‘My name is Francis-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan, and I am Vietnamese, but
in Tanzania and Nigeria, the youth call me Uncle Francis, which is a bit
simpler, or, even better, just plain Francis.
Until 23 April 1975 I was, for eight years, bishop of Nha Trang in
central Vietnam... On 23 April 1975, however, Pope Paul VI named me coadjutor
archbishop of Saigon. When the Communists arrived in Saigon, they told me this
nomination was the result of a conspiracy between the Vatican and the
imperialists to organize resistance to the Communist regime. Three months
later... I was placed under arrest. It was the day of the Blessed Virgin's
Assumption, 15 August 1975.’
19 years of imprisonment, 9 of
them in solitary confinement, followed the arrest of the future Cardinal Van
Thuan. Facing suffering and perhaps torture and death, at the time of his
arrest, his thoughts were, nevertheless, not for himself but for his flock.
Years later, he described his agony: 'My people, whom I love so dearly: a flock
without a shepherd! How can I reach my people in the very moment when they most
need their pastor? The Catholic libraries have been confiscated, the schools
closed, the Sisters and Religious who were teachers have been sent to work in
the rice fields. The separation was a shock that destroyed my heart.'
Still under house arrest, his
prayers received an answer. “One night a light came. “Francis, it is very
simple. Do what St Paul did when he was in prison: write letters to the
different communities.” Very early next morning, he summoned a 7 year-old boy,
telling him to ask his mother to buy some old pads of paper and then, every
night for the next two months, Van Thuan wrote his messages to his people. Each
morning the same child would collect his work and, with his brothers and
sisters, would copy and distribute the prisoner’s words. Scared of being
transported elsewhere before he had finished, during those few weeks, Van Thuan
wrote 1,001 pages to comfort and support those he would leave behind.
Eventually Van Thuan’s house
arrest ended and the anticipated moment of transfer to prison arrived. Yet
again, his thoughts were for others: “When the Communists put me in the hold of
the boat, the Hai-Phong, along with 1,500
other prisoners and moved us to the North, I said to myself, ‘Here is my
cathedral. Here are the people God has given me to care for. Here is my
mission: to ensure the presence of God among these, my despairing, miserable
brothers. It is God's will that I am here. I accept his will’. And from that
minute onwards, a new peace filled my heart and stayed with me for thirteen
years.”
At first, Van Thuan was with
other prisoners. “I was taken to prison empty-handed. Later on, I was allowed
to request the strict necessities… I wrote home saying ‘Send me some wine as
medication for stomach pains’. On the outside, the faithful understood what I
meant. They sent me a little bottle of Mass wine, with a label reading ‘medication
for stomach pains’, as well as some hosts broken into small pieces. The police
asked me: ‘Do you have pains in your stomach?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Here is some medicine
for you!’” Then, with three drops of wine and a drop of water in the palm of
his hand, he celebrated Mass. “At 9.30 every evening when ‘lights out’ rang,
everyone had to be lying down. I bent over my wooden board and celebrated Mass,
by heart of course, and distributed Communion to my neighbours under their
mosquito nets. At night, the prisoners took turns and spent time in adoration.”
Gradually Van Thuan started teaching,
not only prisoners, but also his guards. Even lessons on the French and Latin languages
and history were opportunities for catechesis. A combined group of prisoners
and guards began studying Latin. “One of my guards was in the Latin class and
one day he asked me if I could teach him songs in Latin. ‘There are so many and
they are all so beautiful’. ‘You sing and I'll choose,’ he retorted. And so I
sang Salve Regina, Salve Mater, Lauda
Sion, Veni Creator, Ave Maris Stella. You'll never guess the song he chose:
The Veni Creator! I can't begin to
tell you how moving it is, to be in a Communist prison and hear your guard,
coming down the stairs at seven every morning on his way to the gymnastics yard
for physical exercises, singing the Veni
Creator.”
Van Thuan was freed on 21
November 1988 and forced into exile, carrying with him to Rome the tiny wooden
cross which he had made in his cell and had hidden inside a block of soap.
Mounted in silver, this became his pectoral cross, which he wore until his
death from cancer on 20 September 2002.
Finally, in July this year,
Vatican Radio announced the closure of the diocesan phase of the beatification
process for the Cardinal whom they described as a ‘gentle hero’. Two miracles
are required for a candidate for beatification: at present three possible
miracles are under consideration.
The first possible miracle is
that of Sister Marie Thi Lan, of the Congregation of the Daughters of Mary
Immaculate, whose eyes were healed in 2009 without the surgical intervention
which was considered essential if her sight were to be saved.
The second also occurred in
Cardinal Van Thuan’s home diocese of Hue, where Mrs Mary Le Thi Than, aged 70,
was bed-ridden for over 40 years because of a severe form of neuralgia. She prayed
to the Cardinal and has recently resumed a normal life.
The third involves a seminarian
from Denver, Colorado, Joseph Nguyen, who went into a 32-day coma during a
‘flu-like illness’ which was actually H1N1 ‘Swine Flu’, and severe pneumonia.
Placed on life support, his death certificate had already been written when
Nguyen suddenly and unexpectedly emerged from his unconsciousness. “During my
coma, there are only two things I remember,” he said. “The only two things I
remember are two visions of Cardinal Van Thuan … He appeared to me twice.”
Within a few days, Nguyen had recovered full health.
Cardinal Francis-Xavier Nguyen Van
Thuan never once said that his imprisonment, with its hardships and
humiliations, was easy. Perhaps, somewhere in Heaven, he might compare notes
with the late Bishop Hong of North Korea, also imprisoned by a brutal Communist
regime, and the late Cardinal Adam Koslowiecki SJ of Zambia, who survived 5
years in Dachau and Auschwitz. Cardinal Koslowiecki often declared that his
incarceration was the most fruitful learning experience of his life. One thing
is certain: both Cardinals Hong and Koslowiecki would identify with Van Thuan’s
prayer:
"I am happy here, in this cell, where white mushrooms are growing
on my sleeping mat, because you are here with me, because you want me to live
here with you. I have spoken much in my lifetime: now I speak no more. It's your
turn to speak to me, Jesus; I am listening to you."
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