on the city walls, splashed with huge, bold Chinese characters: FREEDOM OF THOUGHT, FREEDOM OF SPEECH, FREEDOM OF RELIGION. His friends, the professors, had already heard about the change in government and were all atwitter. Unhappy under the Nationalists because of economic crises that had dominated the news during their rule, the Marxist intellectuals looked forward to a new life under the Communists, who had promised everyone everything: Everyone would be rich. Everyone would have a piano. But in reality, by the end of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (1966-76), mostly only Communist officials would be rich, most pianos would be destroyed and an estimated 77 million Chinese would be dead as a result of the regime’s orders. But nothing extraordinary happened at the monastery, until April 25, 1950. That night, at 9 o’clock, the monks heard the furious barking of their many dogs kept loose on the property to keep Communists out. “Tie the dogs up,” shouted a stranger in the dark. Slowly, deliberately, the monks calmed the dogs. “We have an order to make a search of the buildings. Go to your rooms,” ordered a uniformed police officer, with 50 more behind him. All the monks retreated. Behind a closed door, Winance listened to the goings-on outside his room. When he heard the clicking of gun metal in the room below, in the cell of Father Werner de Papeians de Morchoven, he opened the door to go downstairs and investigate. “Stay in your room,” ordered an officer. The situation in China had definitely taken a turn. Winance returned to his room and quietly looked through his bureau. He found a photograph of de Morchoven dressed in his uniform as chaplain to the U.S. Air Force, which could cause definite trouble indefinitely. Winance immediately swallowed the photo. For six hours he stayed in his room. The officers didn’t leave until 3 a.m., after a thorough search for radios, transmitters, anything that could be used to make contact outside China. They also searched – unsuccessfully – for anything that could link the monks to the Legion of Mary, a benign, religious organization. A year earlier, in 1949, the Communists had established the Three-Self Reform Movement, so named for its aim to be self-governing, self-supporting and self-propagating. The Movement (later replaced by the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association in July 15, 1957) was the Communist attempt to break completely with the Vatican and the Pope and to establish a schismatic Chinese catholic church. When the Reds noticed that Catholics steered clear of the Movement, the regime decided to push their atheist agenda, and because the Legion of Mary, an apostolic association, had educated Catholics about the true intentions of the Communist-backed Three-Self Reform Movement, Mao launched a campaign of revenge. On October 8, 1951, the persecution of Roman Catholics officially began when Mao labeled the Legion as Public Enemy No. 1. Its group, counterrevolutionary. Its members, “running dogs of American imperialists.” So, too, were all Catholics who refused to cooperate and register with the Movement. Freedom, Mao’s lie of the past, was followed by a new word whispered by everyone else: Purge. Fear filled everyone. Daily papers printed by the regime ran editorials of pure propaganda that were to manipulate public opinion for the Party’s purpose. Anyone who did not share the Party’s ideas was labeled an “enemy of the People,” and when “the People” (Communist officials) demanded justice, the enemies were hauled before “judges” (interrogators) and dealt with as they deemed. Consequently, freight trucks packed with the condemned, wearing big labels on their backs, ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE, headed day and night for Chengtu’s North Gate. With tension taut, Zhou ventured outdoors very seldom, remaining in the monastery to study. On the other hand, to record for history what he witnessed, Winance continued to ride his bicycle around the city, where he noticed, at times, a certain man. “A man of around 30 years old, clothed with the blue uniform of the ‘organized and conscious’ workers was inspecting the lorries with their load of human victims at the gate, among a roaring crowd,” Winance wrote in his diary. “When the lorries were slowly passing the gate, the man ‘sketched’ in the air a small gesture while he looked at the lorries. That man was a priest, giving the last absolution to Catholics crouched in the lorries, all about to die. He was absolving some of his faithful parishioners lost in the crowd of ‘damned’ enemies of the People.” Past the North Gate, a final ride across a bridge of stone, the victims were herded out of trucks and executed, usually shot in the back of the head as they knelt at the edge of a pit. Their limp bodies, tumbled headfirst into mass graves. On November 4, 1951, Zhou was ordered to attend a public meeting, during which the Roman Catholic Church would be criticized. Before entering the monastery’s grand entrance hall, where the Communists ordered the meeting to be held, Zhou prepared a speech. In it, he described the Pope of Rome as the only visible head of the Roman Catholic Church, denounced the Three-Self Reform Movement as a Communist tool and defended the Legion of Mary as a religious organization. As he wrote down his sentiments, he realized what effect his counterrevolutionary words would have on his future, which he summed up in his conclusion. “My head is completely calm and clear. My soul is impregnated with the eternal truth of Jesus and with His inexhaustible goodness. In the final analysis, I know who Jesus Christ is. I understand where man comes from and where he goes after death. This gives me a more profound knowledge of the meaning of human life,” he said, in a clear and strong voice. He did not falter. “Therefore, do no worry about me. Do not try to offer a hand of sympathy to save me from what are my chains of truth. I only ask you to do with me whatever you like, according to the common judgment of the masses. I deliver my body to you, but I keep my soul for the good God, for Him, who has created me, nourished me, redeemed me and loved me.” Zhou was ready to accept his fate, and the chains. So was Winance, who on the morning of February 5, 1952, received an order to go to the police station, where he underwent interrogation and insults. In a few hours, he found himself before the Supreme Court of the Military Government of Western Szechwan, who found him guilty of his “crimes”: that he had spread false rumors, opposed the Three-Self Reform Movement, etc., etc. Sentence: “forever banished.” That evening, around 6 p.m., Winance and 11 other foreigners, mostly elderly – five priests and six nuns – were marched forcibly through the streets of Chengtu and out the South Gate to walk along the old stone road. His Aunt Marta had left China years earlier. For 15 days, the political enemies were escorted by six armed guards as they traveled by foot, bus, train and boat until they reached China’s southern border on February 21, 1952. Many in the dirt-encrusted group were almost too weak, too sick to cross Lo Wu Bridge into Hong Kong, and into freedom. Once safely on the other side, Winance wrote to his mother, “I come from hell.” But in hell, Zhou remained. Because he was a native Chinese, he was not permitted to leave. And no one outside China heard a single word about him. Nothing. Nothing but complete silence. No one knew that the Communists forced him out of the monastery on April 26, 1952, after which he barely scraped by for a few years. No one knew what happened to him on November 7, 1955, when he was wakened at 3 a.m. by the blare of a car horn, followed by someone pounding on the front door. He jumped out of bed, pulled on some clothes and started to answer the door on the first floor, when two police officers, each holding a revolver, ran up the stairs. “Raise your hands,” they shouted. For Zhou, that night he was arrested was the beginning of 26 years of torture. Accused of crimes against the People’s Government because he had refused to join the Communist “church,” he was considered a counterrevolutionary, one who opposed the Communist Revolution, a political enemy. He was locked up and endured intense interrogations for nearly three years. At one point, his hands were cuffed behind his back for 29 days, in an attempt to get him to “reform” and give up his fidelity to Rome, to the Pope. Zhou never gave in. In August 1958, guards transported him to a courtroom and forced him to stand as his case was presented to three “judges,” who attempted to coerce him to admit his counterrevolutionary “crimes.” He was all alone. No defense attorney. No family. No friends. His “trial” lasted no more than 10 minutes. One month later, again he was led to a courtroom, where in fewer than five minutes he received his sentence: 20 years. After the pronouncement, he attempted to pull from his pocket a pre-written short declaration. One of the judges jumped from his seat and ran toward Zhou. “You needn’t read it! Just submit to us,” he screamed, snatching the paper out of Zhou’s hand. For the next couple years, Zhou was transferred from one prison to another until June 15, 1960, when he was bused to No. 1 Prison of Szechwan Province. Upon arrival, he wrote on his registration form: “I was arrested without cause and imprisoned for the Church.” He refused to take part in the daily brainwashing “study sessions.” Prison rank and file didn’t like his “bad attitude.” On August 10, 1960, he was summoned to the office of the section chief in charge of discipline and education. “Do you admit that you have committed a crime?” the section chief asked. “I have not committed any crime. I have only defended the faith of the Catholic Church,” Zhou answered. Twice more the section chief asked the same question. Twice more Zhou answered the same. The section chief removed from his pants pocket a pair of bronze handcuffs and motioned for two of his assistants to grab Zhou’s arms and pull them behind his back. The section chief clicked the cuffs into place, about five inches above the wrists, and continued to tighten the cuffs, a click at a time. The right cuff, tightened almost to the limit. For five days, Zhou endured not only the pain from the cuffs, but he had to endure harsh criticism and physical abuse from other inmates, who were forced to inflict punishment from dawn till dark or they could face the same. During an intense criticism session on August 15, 1960, someone grabbed the handcuff on his right forearm. Click. It was forcefully tightened to the fifth and last click. Despite the pain – physical, mental, emotional – he resisted. Back in his cell, he prayed silently to Christ, to the Blessed Mother, to the Holy Ghost. He found tranquility. In the unbearable summer heat, the cuff dug into the meat, the muscle. The rancid smell of the bloody mess stewing in his crematorium-like cell lured flies that laid eggs. When hatched, the maggots dined on his dying flesh. From the cuff down, his right arm grew completely numb, then withered. His fingers crippled, seized into a permanent claw-like grip. After four weeks, guards removed the cuffs, but clamped shackles onto his ankles. After three years of dragging his chains, in May 1963, two prison guards summoned Zhou, all 5 feet, 1 inch and 90 pounds of him. “Why do you not follow the example of the priest Wen-Jing Li? You must change your obstinate stand and take the path of siding with the Communist Party and the Chinese People. If you do this, you will gain a bright future,” they said. Zhou completely rejected their suggestion; as a result, he was moved to solitary confinement. Before slamming the door shut, they chided, “Here, you are to reflect carefully and do serious self-examination in this new situation.” Enclosed in darkness for nearly two years, Zhou found an inner light as he reflected, prayed, meditated, composed lyrical lines of poetry. On March 13, 1965, the door opened. Light bathed his filthy body. “Thought reform is a long process, and you need a better environment to do self-remolding,” a guard said, removing Zhou’s iron shackles. For the first time in five years, his ankles were free from the weight of the iron chains. It felt odd. He could barely walk. But there was never any freedom from torture in a Communist prison. For Zhou, it never ended. For reciting one of his poems aloud, to show his unfaltering faith to God, an additional five years was added to his sentence in September 1966. On Ash Wednesday, February 24, 1971, when he refused to read the “Quotations from Chairman Tse-Tung Mao,” he was placed in solitary confinement, again handcuffed and shackled. He remained there for eight months. He spent another five months in solitary, when, on September 9, 1976, he refused to read an obituary glorifying the deceased Mao. Another five years was added to his sentence when, on Labor Day, May 1, 1977, he refused to purchase the fifth volume of “Selected Works of Mao Zedong,” with the few cents he earned for his prison labor. But with the death of Mao in 1976, Xiao-Ping Deng rose to power. Best known as the Leader of China (1978-79), Deng opened China to the world, especially after December 1978, when he announced his capitalist reforms and Open Door Market Economy Reform Policy, which loosened the binds – a bit – that had constricted China under Mao. Some Chinese unjustly imprisoned were released. Zhou was one of those. On July 22, 1981, Zhou received word that his sentence would be reduced and that he would be immediately set free. At the age of 54, he packed up his few belongings. Over the years, he had been able to purchase from the prison store, small calendars, on which he had marked days of particular note regarding his imprisonment and treatment. Those, he concealed between pages of the dictionaries that he packed among his bits of clothing. On July 25, 1981, without hatred or bitterness, he bid farewell and walked through the two iron gates to freedom. Prison officials assigned a reliable inmate to carry Zhou’s belongings the few miles to the Jialing River and across to the city of Peng’an, where Zhou spent his first night in nearly 26 years as a free man. But almost 55 years old, he had no future. What was he to do. Not knowing if it were possible to rejoin his monastic community, or if it even existed, he attempted contact. On July 28, he wrote and sent off three letters to St. Andrew Abbey in Bruges, and a fourth to Yu-Xiu “Pansy” Lang, an old friend of the monastery. On December 22, he learned that, yes, the monastery had survived and had reestablished itself in Valyermo, California, in 1956. After all those years, after almost 30 years, it was possible. Yes, he would rejoin his community. Zhou’s old teacher Winance was in Tournai, Belgium, visiting his brother André, when he received a letter from Father Gaetan Loriers, one of the monk-priests in Valyermo. Opening the envelope and pulling out the letter, Winance read, “Brother Peter is alive.” He’s alive! Winance thought, stunned with joy. Brother Peter’s alive!  Brother Peter bares his scars, Valyermo, 2009. POSTSCRIPT: On November 27, 1984, Bang-Jiu Zhou (Brother Peter) was reunited with his religious community. At the age of 58, he professed his solemn religious vows on June 29, 1985. Zhou, now 82, and Joseph Marie Louis Stanislas Winance (Father Eleutherius), who will celebrate his 100th birthday on July 10, were interviewed extensively for this story. In addition, some facts and quotes were pulled from the unpublished memoirs of Father Werner de Papeians de Morchoven, Winance’s 1959 book, “The Communist Persuasion: A Personal Experience of Brainwashing,” his unpublished diaries (one in French, another in English) and Zhou’s autobiography, “Dawn Breaks in the East: A Time Revisited,” which may be purchased from him. Winance’s book, although currently out of print, may be found for sale online. Both published books are must reads. Greetings and requests may be sent to: St. Andrew Abbey, 31001 N. Valyermo Road, Valyermo, CA, 93563. POSTSCRIPT II: Father Eleutherius passed away on August 15, 2009. He was 100 years old, plus one month. On the day of his funeral, Friday, August 21, it was the most gorgeous weather: sunny, no wind, calm, very typical of the high desert. However, the minute his funeral Mass began, the skies darkened, and the wind picked up, roaring through the church’s open doors, and thunder pounded the air, punctuated with flashes of lightning. As soon as Mass ended, and the pall bearers slowly carried Father Eleutherius' coffin to the hearse, the rain poured as the the wind continued roaring, accented with the thunder and lightning. You have to remember that the monastery is in the high desert of Southern California, where it rains rarely, especially in the summer. The very strange weather continued straight on until the moment Father Eleutherius' coffin touched the bottom of his grave, then again the sun began to shine, the wind calmed, the thunder silenced and the lightning disappeared. It was all so strange, but the monks smiled, and many agreed that Father Eleutherius couldn't resist playing one last prank. ENDNOTE: All Chinese names have been written in a manner to avoid confusion and to remain consistent with the English standard of writing proper names: given name first, family name last. In Chinese, names are traditionally written with family name first, given name last. 1/27/2022 0 Comments January 27th, 2022 Accused of being a member of the Polish Military Organisation (Polska Organizacja Wojskowa, POW), the Soviets arrested Father Kalikst Butyniec and sent him -- for further interrogation -- to the dangerous Czeka prison in Kiev, where he was murdered during Christmas celebrations, in 1920.
1/27/2022 0 Comments January 27th, 2022 From the #AngelicDoctor
"Divine goodness is the end of all corporal things." #SaintThomasAquinas (1225-74) 1/26/2022 1 Comment January 26th, 2022 After the Nazis and Soviets invaded Poland, in September 1939, a revolutionary committee in the border village of Kołki, who welcomed the invading Soviets, stepped forward and ordered that the ethnic Catholic Poles surrender their weapons. After refusing, several were executed, including Seminarian Wladyslaw Burzynski and his blood brother, Miechyslav, on September 18, 1939.
1/26/2022 0 Comments January 26th, 2022 From the #AngelicDoctor
"Reasonable creatures have in some special and higher manner God as their end, since they can attain to Him by their own operations, by knowing and loving him." #SaintThomasAquinas (1225-74) 1/25/2022 0 Comments January 25th, 2022  After the Bolsheviks took over Russia, Roman Catholic Polish priest Father Konstanty Romuald Budkiewicz -- living in Saint Petersburg, shepherding to the Polish community -- conducted non-violence resistance against the atheist, anti-Catholic movement in the Communist nation. He was arrested, on March 13, 1923, along with Archbishop Jan Cieplak.
Charged with attempting to organize a conspiracy to overthrow the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, being a secret agent for a foreign country, and transgressing of state–church separation laws, Father Budkiewicz was senteneced to death after a show trial. In the early-morning hours of April 1, 1923, between Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday, Father Budkiewicz was executed, shot from behind, as he stepped down into the cellars of the Lubianka Prison. 1/25/2022 0 Comments January 25th, 2022 From the #AngelicDoctor
"The entire universe, with all its parts, is ordained toward God as its end, inasmuch as it imitates, as it were, and shows forth the Divine goodness, to the glory of God." #SaintThomasAquinas (1225-74) 1/24/2022 1 Comment January 24th, 2022 After the 1939 invasion of Poland by Socialist forces -- the Nazis and Soviets -- Seminarian Jan Brzozowski relocated to the headquarters of the Congregation of Saint Michael the Archangel, in Sturga. When expelled, he found sanctuary in Warsaw's theological seminary building, until the Germans forced him to the Pruszków transit camp, where they executed him along with Seminarian Edward Kosztyła and religious Brother Joseph Cisek, on August 9, 1944.
1/24/2022 0 Comments January 24th, 2022 From the #AngelicDoctor
"Every creature exists for its own proper act and perfection...whilst each and every creature exists for the perfection of the entire universe." #SaintThomasAquinas (1225-74) 1/21/2022 0 Comments January 21st, 2022  Accused of spreading religious propaganda, including baptizing children, Father Mateusz Bryńczak was arrested by the Soviets. Tried in a secret, speedy trial by a troika (triad) of the People's Commissariat of Internal Affairs (NKVD, predecessor to the KGB), the Catholic Polish priest was banished to eastern Siberia, afterwhich, he perished on April 28, 1936.
1/21/2022 0 Comments January 21st, 2022 From the #AngelicDoctor
"The whole man is on account of an extrinsic end, that end being the fruition of God." #SaintThomasAquinas (1225-74) 1/20/2022 0 Comments January 20th, 2022 During the Soviet winter offensive, the Communists captured the Polish village of Zimnice Wielkie. On January 27, 1945, Red Army soliders stormed into the parish rectory. Before lighting the Catholic church and rectory on fire, they cut off the head of priest Father Karol Brommer, placed it on the end of a pike and paraded around with it.
1/20/2022 0 Comments January 20th, 2022 From the #AngelicDoctor:
"All parts are for the perfection of the whole, as the matter for the form, since the parts are, as it were, the matter of the whole." #SaintThomasAquinas (1225-74) 1/19/2022 0 Comments January 19th, 2022 After the post-World War II subjugation of Poland by the Soviet Union, Communist authorities arrested Father Jan Kazimierz Borysiuk, because he was a Catholic priest. Sentenced to 10 years in a gulag: a Soviet slave labor camp, mostly for political prisoners, which is what Father Borysiuk was because of his Faith. First transported to SibLag (Siberian Gulag, one of the largest), he was transferred to OmLag (Omsk Gulag), where he perished, in 1953.
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AuthorTHERESA MARIE MOREAU is an award-winning reporter who covers Catholicism and Communism. Archives
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