As the man pleaded his case, Father Maximilian Kolbe came forward and offered his life for the one pleading. The German commandant of Auschwitz—probably rather shocked—agreed, and Kolbe, with nine others, stripped naked and entered the 3-foot high concrete bunker.
As Hillsdale students approach my desk on the fourth floor of Delp Hall, several things stand or sit between me and them. There’s the huge desk, of course. But, on the desk sits a lamp, some books, a MacBook, and a small figurine of a monk, one of his hands broken off. Some of my own knowledge of the figurine itself is foggy, as I no longer remember why his hand is missing. I do know that I purchased the figurine at a nunnery in Ohio many years ago.
The figurine is of one of my great heroes, a Catholic saint and priest. I almost always get the same reaction from my students. Typically, they pick him up and say something like “Oh, I like your monk action figure, Dr. Birzer.” Usually, a slight but sympathetic laugh or giggle accompanies the question as they continue to examine the figure.
“Oh, do you know who that is?” I ask. The usual guess is: “St. Benedict”? A legitimate guess, especially given that we teach the rule of St. Benedict to all of our freshmen and that I have such a fondness for Miller’s Canticle for Leibowitz.
No, I explain, this man died on August 14, 1941, in cell block 13, the worst of all punishments handed out by the National Socialists in Auschwitz prior to the employment of the ovens and gas chambers.
St. Maximilian Kolbe, a Roman Catholic priest, had been taken prisoner by the Nazis, as had been vast number of his fellow men, Poles, Jews, Catholics, and Lutherans. The Nazis seemed to avoid discrimination when it came to state sanctioned murder.
On the last day of July, 1941, a prisoner had attempted to escape the terror camp. As punishment, the commandant called out 10 random names—the names of those to be executed in retribution for the one man trying to escape. One of the names called had belonged (or, rather, had been forced upon) a husband and father. As the man pleaded his case, Father Kolbe came forward and offered his life for the one pleading. The commandant, probably rather shocked, agreed, and Kolbe, with nine others, stripped naked and entered the 3-foot high concrete bunker. Deprived of food, water, light, and toilets, the men survived—unbelievably—for two weeks. Madness and cannibalism had never overcame them, as the Nazis had hoped. Instead, through Kolbe’s witness as priest and preacher and as an incarnate soul made in the Image of Christ, grace pervaded the room. When the commandant had the room searched two weeks later, only to find the men and Father Kolbe alive, he furiously ordered them all to be injected with carbolic acid.
The man who removed Kolbe’s body offered a wondrous testimony under oath. Kolbe, he said, had been in a state of definite ecstasy, his eyes focused on something far beyond the bunker, his arm outstretched, ready to accept the death of the chemicals to be injected in him.
At this point in the story, the student almost always puts down the figure of St. Maximilian Kolbe, a little surprised, a little overwhelmed, a little impressed, and with a bit of reverence.
No mere action figure sits on my desk.
There sits a representation of the saint of the twentieth century, patron of the 205 million men, women, and children murdered by their governments because they were each and every one of them an unrepeatable center for dignity and freedom, made for beauty and eternity, not for the whim of governor, bureaucrat, commandant, or ideologue.
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The featured image is a photograph of Maximilian Kolbe in 1936, and is in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
I don’t mean to nitpick (I’m always grateful to read anything about St Maximilian), but the article mentions that the starvation bunker was only three-feet high; accounts I’ve read up to now mention that St Maximilian was often seen standing in the middle of the cell when guards checked.
I had visited St. Maximilian Kolbe’s cell on a religious pilgrimage of Central Europe over 11 years ago. According to our guide, the prisoners in that small cell were forced to stand, without rest, for hours without end.
One of the great heroes of the era of the Nazi persecutions. NE OBLIVISCARIS…do not forget. We shall build for him a monument and a memorial. Let us be men of valor and courage for our family, for our country and for Holy Mother Church.
My Auld Pop used to tell me that I should be proud to be a Gael. Not because we were the Master Race (how could we when our history is a disastrous one of military defeat and exile?) No, because we are among the oldest Christians of Northern Europe dating back to St. Patrick (5th Century, St. Columba (6th century and St Maelrubha and St. Mungo founder of Glasgow. Every male in my line has been baptized in an unbroken line (depending on the clan descent from St. Patrick, St. Mungo or St. Columba (the three main missionaries of the Gaels). Learning the stories of the early saints and missionaries was an important part of our heritage. They gave us the alphabet, the Christian faith, they abolished slavery and headhunting as well as polygamy and human sacrifice. Until the Early Fathers came to us we were the White Barbarians of the North. Our pre-Christian epoch was not a happy one as we raided and murdered and stole with impunity. Still it is amazing that the White Martyrdom of Ireland achieved so much without violence even though the Scots and Picts and Gaels were a very violent people. But something told us that here were Godly men and women and to harm them would be the greatest sin of all. So we have always protected and been loyal to the Holy Mother Church despite the Penal Years and many generations of persecution.
These Gaelic missionaries brought the faith to the Anglo-Saxons (my father used to joke a very bad mistake), and to many German and Swiss communities. They helped restore leaning and established many schools in Ireland, Scotland, England and the mainland of Europe. Never forget a marginalized, militarily weak people helped save western civilization only by having a strong faith in God and in the vital importance of learning and education. Saints like Father Kolbe should be remembered and remembered often. People attack the church as corrupt, as full of perverts and crooked but all I can say is you won’t find any Father Kolbes or Mother Teresas in any Planned Parenthood Clinic.
PSALM 127
A Song of degrees for Solomon.)
Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.
2 It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.
3 Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.
4 As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.
5 Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.
A beautiful reminder.