part0018

It was 1961. Fernando Valenciano had just asked an American, Dick Rieman, if he had voted for John F. Kennedy in the recent American election. Monsignor Escrivá continued, “It’s of no interest to any of us here whether Dick voted, or who he voted for. And I would ask everyone in the Work never to bring up such topics of conversation.” 1

People in Opus Dei never speak about politics. Monsignor Escrivá was very clear on this. “If Opus Dei had ever got involved in politics, even for a second, I would have left the Work at that very moment. So don’t ever give any credence to anything which tries to link the Work with politics, economics, or temporal issues of any sort. For on the one hand, our means and our aims are always exclusively supernatural, and on the other hand everybody in the Work respects the fact that every single one of us, man or woman, is completely free in secular affairs, and as a logical consequence is personally responsible for his or her actions. Therefore it is impossible for Opus Dei ever to take a hand in any projects other than directly spiritual and apostolic ones, which can have nothing to do with any country’s politics.” 2

The radical option of Opus Dei for freedom allows each individual to exercise his or her personal preferences on a wide variety of matters: state in life, job, cultural, sporting, or aesthetic questions. Monsignor Escrivá summed up the inheritance he was leaving in two human characteristics: good humor and love for freedom.

During the 1950s and 1960s in Spain, the presence of some members of Opus Dei in the government, universities, banks, and the media caused some people to imagine a collective “take-over” strategy. There were references to “white masons” and pressure groups. These people did not grasp that personal holiness is individual, self-determined, responsible, and free, a project in which each person maps out his or her own destiny.

The Second Vatican Council had not yet proclaimed the “universal call to sanctity” so it is understandable that many Christians at that time still thought good lay people should be a sort of appendix or “long arm” of the clergy, reaching out to the world on the orders of the clergy; they did not realize that lay people should act in the world on their own initiative. This was the novelty of Opus Dei from the start, but there was also “the oddity of not being odd,” which made some people regard members of the Work with suspicion.

One day in 1964 Monsignor Escrivá was chatting with a group of his daughters about these matters. “I never talk about politics. I respect all political opinions when they are not contrary to the Church, the faith, and the teachings of Jesus Christ. Moreover, I respect and obey the authorities of whichever country I am in. But I love freedom, because without freedom we could not serve God. Without freedom we would be wretched. Catholics must be taught to live as Catholics; not just to call themselves Catholics, but to be citizens who take personal responsibility for their free actions. Not long ago I wrote to a very important person—you can imagine it was whoever you choose, I don’t mind—that God’s children in Opus Dei live in spite of being Catholics .”

He went on, “It isn’t true that we go around like a flock of sheep. It simply isn’t true! Nor are we a pressure group. People who say so are wrong. I have a great many children of all sorts, from all over the world, of every race, and speaking many different languages. I’m not boasting, since I have to practice collective humility. If I were to try to use coercion in a temporal matter, everyone would leave. They’d say, ‘Who does he think he is!’ We have to be totally free in everything.” 4

In some ecclesiastical and political circles people feared that Opus Dei was a power bloc or pressure group. In others, both ecclesiastical and political, people were trying to turn Opus Dei into precisely that: an organized infiltrator of ‘moles’ programmed to invade the structures of society. There were even those who imagined that thousands upon thousands of people of Opus Dei could be manipulated and sent into action at one stroke.

Monsignor Escrivá himself time and again said no. “In the Work we never give directives on how people should exercise their rights and duties as citizens. Each individual acts according to his or her conscience. No one is told to go for one option or another. If there is something to be said regarding public life in a particular country, that’s the domain of the Church hierarchy, the bishops, and not ours. We defend our own personal freedom and everybody else’s.” 5

He also said, “Even if everything people say were true ten times over in the field of economics, we could still never be a pressure group because of the real freedom we enjoy in Opus Dei. As soon as anyone tried to impose their own opinion about a temporal matter, the other people of the Work who think differently would have the duty to rebel.” 6

To a group of students of the Roman College he said in 1967, “My sons, we love everyone, including those who don’t understand or don’t want to understand our free, personal actions as simple Christians. They can’t get it into their heads that you are as free as birds. We are completely free, and have the right to think and act as we please. We each do as we please in temporal affairs, as long as it is not contrary to the Catholic faith. There is a wide range of opinions to choose from. No one will ever say anything against your exercising this noble freedom, and that has been true since 1928.

“There were certain people who wanted us to be a political party so as to be able to manipulate us; but Opus Dei is not that. Opus Dei is the holy freedom of the children of God. There are some things—not many—that we all agree on: the faith and the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the spirit of the Work. In everything else you are completely free. We live in a world of disguised or open tyranny, and this marvelous individual freedom of ours, with its corresponding personal responsibility, is beyond some people’s understanding—they find it hard to imagine such a beautiful thing can exist!” 7

José Luis Muzquiz, a civil engineer who was one of the first three priests of Opus Dei, together with Don Alvaro and Jose María Hernandez de Garnica, in 1975 recorded some of his personal experiences as one of the first people to join the Work. In part his story reads:

In forty years I don’t recall ever having been asked about my political opinions. On the other hand, when I was in the United States, I do remember going to vote with another person of the Work, and even though we didn’t talk about it, I was sure he had voted differently from me. The Father had spoken to me right at the beginning about freedom in these matters of opinion. This has always been practiced in Opus Dei, in every country and in all circumstances.

“I went to 50 Ferraz Street in the afternoon—I am nearly sure it was four o’clock—to visit the Father. I was curious to know what this priest would think about the situation in Spain, the political parties and the political leaders of the day. At that turbulent time in the prewar years, all the priests discussed politics.

“The Father spoke to me right from the start in a supernatural, apostolic tone. ‘I’m very pleased you’ve come,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, and I’ve been praying for you a lot.’ No priest had ever spoken to me like that. Later, the Father told me, ‘There’s no greater love than Love itself. Other loves are petty by comparison….’ I said I had a certain interest in the political field: in fact I asked the Father what he thought of one of those public figures—I think I mentioned Gil Robles, for whom I had a certain liking. The Father answered straightaway: ‘Look, people here will never talk to you about politics. Young people from every background come here: Carlists, Popular Action, monarchists of the Spanish Renewal party, and so on. Why, yesterday the president and the secretary of the National Association of Basque Students were here.’ Then the Father added, ‘On the other hand, you will be asked many other ‘awkward’ questions. You’ll be asked if you pray, if you make good use of your time, if you are trying to please your parents, and if you study, because for a student, studying is a serious obligation.’ I was left in no doubt whatsoever about freedom in political matters.” 8

One morning in February 1957 Monsignor Escrivá spent some time with the students at the Roman College. One of the younger lads, thinking to give Monsignor Escrivá a big piece of news, told him the Italian press that day had reported that a Spanish politician had just been appointed a minister in Franco’s government. That referred to Alberto Ullastres, who was in Opus Dei.

Monsignor Escrivá responded that he personally did not care. What did interest him, he said, was whether that son of his was fulfilling his plan of life and doing his job, no matter what it was, honestly. He added humorously, “I’d be more concerned if they told me that that son of mine had a boil on his back.” 9

A few days later, a cardinal who was a friend of his telephoned from the Vatican to congratulate him on the appointment. Monsignor Escrivá’s answer was similar: “Why congratulate me? I don’t care one way or the other! This matter concerns Alberto Ullastres’ professional and political life. As a father, I’m pleased about the professional success of all my children, but nothing more! What I’m really interested in is Alberto’s sanctity and health. For the rest, I don’t care whether he’s a minister or a road sweeper, so long as he sanctifies himself in his work.” 10

These words and others in the same vein were not for mere outward show. Alberto Ullastres himself wrote some notes of a meeting with Monsignor Escrivá following his ministerial appointment. “When I was appointed Minister for Commerce in February 1957 I asked the Father for advice: what norms of action should I follow to live my vocation better in this new experience in my life? The Father answered ‘Just this: Do the norms and love freedom.’ I could tell that he didn’t want to say any more.” 11

During that same period Laureano Lopez-Rodo, also in Opus Dei, began to stand out in the Franco regime. He was to become Minister of the Development Plan and then Foreign Minister. He met Monsignor Escrivá in Lourdes on November 20, 1957. In his pocket diary he noted down that same day, “The Father told me a series of things:

“Each of these recommendations was just exactly what I needed.” 12

Four years later, on November 27, 1961, Lopez-Rodo had another conversation with Monsignor Escrivá in Rome. Monsignor Escrivá insisted on the same things: charity and freedom. He told Lopez-Rodo that “serving one’s country for love of God is more praiseworthy than serving a human being. No one is worthy of this service: only God.” Then he stressed, “In the Work we are completely free: the directors will never give you an order or make a suggestion. Like all Catholics, we follow the indications given by the Church through the hierarchy. We accept all the opinions the Church accepts and we accept all political parties except totalitarian ones.”

Even though he was talking to a minister of a country ruled by a military dictatorship, or maybe precisely because of that, Monsignor Escrivá dwelt on the question of freedom, taking a view above political questions. “With the passing of time,” he explained, “I’ve come to love freedom more and more. We have to respect other people’s freedom and be understanding; accept that others have their reasons for thinking differently; and admit that we ourselves may be in the wrong. Let’s never be fanatics. There’s nothing in this world worth being fanatical about. The only things we stick to unreservedly are the truths of the faith, but everything else—everything —is a matter of opinion. And if this or that person thinks differently, so what! He’s not offending me, so I don’t take offense!” 13

On another occasion Gregorio Lopez-Bravo, also a minister for a while in Franco’s government, took advantage of an official trip to Rome to visit Monsignor Escrivá. He said later, “Every time I tried to talk to Monsignor Escrivá about the difficulties I met with in my work, he always reacted by reminding me that his mission was not political but priestly, and all he could do was remind me of Catholic doctrine. He told me repeatedly that Christians were not second-class citizens, unmindful of, or detached from, the problems of our time: we had to be out there ‘where history is being made.’ … Whenever I tried to get a more precise idea of his ideas on freedom and responsibility in civil life, he would answer that ‘our behavior as ordinary Christians has no other limits than those marked out by the Church,’ and that ‘each individual should study the problems in the light of the Church’s teaching and seek concrete solutions with an upright conscience and with full personal freedom.’ … Every time we spoke together, he insisted that I should avoid thinking that I was in possession of the truth in matters of opinion like politics. ‘Get rid of all kinds of intolerance and fanaticism: you cannot treat anyone coldly or with indifference just because they think differently from you,’ he recommended.” 14

Lopez-Bravo was married and had a big family. In January 1970, when he was at home in Madrid, he received a photocopy of an old engraving of St. Thomas More, who died by order of Henry VIII, for opposing the King’s divorce. On the back of the print was a note from Monsignor Escrivá. “St. Thomas More knew how to love his family, his country, the Holy Church of God, and the Roman Pontiff. If he had lived today he would have been a supernumerary of Opus Dei.” 15

Vicente Mortes was also married, in Opus Dei, and a minister of the Spanish Government. After a meeting with Monsignor Escrivá in Rome in September 1963, Mortes made some notes of their conversation. “I’m pleased that you’re serving your country. Your job demands a lot of sacrifices and dedication, and so it can be a good way to sanctity. In any case, I couldn’t say which job is more important: yours or the person who shows in the visitors. The most important job is always the one which is done with the greatest love of God.”

In October 1967, when Monsignor Escrivá was in Pamplona, Vicente Mortes had another conversation with him. “Don’t worry, you zealous politician,” said Monsignor Escrivá. “I’m not a politician at all. I have my arms wide open to everybody, do you see that? Look, I have no right to have any political opinions. I myself defend the ‘freedom of consciences,’ and they call me a heretic for it; but not ‘freedom of conscience’ which means everybody doing just what they like.”

Mortes saw him again on February 11, 1968 in Villa Tevere. “In politics as in everything else,” Monsignor Escrivá told him, “use the plus sign, which is in the shape of a cross and means addition. In earthly matters there are many ways of achieving an end, and a lot of these are equally good. A politician who rejects people who think differently from him is a bad politician. Don’t ill-treat anyone, not even those who are on the wrong road: talk to them and listen to them, to bring them to God! Respect other people’s freedom. Remember the plus sign: Add! Add! Don’t divide! … Those of you who have a vocation to serve your fellow citizens deserve all my respect. What’s more, you’re completely free, as long as you don’t offend God. But I won’t go any further than this general criterion. I won’t say a word more! I’ve never put spokes in the wheels of anyone’s personal work, in anyone’s work for society, because you’re citizens like everyone else.” 16

Vicente Mortes had met Father Escrivá in 1940 in the students’ hall of residence in Jenner Street in Madrid. At the time he was a young man from the provinces who was just beginning his civil engineering studies. Thirty-five years later he remembered that first meeting clearly. “My father and I had come to Madrid from Valencia to look for accommodation. Father Eladio España, an exemplary priest, rector of Corpus Christi, had often spoken to me about Father Josemaría Escrivá, the author of The Way , who had established a students’ residence in Madrid.

“We arrived at number six Jenner Street and went up to the first floor. We waited in a small reception room with a balcony looking onto the street, until a few minutes later a young priest appeared before us, with a robust, cordial appearance: it was the Father. We tried to kiss his hand as was the custom then, but he gently pulled it away. We sat down and my father started talking to him about me. He explained that I was an only child and was going to be living away from my family for the first time. He was afraid I would be ‘lost’ in the big city. So he really wanted to leave me in a safe place where my comings and goings could be checked; where, in other words, I would be watched.

“As my father spoke, Father Josemaría Escrivá’s face changed; he became serious, very serious. Then he interrupted my father, saying, ‘You’ve come to the wrong place. In this residence we don’t keep a watch on anybody. We try to help the residents to be good Christians and good citizens, free men who make up their own minds and shoulder responsibility for their own actions. In this house we love freedom very much, and anyone who is not capable of handling it and respecting other people’s freedom has no place here.’

“Fortunately, my father understood that Father Josemaría was right: without a sense of personal responsibility, supervision would be useless, less than useless, because it would not make people into free men. In the end, the Father said that as far as he was concerned, I could stay.

“ ‘Go up to the third floor,’ he told us, ‘and speak to the director, Justo Marti, who’s a law graduate. He’ll tell you if there’s a room available and how much it costs. That’s not my business. My job as a priest is the spiritual guidance of the residents.’

“He said good-bye to us very warmly. I’ve never forgotten his words, which at the time, in Spain in 1940, sounded extremely harsh to me. One did not often hear people talk about freedom. Later, over the years, how often I heard the Father use this word! Without any doubt it was much more for him than an aspiration or an ideal: it was the air he needed to breathe.” 17

Among the many memories Vicente Mortes wrote down, one clearly outlines the freedom which has always been exercised in the Work in public and political decisions. “On coming to Madrid to begin my third level studies, I joined the Sindicato Español Universitario (Spanish Student Union), whose national president at the time was Jose Miguel Guitarte.

“In the Jenner Residence, I met some fine people, responsible students with good standing among their classmates. I thought the SEU would receive a great boost if these men joined and became leaders: they’d be excellent delegates who would attract others. I spoke to Guitarte about it and he thought it was a splendid idea. I went happily off to see the director of the center. He listened to me carefully, and when I had finished, he very gently pointed out my mistake. ‘Look, Vicente,’ he said, ‘I can’t talk to any of the residents here about politics. They are each completely free to think and act as they think fit in matters of opinion—which means almost everything, because there are very few dogmas of faith laid down by the Church. But it doesn’t concern me, and it isn’t my role to encourage or discourage anyone over this or that political initiative. It would be meddling in other people’s freedom.’ It was very clear that once again I’d come to the wrong door.” 18

Respect for people’s actions and personal opinions in Opus Dei are the fruit of a deep-rooted passion for responsible freedom .

Certain churchmen were not able to understand the freedom that people of the Work enjoyed in their professional work and activity in society. Monsignor Escrivá wrote to Dom Aurelio M. Escarre, Abbot of Montserrat, on March 25, 1958: “The last paragraph of your letter amused me because I too ‘criticize’ my children in public when I think ‘their free, personal actions in society’ call for it; although in many activities in this same sphere they deserve praise, which we ought not to begrudge either.”

He went on to say that this personal freedom was well known to all in Opus Dei. “And as a consequence it brings with it responsibility , which is also personal and exclusive , whether for successes or failures. So, logically, the Work can on the one hand never be held liable for the professional, social, and other activities of the individuals who belong to it, and on the other hand it can never obstruct their personal freedom, as long as they act conscientiously within the ambit permitted by the faith and the Church’s teaching. I know full well that Your Reverence will not hesitate to point this out at the opportune moment. I also know that people will be grateful to you and will understand, because all decent people who are capable of respecting the freedom of others all over the world do understand this.”

Freedom in all matters of opinion also applies to philosophy and theology. One day in March 1964 Monsignor Escrivá reminded a group of women of the Work in Rome, “In matters of faith we follow the doctrine defined by the Church. In all other matters left by God to the free will of human beings, we each think as we please, including on theological matters. That is why I absolutely forbid particular schools of thought or doctrine to be held in common by people of Opus Dei in matters of opinion, because in philosophical and theological matters we are also free.” 19

In the same conversation he said, “Those who call us ultraconservative are mistaken. The same goes for those who say we are progressive. We are free, qua libertate Christus nos liberavit —with the freedom in which Christ set us free…. Love freedom then, within the limits of our vocation. However, as the world is drowning in tyranny, there may be people who don’t understand us. Being tyrants themselves, they can’t understand souls who live in libertatem gloriae filiorum Dei , in the freedom of the children of God. We have to be champions of holy freedom.” 20

He often warned his children to struggle “against every kind of tyranny, and in case of doubt, always go for freedom.” 21

One day in the autumn of 1967, while strolling in the gardens of Lariz, a house in Elorrio in northern Spain, he told those with him he had compiled a fat file of notes on tyranny. “A tyrant normally has two or three taboo areas which no one but himself is allowed to touch. To ensure this, he allows those around him to tyrannize others in their turn about everything else. And so the practice of tyranny becomes a real school of tyrants.” 22

As he defended the freedom of consciences, he advised, “Don’t straitjacket your piety … all you need to do is tone it up from time to time…. In the contemplative life one can’t give general guidelines on the basis of a few people’s experience, as some mystical writers have done. God acts in souls, in each soul, in the most varied ways.” 23

Monsignor Escrivá wanted freedom to reign supreme in the inner life, where man meets God one-to-one. He encouraged his children “not to tie themselves to any particular system in the interior life” and to “do your own prayer in freedom, to put something personal of your own into your relationship with our Lord. There is—there needs to be—a lot of self-determination in the spiritual life.” 24

He used to compare the Work to a wide avenue, with plenty of walking space, where each person goes at his own pace. “The road of the Work is very wide,” he said. “You can go along it on the right or the left, on horseback, cycling, on your knees, crawling like little children, or even along the hard shoulder, so long as you don’t leave the road.” 25

In advocating freedom Monsignor Escrivá fostered diversity. Thus he said, “Within the general vocation to Opus Dei, which is to sanctify one’s work in the midst of society, God gives each person a particular way of achieving it. We’re not all cut out from the same template, like an insole. Our spirit is so ample that what is common to all of us is not destroyed by legitimate personal diversity, by healthy pluralism. In Opus Dei we don’t put souls into a mold and press them; we don’t want to straitjacket anyone. There is only one common denominator: our desire to reach our final goal, that’s all.” 26

“In Opus Dei,” he said, “the more we differ from each other the better, always provided the small common denominator remains intact. We respect everybody and defend their freedom; I’m not fanatical, not even about Opus Dei, and I beg you for the love of God not to be fanatical about anything. Have generous hearts.” 27

When Opus Dei began to spread over the world, Monsignor Escrivá established guidelines for asking people to go abroad. The new post should be proposed, not imposed; they should be given time to make up their minds; if they accepted, they should then be asked if they were going of their own free will; and because of this freedom, they should know that it was not a sign of bad will to acknowledge they were incapable of doing such a job in such a place.

From the beginning, he established team management of the Work, to avoid any trace of authoritarianism. All matters, whether great or small, were to be studied in detail by several people. He himself governed with the help of a team of men, the general council, and of women, the central advisory.

At the beginning of the 1950s he gave Javier Echevarria, then a young law student and a student at the Roman College, the job of keeping an eye on the refurbishment of one part of Villa Vecchia. Javier, from the Chamberi district of Madrid, was the youngest of eight children in a middle-class family. His father had died three years previously. Although no one suggested it to him, he had come to Rome on an impulse to be near Monsignor Escrivá.

“Don’t you? Well, my son, you’re not here as an item of decoration. You’re here to see how the building work is going, how the work is being done, what the men need, and who comes and goes. And the obvious thing to do if anyone you don’t know comes in is to ask him: ‘Who are you?’ because this is your house. Yours! And if you don’t bother to look after it, if you’re not interested in who comes in here to work, it means you have very little sense of responsibility.”

Javier went pale. Monsignor Escrivá grasped him by the shoulders, shaking him affectionately while saying, “Don’t you realize, Javi, my son, that it isn’t I, or any other person, who gave you this job at this moment, but God our Lord himself? So you have to put your heart and soul into it, all your sense of responsibility.” 28

Javier Echevarria recalled another event: “During those times of building alterations in Villa Tevere, on one occasion we had to move the contents of the Father’s office to another area, to leave the room free for the workmen. The Father asked all of us then in the Roman College, about eighteen of us, to help so the job could be done very quickly.

“The Father said to us before we began, ‘I have complete trust in each of you here. So I am not going to worry about how you do it. I am sure you are going to respect all the material: I know you won’t touch a thing, or take anything, or sneak a look at anything. The Father trusts his sons implicitly.’ We organized a chain, passing things from one to another. Suddenly I saw that in one of the cupboards we were carrying there was an open box containing the Father’s visiting cards. I didn’t think it would matter to take one of these cards, because they just had the Father’s name and address printed on them, nothing handwritten. So I took one card and kept it. I was glad to have it, and I mentioned it to someone a few days later, not attaching any importance to it. When the Father heard about it, he asked to see me alone. He said in all simplicity, directly and emphatically, ‘My son, if you behave like that, I’ll never be able to trust you.’

“I was shattered to hear these words. For an instant I thought the Father was magnifying a simple matter of a visiting card out of all proportion, but as he went on I understood the depth of his reprimand. ‘Before you started moving the office, I told you all clearly that you should not touch anything. But it seems that that didn’t matter to you. If you go on like this, Javier, I shall never be able to trust you or rely on you. You need to change a lot.’”

The sequel came not much later. “One day in 1952 or 1953—I was twenty at the time—the Father asked me if I would be his secretary. I said ‘yes’ immediately. Among the first instructions he gave me, I remember, he said, ‘You can look freely into all the cupboards and desks in the office where I work and the room where I sleep. Open all the drawers, because I won’t be keeping anything secret from you.’

“I could not help thinking of the visiting card episode. From the Father’s correction I had learned that if I did not carry out an instruction, he could not count on me. I knew for a fact that at no time had the Father withdrawn his trust. And now that he was asking me to be his secretary I had the most palpable proof that the Father trusted his children and relied on them totally, with no restrictions whatsoever, without abusing their freedom, like a good father, but at the same time demanding responsibility, like a good director.” 29

From then on Monsignor Escrivá had Javier Echevarria by his side as his secretary. In 1956, when he chose two guardians, custodes , to help him in all his personal needs, both spiritual and material, he designated Don Alvaro del Portillo and Father Javier Echevarria.

Helena Serrano, head of the printing press in Villa Tevere, relates an incident that speaks volumes about Monsignor Escrivá’s respect for his children’s freedom in their work.

“Several times during the Second Vatican Council, Don Alvaro asked us to print various conclusions of the council. He was the secretary of the commission which wrote the decree Presbyterorum Ordinis . I remember that each time Don Alvaro had to explain something regarding the lettering of the text he wanted us to do, the Father simply and discreetly moved away to the other side of the room, or actually left the room, waiting on the other side of the half-open door, but not listening. He was aware that Don Alvaro’s personal work at the Vatican was none of his business.” 30

When Villa delle Rose was being set up in Castelgandolfo, some material with specific characteristics was needed. They searched high and low for it without success. One day Monsignor Escrivá said at a get-together, “We’re going crazy because your sisters say it has to be that specific kind of material and no other!” An Italian timidly suggested, “Father, I could ask my family if you like, because we have a textiles mill.”

He often said Christians needed “holy shamelessness” to become involved in other people’s lives, “just as God got involved in mine, without asking for my permission first.” But they should do this without trampling on privacy, and with extreme delicacy. “One has to enter souls on one’s knees.”

On April 9, 1971, in Villa Tevere, he had a visit from a group of students and young professional women from Holland, Germany, Italy, and Austria. One of them, a German Protestant, asked him, “I see a tremendous gulf between my religion and Catholicism, in spite of our common faith in Christ. How can this abyss be overcome?”

“My daughter,” he responded, “there is indeed a lack of unity among Christians. I respect other people’s beliefs, so much so that I would not speak to you about the truths of the Catholic faith unless you asked me to. But all of you, Christians and non-Christians alike, can count on my loyal, selfless, cheerful, priestly, divine friendship. When I meet people who aren’t Catholic, as I’m not a hypocrite, thank God, I usually say to them, ‘I’m a Catholic and I know that I have the truth.’ “ Then he went on, “You have another faith and I respect you with all my heart, with all my soul! To such an extent that I would do anything to defend the freedom of consciences; but my conscience does not allow me to say you hold the truth.” 32

Three years later in Lima, in response to Keiko Watanabe, a young Japanese wife and mother who was a Buddhist and wished to learn about Catholicism, he said, “With my personal ecumenism, because I can’t do anything else without compromising my faith, I will tell you that I have the truth. However, I want you to know I respect your faith and your beliefs. And with God’s help I’d lay down my life to defend the freedom of your conscience.” 33

When people of other religions heard him speak of the Catholic faith with such assurance, they did not detect any arrogance or animosity. Here was a priest with arms wide open, faithful to revealed truth but not brandishing doctrine like a club. He always looked for what united people.

Two Swiss brothers, Calvinists, visited him in Villa Tevere on Easter Sunday, 1970. As usual, he told them he had the whole truth and they did not, but he would give his life to defend the freedom of their consciences. His charm and open-mindedness, and the supernatural turn he gave the conversation, disarmed these men. After the visit they said, “We’ve seen the joy of the Resurrection today. This has been the best Easter Sunday of our lives.” 34

The Cremades were a large family from Saragossa in Spain. The parents, Juan Antonio and Pilar, had ten children, several of whom belonged to Opus Dei. In 1964 they all went to Rome together for an audience with Paul VI and to meet Monsignor Escrivá. Juan Antonio and Pilar were celebrating their silver wedding anniversary.

Monsignor Escrivá said Mass for them in the Holy Family oratory in Villa Tevere and invited them to stay for breakfast. At one point he talked about freedom. He encouraged Juan Antonio and Pilar to be friends of their children and allow them to practice personal freedom; they should not try to make their family a “minor seminary” or aim for “all their children to join the Work.” Looking at each of the ten children, he said, “Let each traveler go his own way!”

At the time one of the Cremades boys, Javier, was antagonistic toward anything having to do with Opus Dei. He felt his family or his friends in Miraflores (a center in Saragossa) might be setting out a trap to catch him. However, he did decide to study medicine at the University of Navarre. Soon after arriving there, he telephoned his parents, urging them to come see him. “Come as soon as you can,” he said, “I’ve got something important to tell you.”

His father, dumbfounded, asked how the change had come about. Javier explained, “I was convinced they were out to catch me. I thought the Miraflores lot were after me. But when we were in Rome in March, and heard the Father speak about freedom so forcefully, saying how we were completely free and asking you not to coerce us morally, I said to myself: ‘Javier, no one’s pushing you, no one’s putting pressure on you. You’re alone and it’s up to you to decide for yourself. Do whatever you choose.’ And in that sense of freedom, I decided to write to the Father asking to join Opus Dei.” 35

One day Monsignor Escrivá was speaking to some of his sons about holy steadfastness, not yielding, “as I am convinced of the truth of my ideal.” He spoke about holy shamelessness, “disregarding what people might say,” and about holy forcefulness “to bring souls to God by calm, fearless apostolate.” Some present felt this holy forcefulness or holy coercion should have immediate effect “as the word of God is always fruitful and cannot fail.”

Monsignor Escrivá called their attention to the mysterious interplay of freedom and grace. “Not everybody has to be in the Work. It’s a vocation, and God gives it to whomever he pleases. My children, we have to really love freedom…. The only kind of ‘holy coercion’ we have is prayer, setting a good example, and being a good friend. You may think that’ll take a long time! But I say to you that grace is far quicker than we are. The conversion from Saul to Paul was the work of a moment! And then he thought it over for three long days.

He continued speaking of this passionate union between freedom and grace, freedom and self-giving for the sake of love, and willing service. “And when, on occasions, the devil makes us feel the weight of this yoke we have taken on freely, we have to hear the words of the Lord: iugum enim meum suave est, et onus meum leve , ‘because my yoke is sweet and my burden is light,’ which I like to translate freely as: my yoke is freedom! My yoke is love! My yoke is unity! My yoke is life!”