THE REMNANT

10 September 30, 2010

Part II
They Died in China and infirm as well as the young and strong

A
ccused of alleged offenses that had
occurred almost 50 years before,
the priests had to answer to certain
charges: That during the time of the Boxer
Rebellion in 1900, for example, foreign
troops had oppressed the People of north
China and that Our Lady of Consolation
had been built with indemnities exacted
from the Chinese government by the
foreign powers.
“These monks are guilty,” shouted
cadres. “Do you agree or disagree?”
“We agree!” the peasants shouted
back.
Wakened, the abbey’s porter went to
check on all the noise. As soon as he
opened the gate he was beaten, and the
peasants with torches rushed onto the
mission, pushing through the monks who
had also wakened and attempted to calm
the mob who ran to the dormitory. The
peasants grabbed mattresses right out from
under the sick, and emptied the straw from
the serge cloth – a rarity in those parts.
They snatched quilts, linens, blankets. They
ripped down curtains. Anything they could
get their hands on, they dragged off.
The looting and madness continued until
two in the morning. Usually at that time in
the morning the appointed bell ringer would
light the passages, open the church doors
and awaken the sleeping monks by ringing
the dormitory bell for the space of a
Miserere. But that morning it was not
necessary. The monks, heartbroken that
the peasants had turned on them, had
already made their way to the church of
Our Lady of Consolation, where they
sought consolation with their pre-dawn
routine of mental prayer, Canonical Office,
the Angelus and private Masses.
By morning’s light, the roaring mob
could be heard from a great distance,
approaching quickly. The monks rushed to
the Tabernacle to rescue and consume the
remaining Hosts before the second wave
of looters, armed with military backup,
swarmed through the abbey.
The library was destroyed. Valuable
leather covers were ripped from the
bindings of books by illiterate peasants,
destroying a lifetime of work by Father
Simon Hsu, the abbey’s bookbinder. Some
of the villagers dashed into the refectory,
where members of the Community were
eating, and snatched the napkins and
utensils from the monks’ hands. The
storerooms were broken into, and the
contents were confiscated, not for the
peasants, but for the Communist soldiers.
From the tool house, the shoe shop, the
blacksmith shop everything was ransacked
and looted. In the tailor shop three of the
five sewing machines were destroyed; the
other two carted away for the
Communists. In the church the mob tied
up the sacristan, stole his keys and
proceeded to carry off the chalices,
vestments and other sacred objects. One
of the peasants was seen with a priest’s
stole tied around his waist.
Once the abbey had been gutted, the
Reds turned on the monks and arrested all
75, of which only five were foreigners. The
rest were native Chinese. Locked up in
the Chapter Room, the monks were forced
to sleep on the stone floor. In that same
The Forgotten War on Catholic Priests
Theresa Moreau
REMNANT COLUMNIST, California
Monks of Our Lady of Consolation, martyred by the Communists in 1947
room, many of the men as postulants had
received the habit. As novices, many had
made their temporary professions. Now
they were its prisoners.
Father Michaelus, the superior, had no
fear: “We will all die together,” he
predicted.
For two days and two nights the
prisoners waited. Outside in the mountains
of northern China, the buzzing of the
cicadas pierced the air, as the resurrected
insects emerged from their nymph-shell
tombs.
On July 10, the door swung open and
the priests were herded, two-by-two,
through the cloister, through the gardens,
through the gates and out to a level field
just outside the third enclosure wall. On
the hillside, hundreds of peasants from
about 30 villages raised their fists,
screamed slogans. Banners, splashed with
large Chinese characters, snapped in the
hot wind. The largest flag, displayed in
blood-red: THE TRIAL OF YANG KIA PING BY
ALL VILLAGES.
A struggle rally was about to begin.
Three priests were singled out. Again,
Father Seraphinus and Father
Chrysostomus, but when officials called for
the superior of the abbey, Father
Augustinus Faure, the much-loved old
Frenchman, stepped forward to spare the
superior, Father Michaelus. The rest of the
monks, ordered to stand near the table
where the judges sat, baked in the heat.
Soldiers, at the command, ripped the habits
from some of the monks, stripping them,
baring their torsos, to bake beneath the
blazing mid-day sun.
Chief judge Chu-Jan Su presided.
Father Seraphinus was called first.
Again, he had to answer charges, not
against himself, but the abbey. Charges
included that the abbey had been
responsible for the suppression of the
Boxers by foreign powers, had received
weapons from the French government to
use against the People of the region, and
had hid precious treasures in the hills, to
keep them from the People.
Then a new charge was lodged against
him. Because he was the cellarer, the
person in charge of the farms and buildings,
he was accused of usurping the best land
in the region and living off the People by
keeping for the monks the produce of the
fertile acres. After each accusation, he
claimed innocence, for which he was
brutally clubbed.
Then Father Chrysostomus was called.
Chu-Jan Su announced, “We have
found Seraphinus Hsih guilty of crimes
against the People. If you do not agree
with our verdict and confess them yourself,
you are as good as dead. Is it true, yes or
no?”
“No! It is not true!” Father
Chrysostomus answered. Torturers at his
side were given a signal. They raised their
clubs and pounded away on him.
Then Father Augustinus was called.
He stepped forward and tried to reason
with Chu-Jan Su, but his calm demeanor
only infuriated the Communist judge, who
ordered that the old priest receive the same
treatment as the other two.
After the accusations, after the
beatings, Chu-Jan Su announced that the
abbey should reimburse the People for any
and all losses and damages. Father
Augustinus said, “To give you what you
ask, even though guiltless of what you say,
10 Yang Kia Pings would not suffice.”
The Party goons rushed the old man,
clubbing him down for his statement. The
actual superior, Father Michaelus, felt so
guilt ridden that the old Frenchman had
assumed the position of the superior and
had taken the beatings for him, that he
shook uncontrollably and had to be held up
by monks standing near him, as they were
rounded up and led back to the abbey. At
first, locked up in the church, they were
later moved to the dormitory, where they
were watched, beaten and given little to
eat.
On the morning of July 23, 1947, the
soldiers swung open the doors, kicking the
monks out of the dormitory. Herded
toward the church, the monks – the old
– were shoved into the lower choral seats.
Red soldiers sat in the choir stalls, where
the priests once stood, chanting the Divine
Office. Peasants filled the rest of the
church.
A desk for the judges had been placed
underneath the extinguished sanctuary
lamp in the presbytery, where each day
the unbloody sacrifice of Calvary had been
offered. Flanked by his assistants, the head
judge sat in the middle.
It was Tui-Shih Li.
From his seat, he looked at the monks
and bit down on the lit cigarette sticking
out from between his teeth. Father
Guglielmus Cambourieu, gifted with a very
sensitive nature, whispered to his
confreres, “We’re all going to die martyrs.
Let’s make a general Act of Contrition.”
They were to be tried before another
People’s Court. Again, Father Seraphinus
was called first. The court accused him of
traveling from village to village, spying
among the peasants to gather information
for the Japanese during the Second
Chinese-Japanese War that ended with the
end of World War II.
Father Seraphinus denied the charge
and rejected the accusation as absurd. With
a simple order, Li’s men relentlessly
clubbed the monk. “Show a little mercy!
Show a little mercy!” Father Seraphinus
cried out.
“Now is not the time for mercy,” Li
said, puffing away on his cigarette. “Now
is the time for revenge.” Village catechist
Maria Chang, from the Yihsien district, was
called forward. Told what was expected
of her, she was to be a witness for the
prosecution.
“It was not Father Seraphinus Hsih
who came to our village!” she testified.
“It was Father Maurus Bougon. And he
did not come to seek information for the
Japanese; he came to bring the sacraments
to the sick and dying!”
Livid that she went against orders and
testified in favor of the accused, Li ordered
her tied to a granite pillar and clubbed.
Repeatedly, the goons hit her on the head
and back. From the lower choral seats,
where the monks sat, a voice cried out.
“It’s inhuman to savagely beat a woman!”
It was Brother Isidorus Ying. When
Maria Chang slumped to the floor, her
attackers yanked down a hanging banner
and tossed it over her limp body. Then they
went over to her defender, Brother
Isidorus, grabbed him and beat him as they
had beaten the catechist.
Next, Father Chrysostomus was
called. From his seat, Li boasted that he
was going to make Father Chrysostomus
confess everything. But Li didn’t know who
he was dealing with. As an oblate accepted
into the abbey, the young Chrysostomus
had been quarrelsome and stubborn,
downright unpleasant at times. But as he
matured, he harnessed his faults. With his
mind and with his will, he persevered to
control his weak, contentious human
nature, until he changed so much he
became highly regarded by the others in
the Community as a man of great virtue.
That’s who Li was dealing with.
Father Chrysostomus was questioned.
Accused. Beaten. But he bore all in silence,
Continued Next Page

September 30, 2010
Father Augustinus Faure, the much-loved old
Frenchman, stepped forward to spare his superior
with a calm that infuriated Li. The more the monk
remained silent, the more the torturers attacked him. He
fell to the floor, taking the hits where he lay, when a fat,
old, good-natured monk, Brother Paulus Pan, who had
taught the young Chrysostomus from the age of 6 to 12,
rushed to the priest and crouched down at his side, trying
to block the blows with his own body. He was pulled off,
thrown out of the way, and the beating of Father
Chrysostomus continued.
With a signal from Li, the trial ended. “These criminals
are all guilty! What is your opinion?” he called out to those
assembled.
“We agree! We agree!” the peasants responded.
“What is your verdict?” the judges asked the peasants.
“They must die! Hand them over to us! We will take
stones and kill them!” they screamed.
“We can only take the People’s decision as our
decision, for the Communist government is the People’s
Government. But, we raise one question. Do you, People,
want all the monks to suffer or only the more responsible?”
“They deserve to die! All of them!” they screamed.
“To avoid a general slaughter, we will ask the governor
to take the cause in his own hands, and only those guilty
will be punished,” Li concluded.
Immediately, soldiers ordered eight of the monks
deemed most guilty over to the presbytery step, where
most had prostrated themselves before making their
solemn professions years before. One by one, they were
shackled hand and foot. They had their black, knee-length
scapulars pulled off from over their white-wool religious
habits, which were then chopped off at the knees. All
belts, rosaries, medals and other precious objects were
confiscated. Those with eyeglasses had them taken away.
The monks were locked up in the refectory, but later
divided into smaller groups and placed in different rooms
throughout the abbey. Some were placed in solitary
confinement. All were kept under strict guard day and
night.
Impatiently, Li waited for the go-ahead for the
executions from the officials at Communist district
headquarters in Kalgan (old form of Zhangjiakou), the
capital city of Chahar province. All the monks were
forced to write “confessions,” autobiographies with pages
filled with all the minutiae of daily life, excruciating details
about family, friends, studies, the religious life, even about
the sacred vessels and precious religious objects.
To extract information, Li continued the interrogations,
pacing back and forth, chomping down on his cigarettes
during the sessions. So furious at times, he foamed at the
mouth, ranted, screamed death threats. After each question
from Li, his goons beat the monk, no matter how old or
how sick. At first, the blows were only on the lower half
of the body, but then the torture became so severe,
frequently the men lost consciousness. One of the monks,
Father Benedictus-Josephus Labre Hou, lost
consciousness three times during one session.
The torturers also employed different techniques. At
one point, Father Michaelus, the superior, was forced on
top of the abbey’s mill to push the grindstone, intended to
THE REMNANT
serve as an example to scare his nephew, Brother Eligius
Hsu, who had accompanied his uncle to the abbey in the
summer of 1937 and joined the Community a year later.
Instead of frightening his nephew, from atop the grist mill
next to the cow barn Father Michaelus yelled down to
him, “Look, sooner or later I will die. To me, it is of little
importance. But you, if you obey the Communists, how
will you save your soul?”
Word about Li’s sadistic cruelties endured by the
monks made its way to the ears of Tso-Yi Fu, a Nationalist
general HQ’d in Peking. So furious was he to hear what
the Trappists had endured, that he vowed to march to
Yang Kia Ping and liberate the monks of Our Lady of
Consolation from the Communists. He ordered his troops
to grab their gear and hop aboard the Imperial Peking-
Kalgan Railway train.
However, Li learned of the planned rescue and
hurriedly made his own plans to evacuate his prisoners to
a hideout in the mountains. During the night of August 12,
Li assembled the monks: “You have been blinded by your
religious superiors and by your life behind the cloistered
walls. You should see how life in China has changed under
the Communists.”
That night, packs filled with food – mostly for the
soldiers – were strapped onto the backs of the monks,
many with their hands cuffed behind their backs and their
ankles weighed down with chains. The soldiers herded
their prisoners outdoors, through Gate No. 1 at the
outermost enclosure wall, and toward the mountain trails.
Whipped and beaten with sticks, the monks stumbled along
up incredibly dark mountain paths nearly invisible under
the waxing crescent moon.
Without rest, the marchers continued until after noon
the next day, when they reached Chang Ko Chuang, Li’s
immediate destination. The village was a Communist
outpost. The procession veered toward a home
confiscated from a landlord, an enemy of the People.
Given to the People, the residence had been trashed.
Herded into sectioned-off rooms, the monks collapsed
onto the floors, exhausted from too much walking and too
little food.
As soon as the pack had been lifted from the back of
Brother Bruno Fu (b. 1868), the 79-year-old fell to the
floor, never to rise again. Two days later, on August 15,
1947, the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin
Mary, he should have been celebrating the golden jubilee
of his solemn and final vows. Instead, the kindhearted old
man lay dead. The proto-martyr of the Trappist monks of
Our Lady of Consolation had been born in Hopei province,
part of Ho Kiang Hsien, but he would never return to his
home; his body was dumped without ceremony in a
shallow grave.
After hearing that the abbey had been abandoned by
the Communists, the Nationalist general, Tso-Yi Fu,
abandoned his rescue plans and ordered his troops to turn
around. Li had successfully avoided a showdown. On
August 18, he decided to return everyone back to the
abbey. Another black night, and the monks marched down
the mountain paths toward Yang Kia Ping. By the time
the prisoners filed through Gate No 1, two more neared
death. By August 20, both were dead. Without ceremony,
but inside the enclosure, they were buried.
Brother Philippus Liu (b. 1877), a horticulturist for
most of his life, was from the district of Feng Tai Hsien, a
little south of Peking in Hopei province. Brother Clemens
Kao (b. 1899), physically handicapped, had been born in
Chahar province, in the Yu Chow Hsien district, where
many Trappist vocations blossomed. Within days of the
Communists’ return, again, Nationalist General Tso-Yi Fu
gave the order to gear up and head out. And, again, Li
determined his best defense was distance, so he planned
another transfer of all prisoners and supplies to a hideout
in the mountains that offered more protection.
Soldiers rounded up the prisoners, their arms and legs
restrained with cuffs and piano wire twisted and knotted
around wrists. Packs were strapped onto their backs. In
the thick of the night, Li ordered the march to the
Communist-held village of Mu Chia Chwang, located an
estimated 65 miles from the abbey.
11
August 28, 1947. Under a waning moon, the Death
March began, the final march for many. The caravan of
prisoners left Our Lady of Consolation and headed south.
Bent over from the heavy supplies, and with their hands
restrained behind their backs, the monks stumbled forward,
the chains around their bleeding ankles clanking along the
stony paths. The pace, frantic and frenetic. Rest,
forbidden, the soldiers kept the prisoners moving with
threats and whips, shouts and sticks.
Soldiers taunted, “You believe in God! If your God
exists, why doesn’t He help you? Why doesn’t He get
you out of here?” After a grueling 20-mile march through
the night and into the morning, Li halted everyone at Ta
Lung Men, in Hopei province, near a branch of the Great
Wall. But the stay was only brief before orders were given
to get up and get moving. They veered southeast, headed
for a breach between two steep mountains.
Even the weather seemed against the monks. Sudden,
unforgiving rains dropped down like weights. Around noon,
as the prisoners and their torturers crossed over a crest,
they headed into a freezing deluge that soaked the monks,
in their thin summer clothing and cotton shoes.
Brutalized and humiliated, the monks lacked food,
clothing, but there was no lack of beatings. Some, so old
and so weak, could not walk another step on their own,
so along the way, the strongest picked up a few small
trees and branches, which they fixed into litters to carry
the fallen.
On August 31, they reached the village of Tai Ping
Tsun, and the prisoners were herded into pig pens, where
they briefly rested in rain-soaked pig dung until forced up
and out once again. Along the way, on the night of
September 6, somewhere in the district of La Hsun Hsien,
those carrying the litter of Father Guglielmus Cambourieu,
slipped and lost their grip. The old priest, originally with
the Society of Foreign Missions of Paris, tumbled onto
the ground, where he bashed his head against a rock.
Although bleeding profusely, his gaping wound went
undetected in the black night, until the marchers stopped
in the little village of Ma Lai Tsun, high in the mountains
of Hopei province.
In the dark, last rites were secretly administered,, and
Father Guglielmus (b. 1878) died shortly after. He had
been the one who had predicted during the trial in the
church that they were going to die martyrs. Without
ceremony, he was quickly buried, and the marchers
continued. He would never return to his native homeland
of Auvergne, France.
By the time the marchers arrived in Teng Chia Yu, on
September 8, the monks who carried the litter of Father
Stephanus Maury (b. 1886) knew that the priest, originally
a French Lazarist with the Congregation of the Mission,
didn’t have long to live. At some point he had felt death
approaching and signaled that he wanted to make his last
confession. In a narrow bend along the path, Father
Continued Next Page
P. Antonius Fan, Prior

12
They Died in China
T. Moreau/Continued from Page 11
Sebastianus Pian, nodded for the others to
delay on a turn. There, he bent over,
listened to the dying man’s final words and
pronounced absolution.
Lagging behind, Brother Damianus
Hwang finally reached the village. With
his arms bound behind his back, he could
only crawl forward on his knees. Years
earlier, he had suffered frostbite on his feet
and, subsequently, walked with great
difficulty. After his feet gave out on the
march, he fell to his knees and could only
drag himself along. The soldiers whipped
him, kicked him, punched him, then threw
him into a pigsty alongside the pigs.
Rain continued. Wind continued.
Without light in their cells, they spent all
their hours in the dark. Without heat, only
the fire of Christ in their hearts warmed
them. Without quilts, frost blanketed them
in the early morning. Without water to
cleanse their bodies, only lice flowed freely
on their flesh. Without solid food, only
diarrhea blasted through their bowels,
usually where they sat, without permission
to relieve themselves properly. In only their
summer clothing, they were soaked in their
own filth.
All the while, interrogations continued.
Li, always biting down on his cigarette,
paced back and forth. Stomping his feet.
Slamming his fist. Screaming. Hailing the
glorious rising of the Communist Party and
the destruction of the Catholic Church. It
all thrilled him. “Yang Kia Ping has been
destroyed to its foundation, and it will never
rise again,” he taunted. “Before too long,
there will be no more Catholic Church in
all of China!”
To prove his point, Li sent Father
Theodorus Yuan and Brother Alexius Liu,
under a heavy guard, to return to the abbey
to see for themselves. They arrived at
dawn, and stood on a ledge, in the shadows
of West Soul Mountain. They looked down
at Yang Kia Ping, at their former home,
Our Lady of Consolation. It had been
destroyed. The two were marched back
to their cells in chains, and reported back
to the others that, indeed, their former home
was nothing but smoking ruins. Only the
mule stables remained standing. The rest,
rubble amid ashes.
Li had planned to win Father
Seraphinus Hsih over to his side. It had
happened before with others too weak to
withstand the emotional, physical and
mental torture. But Father Seraphinus was
not like the others. He was not like those
too weak to withstand the torture. He was
strong. His mental strength held him up,
held him together. A master orator and
rhetorician, a native of the Paoting (old
form of Baoding) diocese in Hopei
province, he surpassed all in the abbey,
even the elegant and much-educated
superior, Father Michaelus Hsu. The most
brilliant of the brilliant men at the abbey,
there had been big plans for Father
Seraphinus. He was to be the very first
native Chinese abbot.
No, he was most definitely not like the
others. The more he refused Li’s
enticement of apostasy—the more the
THE REMNANT
Communists pounded away on him, beating
him, clubbing him, kicking him without
stopping—the more he remained constant
in his faith, the more the Communists
resented him, loathed him, hated him. With
each passing day, the brutality of his
torturers increased. His hands were bound
behind his back by tying his thumbs together
with wire, then his big toes were bound
together with wire, and, finally, his legs
were pulled behind him so that his toes and
thumbs were joined by a short wire, so short
that he could only kneel or lie on his side at
all times. He remained hogtied for several
weeks, and the beatings continued. “We
know that you don’t fear death, but we
will beat and torture you continuously so
that you will never possess more than half
of your life. Thus being half alive and half
dead, you will agree with what we say.”
When Father Seraphinus returned to
his place among the other prisoners after
interrogations, he never complained. He
merely lay with his body quivering from
pain. But Father Seraphinus never gave
in.
Father Chrysostomus was kept in
solitary confinement at all times in a filthy
sty alongside the pigs. During interrogations
he was frequently tortured by being
suspended from the ceiling. His inner and
outer strength seemed supernatural. Like
the others, he endured all in silence. But
once, during one of the interrogations, he
asked for a blanket. “You don’t think right,”
Remnant Meditations…
Part III
Mary’s Presentation in the Temple
In the holy dwelling place I have
ministered before Him. (Ecclus
iIxiv.14)
A
t the age of three years, tradition
tells us, Mary left her home to go
and live in the Temple – not merely
as other little girls of her time, to attend
the Temple school, but to dedicate herself
to God and to live continually under the
shadow of His Presence as Samuel of old
had done. Her desire, even at that tender
age, was to confirm her parents’ dedication
of her at her birth by giving herself up
entirely to God, to live a hidden life with
Him away from everything, however
lawful, that might disturb her union with
Him. She waited only for His call and as
soon as it was given, she left all and
followed – even her parents must take a
second place.
So joyously and eagerly did Mary fulfill
her end that the moment God called her
she went to Him. She did not know what
He wanted her for nor did she seek to
know. Sufficient for her that He wanted
her and was calling. At once she presented
herself before Him as the little Samuel of
old: “Here am I, for Thou didst call me.
Speak, for Thy servant hearth.” (Kings iii,
9)] She was ready for anything that He
might want. And this should be the attitude
of all who would serve Him – a constant
his interrogator answered. “Or if you do,
you don’t speak what you think. It is only
proper that you should sleep with pigs.”
Never-ending suffering for some, but
for others, the suffering ended. At Teng
Chia Yu, Father Alphonsus L’Heureux (b.
1894) had been separated from the others.
A missionary with the Society of Jesus, he
switched to the Trappist monastery late in
life. A French Canadian, strong in body and
will. When he worked in the fields, he put
all his heart into it, and could do the same
work in one afternoon that three Chinese
men did in two days. Strong in faith and
will, as soon as he returned from the fields,
without fail, he headed straight to the
church for the Stations of the Cross, then
kneeled before the altar of the Sacred
Heart for contemplation. Every day, he
went to the Sacrament of Penance. With
that strength of will, he faced his
interrogators and their taunts.
“Ha! If He’s a God who does not care
to help you, or one who cannot help you,
you can have Him,” guards taunted. “For
our part, we don’t believe in God.”
Backed with scholarship of the pre-
Vatican II Jesuits, Father Alphonsus
refuted vigorously their arguments, for
which he was brutally tortured, until he
could only lay on the ground in solitary
confinement, barely alive, without a blanket
to cover his body in the cold. Suffering
from dysentery, his feces, like white mucus,
encrusted his trousers that were never
removed or cleaned. When he lay dying,
his hands, bound with steel wire behind his
back since the trial on July 23, were finally
freed, but the wrists had swelled, nearly
Mater Christi
Meditations on Our Lady
By Mother St. Paul
presentation of themselves to Him for
whatever He wants. This attitude can only
be arrived at by the spirit of sacrifice. To
be always at liberty for God’s service, the
soul must be disentangled from all else, free
from all that would hold it back. And this
means sacrifice. Mary, presenting herself
at the Temple is specially, though not
exclusively, the model of those who are
called to the Religious Life. But do not let
September 30, 2010
unrecognizable with red, gaping wounds
that resembled opened, toothless mouths
screaming.
On Friday, September 12, the Feast of
the Most Holy Name of Mary, rain poured
steadily in the Chinese village of Teng Chia
Yu. Autumn is the most beautiful season
in the Taihang Mountains, with the blood
red of the Chinese maples dotting the
landscape. Father Alphonsus called out
from his cell. Close by, in Father
Sebastianus Pian’s cell, a young Red
soldier, less cruel than the others, heard,
but couldn’t understand the priest’s cries.
“That foreigner is calling out. Go and see
what he wants,” the soldier told Father
Sebastianus, who approached and kneeled
at the side of the dying priest.
“I want this,” he said, raising his filthy,
wounded right hand and painfully tracing
with it the sign of the cross. Father
Alphonsus wanted to make his confession.
From his spot on the bare floor, in his soiled
trousers crawling with lice, he whispered
his confession, and as he said his Act of
Contrition, Father Sebastianus pronounced
the absolution.
“Amen,” Father Alphonsus said,
himself, then asked for a cup of water.
Between sips, he looked up and smiled:
“In a short time, I will go to Heaven,” he
said.
“We will meet again in Heaven, then,”
Father Sebastianus answered.
“I shall die tomorrow – Mary’s day.
I’ll be very happy to die. In Heaven, I shall
pray for all of you. Be brave.”
(To Be Concluded Next Issue)
us make any mistake – a Religious is not
free to give himself to God because he has
left parents and home and possessions. He
may go through all these preliminaries, and
yet not be by any means at God’s service.
The great work of disentangling the soul
and setting it free is done inside the Cloister,
while the Religious is learning that it is self
which stands in the way, and that until that
is crushed he is not able to render to God
free and joyous service such as Mary did.
And this lesson has to be learned by those
outside the Cloister too, if they would follow
Mary in being always ready to answer
God’s calls and do His biddings.
It is not their home and friends and
possessions that they are asked to quit—
but themselves. God will constantly want
them in the midst of their busy lives and
they will never be too much occupied or
engrossed to answer His calls if self is out
of the question. “Present your bodies a
living sacrifices, holy, pleasing unto God,
your reasonable service.” (Rom. xii. I)
Present yourselves each day, each hour,
each moment, with each joy, each sorrow,
each duty, each difficulty – present all as
an offering to Him Who expects your
reasonable service. This is the lesson
which the child on the Temple steps
teaches us today – the lesson of self-
sacrifice.
See On Joachim and Anne in the
Next Issue of The Remnant