St Margaret Roman Catholic Church

Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop (Memorial)

It is not good for the man to be alone. (Genesis 2:18)

If you love a good romance story, especially on St. Valentine’s Day, you’ll appreciate today’s first reading. When God creates a woman out of the first man’s rib and presents her to him, the man reacts with pure delight and satisfaction. Finally he has found his soul mate, the “suitable partner” he had been searching for (Genesis 2:18).

This passage is clearly about God’s plan for marriage, but there’s another truth here that applies to everyone—married, single, divorced, widowed, priests, and religious. God never designed any of us to be alone. He created us in such a way that we thrive on the love and support of other people. We need those special people in our lives who will care for us, listen to us, and help us to grow in faith.

Yet too many people today feel lonely and isolated. Studies have shown that isolation affects us emotionally and spiritually. It can cause us to magnify our problems. It can leave us open to feelings of self-pity and self-doubt. It can even cause sickness. And it just plain hurts.

It’s very easy to become so busy and preoccupied that we lose sight of the people who might need some of our time and attention. We all know someone who suffers from loneliness; it could be a member of our extended family or even someone in our own home. A simple visit, phone call, or invitation to dinner can make a huge difference in that person’s life. It can tell them that they are valued. It can help lift them out of any sadness or fear they might be feeling. It can encourage them to reach out and form new relationships.

If you’re feeling lonely yourself, think about the people you know who might be in a similar situation. Don’t wait for someone to reach out to you; reach out to them instead. Even if you are housebound, a phone call can be a source of great blessing and comfort—and it will probably help you as well.

It’s not good for any of us to be alone. God wants us to be one body in Christ. We can be Christ’s presence today to someone who might be feeling isolated, lonely, or forgotten.

“Lord, help me to reach out in love to one lonely person today.”

Psalm 128:1-5
Mark 7:24-30

5th Week in Ordinary Time

When you send forth your spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth. (Psalm 104:30)

Not every part of our globe experiences winter as cold and snowy. But we all know what it feels like to experience “winter” in our personal lives. It may feel to our souls the way frozen landscapes and chilly temperatures feel to our bodies: dreary, desolate, and in need of warmth and renewal.

If you’re feeling that way, today’s psalm can give you hope. The psalmist speaks of God’s work of creating and his work of renewal. God’s Holy Spirit is the creative force behind everything in the universe. But it’s also the Spirit who takes what has already been created and renews it. In his encyclical letter On Care for our Common Home, Pope Francis tells us that “the Spirit of God has filled the universe with possibilities,” and because of all these possibilities, “something new can always emerge” (Laudato Si, 80).

In nature we know that underneath the snow and ice, beneath the dead and decomposing plants of the previous season, lie seeds that will burst forth with life at the right time. So too with us. God is particularly good at finding the seeds beneath whatever may feel dead in us and bringing them to life.

So what kind of renewal might God want to do in you? Perhaps he wants to restore a broken relationship or put new life into an old one. Or he may want to renew your heart by helping you clear out old resentments and grudges. Maybe he wants to bolster your faith or give you new insights about his love. Or perhaps he wants to give you a renewed desire to share the gospel or care for the poor.

Don’t ever underestimate God’s desire—or his ability—to renew what feels old and stale in your life. He is always sending forth his Spirit to create new life and new possibilities. He is always at work to bring refreshment and renewal. Every winter is temporary, even spiritual winters. God has a plan to bring life to every seed he has planted. In his perfect timing, you will see spring bursting forth in all its glory.

“Lord, renew and re-create in me whatever feels tired and used up.”

Genesis 2:4-9, 15-17
Mark 7:14-23

BY: HALLIE RIEDEL

The feast of Our Lady of Lourdes is celebrated on February 11.

St. Bernadette Soubirous was canonized on December 8, 1933, and her feast day is April 16.

Everyone knows a little about the story of Lourdes. In 1858, the Virgin Mary appeared as a beautiful lady to an impoverished shepherd girl in a grotto in France.

Healing waters sprang up where the lady told the girl to dig, drawing many pilgrims—now over six million every year. The shepherdess was immortalized in photographs, holy cards, and even a Hollywood movie. They show an angelic young woman, hands clasped in prayer, eyes piously raised to the heavens.

My ideas of St. Bernadette Soubirous were formed by such images. And so I was surprised, as I read more about her, to find not a sweetly unreal figure but a lively, quick-witted young woman with a strong will.

Although simple, down-to-earth, and basically devout, Bernadette was not a saint when the apparitions began. Neither did she become one simply because she saw Mary eighteen times. What made Bernadette holy was the way she absorbed the Virgin’s message of prayer, humility, and mercy.

As with us, the process was an interplay of God’s grace and human effort. On the one hand, Bernadette worked hard to avoid the fame and fortune that the apparitions might have brought her. She struggled to overcome her “impetuous nature,” quick temper, and sharp tongue. On the other hand, Bernadette’s determination to be the best, most transparent vessel she could be—to decrease so that Jesus might increase—was no do-it-yourself project. It could only have been fueled by the fire of God’s love, set ablaze through her encounters with Mary.

Faithful Messenger. Bernadette did not know the identity of the lady in the grotto for some time. Whenever she saw her, though, Bernadette reacted as if she were on holy ground. She became enraptured—her face changed and beautiful, like a reflection of heaven. And so, sensing that something important hung in the balance, Bernadette was determined to communicate what she saw and heard clearly and precisely, without getting in the way of the message.

Local authorities who grilled Bernadette tried to confuse her with subtlety and trickery, but she answered every question simply and clearly. She refused to embellish the message or to conjecture about the lady’s identity and she became irritated whenever her words were twisted. Always, she deflected attention from herself by staying focused on the simple facts.

On those occasions when the lady gave her a message to deliver, Bernadette took great pains to communicate it exactly. When asked to request a chapel and processions to the grotto, she rushed off with her aunt to tell the parish priest. Reeling from his harsh response, Bernadette’s aunt vowed never to go see him again. But Bernadette cried out, “We must go back! I forgot to tell him about the chapel!” And when the lady finally revealed her name—”I am the Immaculate Conception”—Bernadette had no idea what the words meant. She simply kept repeating them to herself so that she could report them accurately to the priest.

Fleeing the Limelight. Bernadette’s family was abjectly poor. Her father, a miller by trade, had lost his business, and the family was living in a dreary, one-room former jail. As news of the apparitions and miracles spread, Bernadette could have easily used her role to lift her family from poverty. She could have become a spiritual superstar, enjoying the adulation and financial offerings of the faithful. Instead, she was always careful to downplay her celebrity. All she wanted was to be the lady’s messenger.

Bernadette strenuously refused all gifts and money, insisting that her family do the same. She avoided people who begged her to touch their rosaries and rebuked those who sought to sell items related to the apparitions, such as pieces of her clothing. And even though she obediently submitted to being photographed, she refused to pose. When a photographer implored her to assume the enraptured appearance she displayed at the apparitions, she bluntly replied, “How can I do that? The lady is not here!”

The Lourdes apparitions were followed by several years of investigation. Throughout the process, Bernadette gave her testimony to the bishop’s commission calmly and clearly. But when the apparitions were declared authentic in January 1862, Bernadette quickly slipped out of the limelight. Aware that she was no longer essential to the development of the shrine, she pursued her dream of a hidden life, where she could love and serve God quietly and without all the attention.

The Weapon of Humor. In 1866, Bernadette chose to enter the convent of the Sisters of Charity in Nevers. On her first day, she was asked to recount her experience of the apparitions to the entire group of sisters. Bernadette was happy to do this, as it had been agreed that the matter would not be discussed any further. But the sisters allowed many exceptions to this rule, and Bernadette was required to meet bishops and other dignitaries on multiple occasions. Then there were the curious ones, people who came to the convent hoping to catch a glimpse of the visionary. At such times, Bernadette said, she felt like a “prize ox” being shown off!

In her quest for a low profile, Bernadette often relied on her wry sense of humor as a weapon. On one occasion, when she was serving as sacristan, some visitors to the convent asked her where Bernadette was going to sit. (Evidently, they didn’t recognize her.) “No luck,” Bernadette replied. “She won’t be in her regular place today.” And with that, she left.

Another time, a visiting bishop dropped his hat specifically so that Bernadette would pick it up—he wanted a second-class relic of the visionary. Seeing through the ruse, Bernadette politely suggested that he pick it up himself! When she was sent on errands that required her to walk past a window so that visitors could see her, Bernadette enjoyed finding alternate routes.

“This Good Master.” It was common practice in nineteenth-century convents for religious superiors to publicly criticize and even insult novices as a way of uprooting any pride and tempering any self-will in the young women. Bernadette was not spared this. In fact, her severe novice mistress seemed to take special pains to single out the celebrated visionary as useless, in order to quash any feelings of superiority she might have had.

This rather demeaning treatment gave Bernadette many opportunities to practice humility and hone her self-control. She accepted them in good spirit, well aware that she could be somewhat touchy and sensitive. (“I have been rightly told that my pride will die fifteen minutes after I do,” she once said.) Using imagery from her childhood, though, she also revealed something of what the discipline cost her: “I have been ground in the mill like a grain of wheat.”

But as Bernadette leaned on the love of God and navigated these challenging waters, she was able to discern a larger plan. After one particularly emotional struggle, she wrote, “It is the love of this good Master who would remove the roots from this tree of pride. The more little I become, the more I grow in the heart of Jesus.”

Like many a saint who had gone before her, Bernadette never spoke much about her inner life. It is hard, then, to know exactly what her spiritual experiences were. But, again like many other saints, telling signs slipped out as she neared death. In the last days of suffering before she succumbed to tuberculosis, on April 16, 1879, she asked that everything around her bed be removed—everything, that is, except for the crucifix. She wanted to fix her eyes only on Jesus; all else was unnecessary. She called her curtained bed the “white chapel,” and in that chapel, she sealed her personal covenant with Jesus and professed her love for him. Her last action was to make the sign of the cross.

On her deathbed, Bernadette told one of the sisters, “The simpler one writes, the better it will be. In trying to dress things up, one only distorts them.” She was speaking of the whole story of Lourdes, but she might well have proposed the same guideline for her own biography. Undoubtedly, she would have “simplified” the story by downplaying her part in the history of Lourdes and the many miraculous healings that take place there year after year!

Let Jesus Shine! As we have seen, Bernadette never pushed herself forward as the visionary of Lourdes. She began the work, then freely allowed it to be taken over by others. When Mary told her to drink from the spring, she dug until she found muddy water. Other people kept digging, in response to the message, and the muddy water became clear. Similarly, once the apparitions had canonical approval, Bernadette stepped back and let others take over. She didn’t want the messenger to be confused with the message. She didn’t want interest in her to cloud people’s understanding of how God wanted to work in their lives.

For me, learning about this aspect of Bernadette—especially the way she lived after the apparitions—made me realize how much I have to learn about deflecting attention from myself and letting Jesus shine through. That’s not a common message in a world that places such a high value on image, notoriety, and public acclaim!

With simplicity and a sense of humor, Bernadette accepted the grace to “decrease” so that she could reflect the message of mercy and love she had received. In our own circumstances, we can do the same. Like Bernadette, we too can point to Jesus and echo Our Lady’s words, “Do whatever he tells you.”

In the end, God raised up Bernadette, who had become a pure vessel of his love. If we let Jesus purify us, he will raise us up as well. Then each of us can be a living message, pointing everyone who sees us to Jesus.

Hallie Riedel is on the editorial staff of The Word Among Us.

BY: FR. GEORGE MONTAGUE, SM

As I was growing up, my family could have said, with the disciples of John the Baptist whom Paul discovered at Ephesus, “We haven’t even heard that there is a Holy Spirit” (Acts 19:2).

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But we were spared a total aridity because we knew someone who, without our realizing it, was filtering the Holy Spirit to us. It was Mary. Somehow in this woman we were given some inkling of who or what the Holy Spirit is.

My father had come back from Lourdes at the end of his service in the First World War with a deep devotion to this “lovely lady dressed in blue.” And that devotion was anchored firmly by what happened to his first son, Frank, at the age of two. In my grandparents’ farmhouse, a kettle of water was boiling in the open fireplace when Frank, in an unnoticed moment of curiosity, reached and tipped the kettle over on himself, severely scalding his little leg. So severe was the burn that it demanded a skin graft. One of the ranch hands offered to undergo the operation to provide the skin. But our Aunt Margaret, before putting Frank to bed the night before the operation, sprinkled some Lourdes water on the wound and prayed devoutly that the Lady of Lourdes would intercede for a miracle. The next morning, the skin was so well recovered that no graft was needed. That healing obviously made an impact on our family, especially on my father.

This kind of activation of faith through signs is the work of the Holy Spirit, but often he stays in the background and works through human instruments. Of these, after Jesus, his favorite seems to be Mary. And why not? She was his chosen vessel to achieve the miracle of miracles, the virginal conception and birth, in time, of the Son of God. Often called spouse of the Holy Spirit, Mary embodies the feminine face of God, which is sometimes attributed to the Holy Spirit. I remember taking a walk with a young man in Lithuania whose English was adequate but not perfect. Whenever he would speak of the Spirit, he would use “her” or “she,” because in Lithuanian “spirit” is feminine! It was a refreshing reminder that God is beyond the conceptual metaphors of our language, even when those metaphors are the ones he chose by which to reveal himself!

The Holy Spirit “overshadowed” Mary, enabling her to conceive Jesus. . . . The word is taken from the story of the cloud overshadowing the tabernacle in the desert, a sign of the divine presence. We can conclude that if Jesus is the Word made flesh by the power of the Holy Spirit, Mary is the living tabernacle of the Word, made so in the very same action of the Spirit.

Mary is the Model Responder

Even prior to conceiving Jesus, Mary was moved by the Holy Spirit to give her yes to the mystery, and so she became the model, the prototype of obedient response to God’s plan of salvation for all ages to come. In fact, it is this obedient response, even more than her physical mothering of Jesus, that is heralded in the gospels. For while the divine motherhood is unique, responding to the word is something all are called to do, and fortunately in this we have Mary to learn from. She is blessed twice for her yes, first by Elizabeth, who exclaimed, “Blessed is she who believed that the words spoken to her by the Lord would be fulfilled” (Luke 1:45). And later, when a woman from the crowd cried out, “Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts at which you nursed,” Jesus replied, “Rather, blessed are those who hear the word of God and obey it” (Luke 11:27-28).

So the Holy Spirit worked in Mary not only the unspeakable mystery of the incarnation, but also gave her the privilege of being the first, the ideal, and the model responder to God’s revealed plan. In other words, she who received the Word of God in her womb also received the word of God in her heart, from where we might learn to receive. Both receptions were the work of the Holy Spirit. Jesus might be rejected by the temple priests and the Pharisees, he might be betrayed by a friend, he might be denied by his own chief disciple and abandoned by the rest to be crucified by the Romans, but he did have one heart that gave a perfect and persevering welcome to him: his mother.

Those who fear that drawing close to Mary will lead them away from Jesus have not understood the entire trinitarian foundation of the Christian faith. To look at the Father is to see the Son. To look at the Son is to see the Father. To look at the Holy Spirit is to be thrown into the mutual embrace of Father and Son. The Trinity is about relationships, about the self that is constituted by the total gift to and from the other. And relationships are what God’s work in time and history is all about, too. To look into Mary’s eyes is to see Jesus, for he is all she cares about. And who better than a mother can teach us to love her Son?

The Cloud may overshadow the sanctuary, but the Cloud also moves on—and so does the sanctuary. Mary will move with the Cloud. Model listener, she heard the entire message, not merely that she was to be mother of the Messiah (who could not have been overwhelmed with that mission?), but also that her cousin Elizabeth was six months pregnant, and that meant that Elizabeth would be in need. The Holy Spirit did not sculpt Mary into a statue to await pilgrimages; rather, he moved her into service, with haste, Luke says (1:39), foreshadowing the mission of the child she carried in her womb, who did not come to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45). At Elizabeth’s door, Mary’s voice of greeting triggered two events: the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit (Luke 1:41, 44).

Oh, if only I could just once hear the voice of Mary, I, too, would be filled with the Holy Spirit; I would leap for joy, and I could not contain my praise.

Father, I deeply long for a new outpouring of your Holy Spirit in my life. Unworthy though I am, because of your love for me I know that you want to give me the Holy Spirit even more than I want to receive him. Jesus, your mother was present at the cross when you “handed over the Spirit.” May she be at my side now as my mother, to show me how to receive this Gift of gifts. Amen.

Excerpted from Holy Spirit, Make Your Home in Me by Fr. George Montague, SM (The Word Among Us Press, 2008).

Our Lady of Lourdes

As many as touched it were healed. (Mark 6:56)

How many people do you suppose Jesus healed during his time on earth? Certainly there must have been hundreds—physical healing was a huge part of his ministry. But you might make a couple of mistaken assumptions if you read only this passage. On the one hand, you might assume that Jesus performed powerful healings only when he walked the earth. On the other hand, you might assume that Jesus will always heal every person who asks him, just as he did in New Testament times.

Both assumptions are extremes. Two thousand years of Church history and current events tell us that many miracles of healing still take place today. But the same combination of history and today’s news tells us that not everyone who asks is healed. This is a mystery that we just can’t explain. We don’t know why some are healed and why some aren’t. We do know, however, that God is more loving than we can ever imagine and that he always has our best interests at heart.

It is never wrong to ask God for healing. We should feel free to ask for it boldly, with the confidence of a child asking his father for help.

When Jesus sent his disciples out and told them to “cure the sick,” he wanted them to know that divine healing was something they should expect—even when he wasn’t physically present with them (Matthew 10:8). This may run counter to our experience, but we should be careful not to put God in a box. He is still God, and that means that he can and sometimes will do what is humanly impossible.

If you are praying for healing for yourself or a loved one, take heart. Even if nothing appears to be changing, you are still doing a lot more than you think. You are taking your needs before the all-powerful, all-loving God. He hears your prayer, and he will do whatever is best in that situation. Be open to whatever kind of healing may take place. It may occur at the hands of the doctor or it may be through your intercession—or it may be both. Or it may be a spiritual healing where you find new peace in the midst of suffering.

“Mighty Lord Jesus, you can do the impossible! Hear my prayer!”

Genesis 1:1-19
Psalm 104:1-2, 5-6, 10, 12, 24, 35

Saint Jerome Emiliani (Optional Memorial)

Let . . . love continue. (Hebrews 13:1)

For the past three weeks, we have been puzzling over some of Scripture’s most challenging theological subjects in the Letter to the Hebrews. But now that we have come to the last section of the letter, one thing becomes abundantly clear: love is what matters most.

It’s easy to miss unless you look at the original Greek text. First, there is an exhortation to continue brotherly love or philadelphia. Next, there is a reminder not to forget hospitality, or philoxenia, which is love of strangers. The passage goes on to talk about honoring marriage, which, of course, is all about marital love. And finally, it talks about remaining free from the love of material things. Love is all over this passage!

All of these areas of love are equally important, and in many cases they can be intertwined. We might welcome guests into our home, for example, but forget to let our spouse and children know in advance—or forget to consider the impact on our budget. Or we might spend a lot of time caring for one particular family member at the expense of another—or at the expense of reaching out to people who don’t have any family to speak of. No matter what area of our lives we are contemplating, the central question should always be: “Is love present?”

When you need to make a decision, ask, “Will I be showing love well if I do this?” Even if it’s a choice between two good and honorable options, you can ask, “Which of these will make love grow the most?” By thinking this way, you are inviting the Holy Spirit into your decision making and asking him how you can best reveal God’s character to the people around you.

How can you love a little bit more today? How can the Holy Spirit help you be guided by the “love” test? No matter what the situation, it always comes down to love—the love that drove Jesus to the cross, the love that will keep us close to him, and the love that compels us to reach out to other people.

“Jesus, help me to love as you have loved: completely and generously.”

Psalm 27:1, 3, 5, 8-9
Mark 6:14-29

4th Week in Ordinary Time

He instructed them to take nothing for the journey. (Mark 6:8)

Excited but vulnerable. That’s how the apostles must have felt. Jesus was sending them out to preach and to heal with his authority! But he was also sending them without food, money, or an extra tunic. They must have wondered, How are we supposed to do this? Why is Jesus making this so hard for us?

Jesus wasn’t out to make it difficult for them. He had confidence—both in his heavenly Father and in his apostles. He knew that they were ready to experience the ways God would provide for them with all the wisdom, power, and practical support they needed. He knew that this experience would build their confidence in themselves and deepen their faith in God. And that’s just what happened.

Most of us can relate to the vulnerability the apostles felt. There are times when we feel ill equipped to share the gospel with people. We feel that we need more patience, more energy, better health, or more discipline. But like the apostles, we can trust God to provide what we need to do the job at hand. He’s just waiting for us to take that first step!

What is Jesus sending you out to do today? Start with the people closest to you. Care for your family, and in doing so, show them the love of God. Bring peace into your workplace by upholding the dignity of your coworkers, especially when conversations fall into gossip. But don’t stop with the “normal” life that’s comfortable to you. Let the Holy Spirit call you a bit further today, to a place where you will need to rely on God’s provision. Maybe that means joining some friends in prayer in front of an abortion clinic or offering a meal and some companionship to a neighbor struggling with financial problems. Maybe it means finally telling a friend about how God helped you through a difficult situation. Whatever it is, go ahead and take that step.

Every step you take will make you more confident. It will make you bolder the next time an opportunity to share the gospel presents itself.

Take a step today, and see how God shows up to help!

“Jesus, help me step out with trust and confidence in you!”

Hebrews 12:18-19, 21-24
Psalm 48:2-4, 9-11

Saint Paul Miki and Companions, Martyrs (Memorial)

Strengthen your drooping hands and your weak knees. (Hebrews 12:12)

Isn’t it awe inspiring to watch Olympic weight lifters heft hundreds of pounds? Of course, you know that none of them began by hoisting barbell-bending weights. They started with the barbell itself and slowly increased the weight as they grew stronger.

So it is in our struggle against sin. None of us start out as Olympic weight lifters. We have to start out gradually and build ourselves up over time. Now, you may already be nearing Olympics caliber when it comes to battling sin, or you may be just starting out. Regardless of where you are, it’s always helpful to review some of the basics.

First, start your training by getting into the practice of examining your conscience each evening. “Where have I fallen short today? In what areas am I committing the same sins over and over? Who may I have hurt today by my words or actions?” Then ask God—and any person you may have offended—for forgiveness. Don’t forget to make sacramental Confession a regular practice. It will give you that extra burst of grace you need the next time you encounter a strong temptation.

Remember that sometimes you have to put something down in order to grip the barbell in front of you. That might mean separating yourself from the things that weaken you. It could be that Internet site that sucks you in for hours. It could be that extra glass of wine or that bowl of ice cream in the evening or the gossip you trade with your coworker each morning.

Sometimes there’s already sufficient weight on the barbell, and you need only to increase the number of times you lift it. That might mean spending a few extra minutes praying or reading Scripture, attending daily Mass once or twice a week, or occasionally substituting a saint’s biography for the current best seller.

Lifting weights is hard work, and so is battling sin. But you’re not doing it alone. God knows how you are made. He knows the things that weaken you and the things that strengthen you. So think of Jesus as your coach. He is standing right beside you. Let him show you what to lift up and what to put down. He is always ready to help you with his love and grace.

“Lord, I want to be strong enough to resist sin. Show me today how I can grow stronger.”

Psalm 103:1-2, 13-14, 17-18
Mark 6:1-6

BY: PATRICIA MITCHELL

The Church commemorates the martyrdom of St. Paul Miki and companions on February 6.

Paul Miki saw sparkling Nagasaki harbor coming into view. The six-hundred-mile trek from the Japanese capital of Kyoto through the cold and snow was nearly over. It had taken almost one month.

Along the road, villagers jeered at him and the others who had been sentenced to die for their Christian beliefs. “Fools,” they shouted, “Renounce your faith.” Miki, who loved to preach, urged the people to believe in Jesus, the Savior who died for their sins. Not all were insulting the prisoners, however. Fellow believers encouraged and prayed for them, giving them the strength and courage to continue on.

Miki thought how odd it was that he was to die before his ordination as a priest. Now thirty-three years old, he had been a Jesuit brother in training for eleven years. His eloquent and fervent preaching had led to many conversions. Yet he would never celebrate Mass, never raise the consecrated Host in his own hands.

Flourishing Faith. His thoughts often turned to his family. Miki had been born and raised near Kyoto in comfortable surroundings, the son of a brave samurai. A fellow Jesuit, Francis Xavier, had come to Japan forty-eight years earlier, in 1549, and his message of a loving God had won over hundreds of thousands of Japanese. Miki’s parents converted in 1568, when Paul was four. They nurtured his faith and sent him to Jesuit schools; he never doubted his vocation to the priesthood.

The seeds planted by Xavier flourished, but only when it suited the reigning ruler. The military leader Oda Nobunaga allowed the missionaries to preach because he wanted to challenge the power of the Buddhist monks and he was interested in foreign trade. But the next ruler, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, became nervous as more and more Japanese turned to Christ.

Christianity was a religion of foreigners, very different from Buddhism or the native Shintoism, which enshrined numerous minor gods. Japan feared conquest by the West. So Hideyoshi worried: What if these foreign missionaries came not to bring their God but their soldiers?

Blessed Are the Persecuted. In the fall of 1596, a Spanish ship crashed into the coast of Japan. While Japanese officials confiscated its cargo, an arrogant remark by the ship’s captain was interpreted to mean that missionaries intended to help Spain conquer Japan. Hideyoshi quickly ordered the arrest of several priests and laymen who had come from the Spanish Philippines to evangelize. He was convinced that a public bloodbath would put an end to this religion of the West. Although a native, Miki was among those who would serve as Hideyoshi’s warning.

On the day after Christmas in 1596, police came to the Jesuit residence in Osaka, and took Miki and two other novices. In prison, they were joined by six Franciscans and fifteen members of the Franciscan third order.

A week later, the prisoners were led into the Kyoto public square, where the sentence was pronounced: death by crucifixion. Miki’s heart soared. What an honor to imitate his Lord! Each man then stood by Hideyoshi’s samurai as a portion of his left ear was cut off. It was Miki’s turn, and searing pain shot through his head—the first blood to be spilled for Christ.

Then the forced march to Nagasaki began.

The Road to the Cross. Under a feudal lord, Nagasaki had become a Christian town, with Jesuits running schools, churches, and homes for the poor. As the caravan entered, thousands of Christians lined the streets. For the twenty-six prisoners (two more had been added to the group), it was like coming home! If Hideyoshi had intended the crucifixions to scare people away from Christianity, his plan was having the opposite effect.

On the morning of February 5, Miki and the others were led up Nishizaka Hill. One side of the road, where common criminals were executed, was covered with human remains; the other was covered with new, green wheat. The government official in charge of the executions had decided to give the martyrs a more decent killing field, and the wheat would be a carpet for their crosses.

Lying on the ground were twenty-six crosses, each one tailor-made for one of the martyrs. Seeing them, the prisoners began singing the TeDeum, the church’s traditional hymn of thanksgiving. Three youngsters in the group—thirteen-year-olds Thomas Kozaki and Anthony Deynan, and twelve-year-old Louis Ibaraki—raced ahead to find the crosses that fit their small frames. One by one, on their knees, the martyrs embraced their crosses—their way to perfection.

Soldiers tied them on with metal bands and ropes. Then the crosses were lifted and slid into holes in the ground—twenty-six stretching in a row from the bay to the road. The martyrs raised their eyes to heaven and sang, “Praise the Lord, ye children of the Lord.”

The Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus of the Mass echoed down the hill. One of the prisoners chanted, “Jesus, Mary. Jesus, Mary.” The crowds of Christians joined in. Then, one by one, the martyrs were given a chance to renounce Christ in exchange for their lives. Each one loudly answered, “No.”

Song of a Samurai. Planted in front of Miki’s cross was the death sentence Hideyoshi had pronounced: “As these men came from the Philippines under the guise of ambassadors, and chose to stay in Kyoto preaching the Christian law which I have severely forbidden all these years, I come to decree that they be put to death, together with the Japanese that have accepted that law.”

Fastened to his cross, Paul Miki gave his defense and final address in the form of a samurai farewell song:

I did not come from the Philippines. I am a Japanese by birth, and a brother of the Society of Jesus. I have committed no crime. The only reason I am condemned to die is that I have taught the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. I am happy to die for such a cause and accept death as a great gift from my Lord. At this critical time, when you can rest assured that I will not try to deceive you, I want to stress and make it unmistakably clear that man can find no way to salvation other than the Christian way.

The Christian law commands that we forgive our enemies and those who have wronged us. I must therefore say here that I forgive Hideyoshi and all who took part in my death. I do not hate Hideyoshi, I would rather have him and all the Japanese become Christians.

The guards listened, spellbound. Miki had shown he could remain a faithful Japanese, adhere to the samurai code of honor, and still give glory to Christ. Looking to heaven, he said, “Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit. Come to meet me, you saints of God.”

While embracing his culture and showing a warrior’s courage, he had gone beyond the samurai need to save face and avenge personal wrongs. By preaching love of enemies as his fare-well, Paul Miki showed himself a faithful samurai of the greatest Lord of all.

The Legacy of Resurrection Hill. Two samurai guards stood at the foot of each of the crosses at either end of the line of prisoners. In one moment, each soldier plunged his steel-tipped bamboo spear into the victim’s breast, crossing over each other’s spear in the process. A guttural yell, a sudden thrust, the gush of blood. And it was over.

When the gruesome deed was done, the Christians in the crowd pressed toward the crosses, soaking pieces of cloth in the martyrs’ blood and tearing their clothing for relics. Only with difficulty did the guards manage to keep them away.

A month later, a Jesuit missionary in Nagasaki wrote his superior that even in death, the martyrs were still bearing witness to Christ:

These deaths have been a special gift of divine Providence to this church. Up to now our persecutor had not gone to the extreme of shedding Christian blood. Our teaching therefore had been mostly theoretical, without the corroborating evidence of dying for our Christian faith. But now, seeing by experience these remarkable and most extraordinary deaths, it is beyond belief how much our new Christians have been strengthened, how much encouragement they have received to do the same themselves.

Today, some four hundred years after their deaths, the twenty-six martyrs of Nagasaki continue to inspire people. They are canonized saints now, and the place where they died is a pilgrimage destination, with a church, museum, and bronze monument. Pope John Paul II visited the site in 1981 and named it “Resurrection Hill.”

On the eve of his execution, thirteen-year-old Thomas Kozaki, who was to die with his father, wrote a farewell letter to his mother. Full of simple yet steadfast faith, the power of this letter, like the power of his cross, has not diminished over the years:

Dear Mother: Dad and I are going to heaven. There we shall await you. Do not be discouraged even if all the priests are killed. Bear all sorrow for our Lord and do not forget you are now on the true road to heaven. You must not put my smaller brothers in pagan families. Educate them yourself. These are the dying wishes of father and son. Goodbye, Mother dear. Goodbye.

Patricia Mitchell is an editor of The Word Among Us magazine.