“Before man
are life and death, and whichever he chooses shall be given to him.”
– Sirach
15:17
“Are you going to
write about Poland?” my friend and co-blogger Leanna asked. “Yes. Definitely,”
I responded. “I just don’t know where I would begin. How do you talk about that
trip in a blog?” she asked. That is a mighty fine question. How do you write about
a journey that included stops at the image of the Black Madonna, Auschwitz,
Blessed John Paul II’s spot of ordination, Birkenau, the miraculous image of
Divine Mercy, and JPII’s hometown? Better question: how do I write about it
without making the post shallow, not giving respect to true gravity of what was
experienced last weekend? I’m not totally sure, but here we go.
The whole
pilgrimage was, for me, a face-to-face encounter with reality. A while back on
main campus Father Dominic gave a talk on faith and reality. “People like to
use the Karl Marx quote, ‘religion is the opiate of the masses.’ And that quote
is true if it’s bad religion. Real faith puts you in reality, in your world. It
does not dull you to, but ought to spark you to live in and make it better.”[1]
The talk had a very profound effect on me and ever since then I try to live in
this reality with the faith
Anyway, our first
stop in the journey was in Czestochowa to venerate the Black Madonna, Our Lady
of Czestochowa. To make a long story short, this miraculous image has saved the
Polish people numerous times because of their faith. Reading the stories of her
intercession in battles certainly fascinated me; however, it was the wall of
canes, crutches, and other assorted tools for the disabled that hit me with the
reality of prayer. These crutches were left behind by people who were healed by
the Blessed Mother’s intercession—right there in the chapel before the image.
As the apostles left their nets and followed the Christ, so too did the healed
leave baggage behind to and step into their new found freedom. And who could
discount these physical examples of the supernatural? This was a fifteen-foot
wall adorned with crutches. Did the religious at the monastery hang them up to
manipulate religious fervor? That many canes? There is no way. Were the people
who hung them there faking it? There is no doubt in my mind that miracles
happen at Czestochowa. 
On to Auschwitz:
there I stood against the Death Wall, eyes fixed in front of me where hardly 70
years before hate-filled men fired away at victims who did not deserve what
they received, listening to the same calm, creepy wind rustle the leaves in the
trees behind me. What was once a multiple choice question on an exam, a
black-and-white photo in a textbook, or an abridged non-fiction novel for my
German III class, was now a glaring, draining reality. What we saw was hell.
People were led in to work and die and treated so inhumanely. Few of us were
gushing with emotion throughout the tour; rather, I felt flat and numb. Here I
saw one side of the polarity of free will: we can choose death and exterminate
one million human beings.
Or we can choose life. We can choose the love and mercy of Christ
and transform ourselves and the world. In a free gift of self to the Lord and a
free choice to love, our humanity is transformed. St. Faustina gave herself to
Christ and for that reason was able to give to humanity an image and the chaplet
of his Divine Mercy.[2]
A meek and humble religious sister—cloistered at that—and yet she chose to
allow Christ to transform her so that he could transform others—not only during
her lifetime, but a century later and years beyond. With our free choice, indeed
we can choose to love—to love as Karol Wojtyla did and the main saints before
him.
By far my favorite part of
the trip was our two-and-a half hours in Wadowice, Wojtyla’s home town. It
appeared to be just a quiet, small, unassuming town, a town where a boy grew
up. The Catholic Church in the middle of town was not as splendid and ornate as
the other churches we’ve visited. Nevertheless, having attended Latin mass that
morning I reflected on how much I appreciate vernacular masses. And yet in this
town, a child went to Latin mass in this (relatively) small church, faced with
death and pain, and yet he became Blessed John Paul II, “the Great”.
I was hit with so much peace in this town that a boy was formed
here. He wasn’t pope or priest—just a boy. And yet he loved and chose God and
chose life. And as a sister told us this weekend, God’s secret is that he
doesn’t want to give you little, he wants to give you much. Karol Wojtyla chose
to let God do this for him—give him much. And through that choice, his humanity
was transformed into a life-giving force—a force that continues to change
lives.
Before man are life and death, and whichever he chooses shall be
given to him. Which one do you want?
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