A blog post by Dan McNally, Spring 2011
After a week of study which seemed to last forever, Thursday night we boarded the buses for Poland. We prayed for a safe trip, and started the movie Karol: The Man Who Became Pope. I had seen it before, but in preparation not only to see the places where he grew up, became a priest, and became a cardinal, but also in preparation for the horrors of the concentration camps, the movie provided a powerful perspective which stayed with me the whole weekend. The movie was very long, however, and on a bus ride into the morning, few people got adequate sleep. Before we realized it, it was 5:45 A.M., and we were sprinting to the shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa to be present for the unveiling of the image kept there. Tradition holds that the icon of our lady of Czestochowa was painted by St. Luke the Evangelist on a table that Christ built for his mother. We made it on time, and with trumpet blasts and drum rolls, the image appeared. It was beautiful, and such a powerful connection to the early church. Not only that, but with Mary as queen of Poland, our connection to the sufferings and joys of the Polish people and heritage began the moment we set foot in their country.
After a morning of reflection and prayer, we prepared ourselves for the journey into the mouth of hell at Auschwitz. The weather could not have been more fitting. It was very cold, and the sky was an intimidating and oppressive heavy gray. Walking on that ground, I pictured the thousands and thousands of feet that had trod in that very spot, many of them walking unwittingly to their deaths. We saw things I'd rather not repeat; we saw things no one should see, much less of which to fall victim. In the emotionless state in which I found myself after just a short time, the thought occurred to me that this was not just murder. I had always seen the holocaust as a horror and a terrible event of evil and malice, but being there, walking those paths, hearing how many died every day seeing where they died, seeing how people had become statistics, how the Nazis made up for lack of killing resources and time by expanding their daily operations, I saw that it truly was a universal extermination: Hitler had a goal, a quota, and given more time and resources, he would have met it. It was utterly “efficient” depravity. Romans 5:20 tells us “...where sin increased, grace abounded all the more...” The palpable darkness of this atrocity underscored and highlighted the virtues of the just who gave their lives, and showed that love is more powerful than death. Standing in front of Maximilian Kolbe's cell, one could not deny that the grace of God's love living through Him was infinitely more potent than the poison that was pulsating through their captor’s veins.
Saturday was spent in Krakow. In the afternoon, we ventured to the Shrine of Divine Mercy. We venerated the relics of St. Faustina, and in the chapel there, prayed a Divine Mercy chaplet in five languages, the unity of which brought happiness to my heart. This joy continued and grew all weekend. It continued at the Shrine, where we celebrated the Mass. Going up to communion in this place of mercy, after a few days of darkness and doubt of God's love, I looked up at the image of the loving merciful Christ above me, I felt a sense of peace I could not shake. I was reminded of the advice of a priest and friend back home, who had encouraged me to pray for Christ's Divine Mercy every day, and I felt at home once more. That night when we returned to the hotel, I stayed alone in my room and prayed, and found such peace in the Divine Mercy, it's difficult to describe or relay, but all I can say is pray to Jesus, realize his love and mercy, and put your trust in Him. He is with you at all times.
The next morning we celebrated a Polish-Latin Mass at JPII's cathedral in Krakow. I was struck by the first mark of the Church, that of unity and oneness. Though the language was completely foreign to me, I always knew what was being prayed, and I softly spoke the prayers in English to myself. Though it was in a foreign country and language, it was the same liturgy, the same Mass, as if I hadn't left my home parish. After Mass, we visited Nowa Huta, the town made for Communism and Atheism, and saw how Christianity could not be kept out, and saw where many died defending the cross against the oppressive regime of the time. At the conclusion of our time, we visited Wadowice, John Paul II's hometown. We walked through his parish, saw Mass being celebrated and entered into the timeless universal sacrifice, as he did so many times there. One could feel the quiet holiness of this humble place.
Poland is a country of great culture, history, suffering, and resurrection. The Polish people are a rock of faith, and they are proud of their history, their pain, and their renewal in Christ. It was an honor to be a guest to their wonderful part of the world. We keep Divine Mercy in mind as we prepare for midterms this week!
John Paul the Great, pray for us. Jesu Ufam Tobie.
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