[Announce] Fw: Flash: Franz Jägerstätter, named Blessed by Pope!

[Robert Waldrop]

>From Frank Cordaro and the Des Moines Catholic 
Workers. . .

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Frank Cordaro" <frank.cordaro at gmail.com>
Got this from a priest friend of mine this 
a.m..... not sure of the
source but want to get the word out asap.... 
confirmation sure will
follow...

You heard it first from DMCWer!
frank cordaro

The Blessed Objector
In his morning appointments, the Pope received 
Cardinal Jose Saraiva
Martins CMF, prefect of the Congregation for the 
Causes of Saints.

Departing from the usual Vatican practice of a 
semipublic consistory
for the declarations of causes, the Holy See 
announced that, during
the prefect's audience, Pope Benedict "authorized 
the Congregation" to
publish his green-light for two causes for 
canonization, a whopping
327 beatifications and seven instances of "heroic 
virtue," the
"venerable" whose causes require miracles before 
they may proceed.

While among the new Blessed are to be found 127 
martyrs of the Spanish
Civil War and 188 from 17th century missionary 
efforts in Japan, the
day's standout declaration is that of the 
martyrdom of Franz
Jägerstätter, an Austrian whose conscientious 
objection to the Nazi
draft led to his beheading in 1943, aged 36.

As the grip of the Third Reich tightened in the 
late '30s and early
'40s, Jägerstätter lived as a husband and farmer 
and served -- after,
so it's said, a "wild youth" -- as a parish sexton 
in rural Austria;
his widow, Franziska, is still alive at 94. After 
he was ordered to
join the German army in early 1943, despite 
pressure which reportedly
came even from the ecclesiastical authorities, he 
refused, was
promptly jailed, and killed at Berlin within six 
months.

Jägerstätter has long been an icon of the peace 
and non-violence
movements -- in the Vietnam era, his witness was 
upheld by no less
than the brothers Berrigan, Thomas Merton and 
Dorothy Day. However,
today's declaration from the Holy See ends a 
years-long push for his
cause to be declared a martyrdom by Rome, thus 
paving the way for his
beatification without a miracle.

Two takes on Jägerstätter -- first, from Robert 
Royal of the Faith &
Reason Institute:

Jägerstätter received only a basic education at 
the local school, but
he developed good reading and writing skills. When 
in his mature years
he became an ardent believer, he would take time 
out of his demanding
work on the farm to read the Bible and spiritual 
works. By the time he
was imprisoned, he was well versed enough in 
Christian history and
thought that this "simple farmer" was delighted to 
find a copy of St.
John Chrysostom's sermons among the prison 
books....


[B]y 1936 Jägerstätter was a firm and active 
believer and began
serving as the sexton in the local church. Around 
that year, he wrote
to his godchild with the boldness of spiritual 
expression that was
characteristic of him: "I can say from my own 
experience how painful
life often is when one lives as a halfway 
Christian; it is more like
vegetating than living." And he poignantly adds: 
"Since the death of
Christ, almost every century has seen the 
persecution of Christians;
there have always been heroes and martyrs who gave 
their lives -- often
in horrible ways -- for Christ and their faith. If 
we hope to reach our
goal some day, then we, too, must became heroes of 
the faith."


In the meantime, he went about his business, much 
like others, but
with important differences. He had three children 
and a farm to run,
but Jägerstätter did not use family needs as an 
excuse to deviate in
the slightest from what was right. He stopped 
going to taverns, not
because he was a teetotaler, but because he got 
into fights over
Nazism. At the same time, he practiced charity to 
the poor in the
village, though he was only a little better than 
poor himself. The
usual custom in the village was to give a donation 
to the church
sexton for his help in arranging funerals and 
prayer services.
Jägerstätter refused them, preferring to join with 
the faithful rather
than act as a paid official. The period of 
self-discipline prepared
him for much more demanding sacrifices.

When the Nazis arrived, not only did he refuse 
collaboration with
their evil intentions, he even rejected benefits 
from the regime in
areas that had nothing to do with its racial 
hatreds or pagan
warmongering. It must have hurt for a poor father 
of three to turn
down the money to which he was entitled through a 
Nazi family
assistance program. But that is what he did. And 
the farmer paid the
price of discipleship when -- after a storm 
destroyed crops -- he would
not take the emergency aid offered by the 
government.


As the Nazis organized Austria, Jägerstätter had 
to decide whether to
allow himself to be drafted by the German army and 
thus collaborate
with Nazism. Two seemingly good reasons were given 
to him, sometimes
by spiritual advisers, why he should not resist. 
First, he was told,
he had to consider his family. The other argument 
was that he had a
responsibility to obey legitimate authorities. The 
political
authorities were the ones liable to judgment for 
their decisions, not
ordinary citizens. Jägerstätter rejected both 
arguments. In normal
times, of course, obedience to authority may be 
required even when we
disagree on certain policies. But the 1940s in 
Austria were not normal
times: to obey for obedience's sake would have 
been to do what Adolf
Eichmann would later plead in his trial in 
Jerusalem -- he was just
following orders.


The consequences of Jägerstätter's position were 
obvious: "Everyone
tells me, of course, that I should not do what I 
am doing because of
the danger of death. I believe it is better to 
sacrifice one's life
right away than to place oneself in the grave 
danger of committing sin
and then dying." But he serenely decided that he 
could not allow
himself to contribute to a regime that was immoral 
and anti-Catholic.
Jägerstätter was sent to the prison in 
Linz-an-der-Donau, where Hitler
and Eichmann had lived as children. According to 
the prison chaplain,
38 men were executed there, some for desertion, 
others for resistance
similar to Jägerstätter's (no others have been 
positively identified).
His Way of the Cross would not be long. In May, he 
was transferred to
a prison in Berlin. His parish priest, his wife 
and his lawyer all
tried to change his mind. But it was useless. On 
Aug. 9, 1943, he
accepted execution, even though he knew it would 
make no earthly
difference to the Nazi death machine.


A Father Jochmann was the prison chaplain in 
Berlin and spent some
time with Jägerstätter that day. He reports that 
the prisoner was calm
and uncomplaining. He refused any religious 
material, even a New
Testament, because, he said, "I am completely 
bound in inner union
with the Lord, and any reading would only 
interrupt my communication
with my God." Very few men could have made such a 
statement without
seeming to be in denial or utterly mad. Father 
Jochmann later said of
him: "I can say with certainty that this simple 
man is the only saint
I have ever met in my lifetime."...and from Jesuit 
Fr John Dear,
recounting a visit with the martyr's widow for the 
National Catholic
Reporter:


Death, terrible and certain. And early. With what 
strength did he face
it? For starters he had come to the same 
conclusion as Gandhi, that
non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as 
cooperation with good.
"It is still possible for us, even today, to lift 
ourselves, with
God's help, out of the mire in which we are stuck 
and win eternal
happiness -- if only we make a sincere effort and 
bring all our
strength to the task. It is never too late to save 
ourselves and
perhaps some other soul for Christ."


And he imbibed the spirit of nonviolence. "As a 
Christian, I prefer to
do my fighting with the Word of God and not with 
arms," he wrote. "We
need no rifles or pistols for our battle, but 
instead spiritual
weapons -- and the foremost among these is 
prayer."


The night Franz died, a chaplain paid him a visit. 
Said Franz: "I am
completely bound in inner union with the Lord." 
The chaplain later
testified: "Franz lived as a saint and died a 
hero."


I once made a pilgrimage to St. Radegund. It was 
in 1997, during my
tertianship year, on my way to Northern Ireland. I 
wanted to pray at
Franz's grave. I bore an invitation to the 
Jägerstätter house, but
finding the place posed a problem. I was by 
myself, and didn't speak
German. I trudged through the village for hours, 
magnificent farmland
on all sides, but no landmark or signpost pointed 
the way. Finally I
came upon an elderly lady in her yard eating plums 
off a tree. "Can
you tell me where the Jägerstätters live?" She 
smiled. "I'm Frau
Jägerstätter."


She looks like Georgia O'Keefe, has the sparkling 
eyes of Mother
Teresa, a warm, gentle soul with an infectious joy 
and loving
kindness. She carries herself with humility, a 
hint of shyness. But
beneath lies strength, a solid faith, deep peace, 
towering Gospel
conviction. She stands, to my mind, as much a 
saint as her martyred
husband. After Franz died, she took up his job as 
sacristan and set
about to raise their three girls and keep his 
memory alive.


She offered words of welcome and showed me around. 
Our first stop, the
old family home, where Franz lived and worked, now 
a national museum.
I ambled through the rooms and gazed upon the 
displays. I examined
Franz's letters and his belongings, while 
Franziska and one of her
daughters offered commentary, bringing Franz 
alive. During the evening
Franziska opened her photo albums and we gathered 
around, and the
family conjured precious memories, warm and worn, 
story upon story.


I was on sacred ground -- and me with no gift to 
offer in return, but
one. I told Franziska that their story had 
influenced me long ago to
become a priest, had goaded me into activism 
against nuclear weapons
and war And I said Franz has become a kind of 
icon. The Catholic peace
movement holds his memory aloft. His witness has 
passed into
timelessness and come to inspire the likes of 
Thomas Merton, Dorothy
Day and Daniel Berrigan. Franziska glowed. Most of 
this was news to
her.


Did you ever imagine it? I asked. That one day you 
would meet the
pope? That you would inspire the faith of people 
around the world?
That your home would achieve the dignity of a 
national museum? That
pilgrims like me would flock to visit you? That 
Franz would be
proposed for canonization?


Question after question; the poor woman could 
scarcely keep up.
"Never," she answered. The Nazis had dispatched 
him with German
finality. "I thought no one would ever know about 
him. I hid his
letters under my mattress for decades. Then, in 
the early 1960s,
Gordon Zahn learned of him and wrote his book, In 
Solitary Witness,
and that started the whole thing."


My last morning there we shared a liturgy in the 
village chapel. We
prayed in German and English for our families and 
friends, for the
church and the world. And we prayed for the 
abolition of nuclear
weapons and war. After Eucharist, we stood in 
silence by Franz's
humble grave.


It lies along the outside wall of the small chapel 
where he attended
daily Mass. Above it stands a typical Austrian 
crucifix bearing the
words of Matthew's Gospel: "Whoever wishes to save 
his life must lose
it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will 
find it." It was one
of the most moving spiritual and liturgical 
experiences of my life. As
I bid farewell, Franziska pressed into my arms a 
bag of plums and
apples from her yard, and some homemade bread.


Some months ago, the Vatican informed Franziska 
that its commission
had approved Franz's beatification. Now we're all 
awaiting the
official Vatican announcement and the date.


To my mind, this is an astonishing turn of events. 
In his time, church
officials had heaped ridicule upon Franz's 
insistence that Jesus
forbids us to kill. Now this turnabout, a kind of 
judgment against the
"devout" German and Austrian Catholics who cheered 
the war and fought
for Hitler. But more than that, the turnabout is a 
sign. It's a sign
that points to the nature of sanctity, a sign of 
the future of
sanctity.


In a world of total war, a world on the brink of 
destruction, only one
kind of sanctity bears fruit -- the one that Jesus 
embodied and Franz
embraced. Daring nonviolence that refuses to kill 
no matter the
pretext. Willingness to die without a trace of 
retaliation. Divine,
universal love for everyone, even the enemy. And 
public, prophetic,
outspoken defiance of patriotic militarism and 
state violence.


In an insane world, Franz points the way: refuse 
to fight, refuse to
kill, refuse to be complicit in warmaking, refuse 
to compromise -- and
pit your very self against structures of violence 
with all the
nonviolence in your soul.Jägerstätter is the 
second Nazi-era resister
to be beatified by Benedict XVI; in the fall of 
2005, the German-born
pontiff beatified Cardinal Clemens August von 
Galen (1878-1946), the
"Lion of Munster" whose residence was firebombed 
in light of his
outspokenness against the regime. Von Galen died 
less than a week
after returning from Rome and the reception of his 
red hat.