(1891–1927)
November 23
The well-dressed young man leaned on the railing of the Cuba as the ship’s captain shouted, “Land ahead! Veracruz ahead!”
Within a few hours they had docked, and the passengers were herded into the customs hall. Miguel grinned and tipped his hat jauntily as he walked confidently past the armed officers. No one suspected that this “rich” young man was not what he appeared to be!
This was a good thing, because in 1926 it was against the law for Catholic priests to enter Mexico. Miguel breathed a sigh of relief and said a prayer of gratitude as his baggage came through unopened. The chalice and vestments that he had received at his recent ordination in Belgium would have cost him his life.
Still wearing his disguise, Father Miguel Pro made his way through the crowded streets. It had been twelve years since he and his fellow seminarians had been forced to flee from their homeland. But he remembered the way to the Jesuit provincial house. Arriving in time for the evening meal, he was greeted warmly by his provincial superior.
“Father Miguel, you’re looking well! How did you survive such a long voyage so soon after your operation?” The young priest sat down in a chair across from his superior at the table, and the two men said their meal blessing together.
“God is good, Father. And with the Virgin Mary of Guadalupe watching over me, I had nothing to fear! Besides, since the operation in Belgium my stomach has given me no trouble at all!” Father Miguel took a bite of a freshly baked buñuelo roll, before asking, with a grin, “How do you like my costume?”
Father Provincial laughed. “Well, you certainly don’t look like a newly ordained Jesuit priest! What guardian angel warned you to come so well disguised?”
“There were Mexican travelers visiting our house in Belgium shortly before I left. They filled us in on the thirty-three articles regarding religious practices in our new constitution. Is it true that President Calles has closed the schools?”
“Not only the schools, but the hospitals and orphanages as well. All Catholic institutions had to either close or turn themselves over to the state.” Father Provincial pushed his bowl of soup to one side. “I’m especially worried about what will happen to the poor. The sisters had gradually been establishing schools in even the remotest villages. Calles says he’s for the poor working people, but without education, there will be no future for our country—and the Church was the only hope of the poor for education!”
“And what about the churches?” asked Miguel. “I’ve heard that the president intends to close them as well.”
“Yes. On July 31, the feast of our patron, St. Ignatius, the churches will be officially closed.” The older man looked intently at Father Miguel. The young man’s reputation for intelligence and prayer had impressed him. “Father Miguel, are you prepared to go underground? To risk your very life to bring the sacraments and the Gospel to our people?”
Miguel thought for a moment before he replied. “Yes, Father. I’ve offered my life to God through my vows as a religious. And through my priestly ordination, I’ve committed all my energy to preaching the Gospel and to celebrating the sacraments for my fellow Mexicans. I am prepared to do whatever is necessary.”
“I thought you’d say that! iexcl;Qué bien! Very well! Tomorrow you’ll go to visit your family in Mexico City. We’ll send word to you there about where we shall meet again. In the meantime, Father Miguel, don’t let anyone know your true identity. The people are flocking to confession by the hundreds, trying to receive the sacraments one last time before July 31. Try to go in and out of the church at night. Your identity isn’t known to the police yet; let’s keep it that way.”
Late that night, still dressed as a rich young man, Father Miguel set out for Mexico City. When he arrived, he exchanged his fine clothes for the dress of the poorest Mexican. His once-wealthy family was now impoverished, and Miguel didn’t want to attract attention to himself while visiting them. During the day, he talked and laughed with his elderly father and teenage brothers and sisters. They had missed him while he’d been away studying for his ordination. And he missed his mother now; she had died only a few weeks before his return. At night, Father Miguel celebrated Mass and heard confessions.
As July 31 approached, the city was tense. Violence often erupted between people loyal to the Catholic Church and people who supported the government of President Calles. But most faithful Catholics chose to oppose the anti-religious government in nonviolent ways. They boycotted stores and industries known to be Calles’s supporters. They refused to attend prayer services at the “national churches” established by the government. And they formed underground networks enabling priests to say Mass and celebrate the sacraments in secret.
One way Catholics kept up their courage was by distributing leaflets with parts of the Gospel, the catechism, and prayers printed in them. These leaflets were illegal. Anyone caught distributing them could be shot—with no trial.
One afternoon, a police officer spotted Father Miguel, who was disguised as a street cleaner, and picked him up for questioning. Miguel’s pockets were filled with Catholic leaflets. Maintaining his disguise, he began to tell the officer stories of the crazy things he had done as a youngster. Lucky for Miguel that he was a good storyteller! As the officer was laughing uncontrollably, Father Miguel tossed the leaflets out the car window. By the time they reached the police station, the officer decided to let his delightful young prisoner go without questioning.
But Father Miguel knew it had been a close call. There were government spies everywhere. Almost all the priests in the city had either fled for their lives or had been caught and killed—often while celebrating Mass. The city officials knew there was a priest circulating in clever disguises, but so far Father Miguel had always managed to slip by the security officers posted throughout the city. In the meantime, Catholics there had never been so devoted to their prayers. Because so many of the Catholic hospitals and orphanages had been closed, the women formed groups to help care for the sick and the homeless children.
On the feast of Christ the King, 1926, the people organized a peaceful procession to the shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Thousands of men, women, and children took part. Armed police were everywhere, looking for any excuse to begin shooting at the crowd of pilgrims. But there was no trouble. The people sang hymns and prayed the Rosary. Father Miguel, disguised as a worker, marched proudly with his people. “Viva Cristo Rey!” The familiar cry—“Long live Christ the King!”—had become the rallying motto of the persecuted Church of Mexico.
One afternoon a police officer spotted Father Miguel, who was disguised as a street cleaner, and picked him up for questioning.
President Calles became more corrupt. Along with his supporter General Obregon, he ran the country as a military state. The people who opposed him had to think of creative ways to spread the truth to the people of Mexico. Only by doing so could they hope to band together and vote him out of office.
Most active among Calles’s opponents were Humberto and Roberto Pro, Miguel’s younger brothers. On December 4, 1926, they carried out a daring act. Stuffing six hundred balloons with anti-Calles leaflets, they filled the balloons with helium and released them over Mexico City. When the balloons reached a certain height, they burst. The anti-government propaganda rained down on the busy streets.
Furious, President Calles demanded that someone be arrested. Since the Pro brothers were known for their anti-Calles activities, the police went to their home first. But they found only Miguel. He was arrested and spent that night and the next day in jail. Fortunately, no one had yet discovered his identity as a priest, and he was released.
As it became clear that his attempts to crush the Catholic faith in Mexico were not meeting with success, President Calles stepped up the violent persecution. Over ten thousand soldiers were sent out to arrest and shoot anyone suspected of promoting the Catholic faith—or of opposing the government of President Calles. Hundreds of priests and religious sisters were martyred for the faith; many lay people and children were killed as well. Father Miguel Pro was placed at the top of the “most wanted” list.
One afternoon, the tension in the city reached its peak when three young men tried to throw a bomb into the car carrying President Calles and General Obregon. The two leaders were not hurt, but their bodyguards opened fire, and two of the young men were killed. The third escaped, but was later arrested. Infuriated by this bold attack, the president ordered a sweep made of the city, and all the men ever suspected of opposing Calles were arrested, including Miguel and his two brothers. It was November 13, 1927.
For six days Miguel led his fellow prisoners in prayer and song. No longer able to hide his identity, he acted openly as a priest, hearing the confessions of prisoners and guards. At first, the prisoners hoped for release, since they had not been involved in the attack on the president and there was no evidence to convict them. But on the sixth day, Miguel announced seriously, “Today, I think, will be our last.”
This stunned his fellow prisoners. Father Miguel had always encouraged them to hope for acquittal! Concerned, they gathered around him in the dirty cell.
“Don’t be afraid,” he told them. “We go to the Lord with clear consciences!” Then he lifted up his hand and shouted, “Viva Cristo Rey!” Together, the men repeated his cry, and their spirits rose. They sang and prayed until a guard’s voice called out: “Miguel Pro! Come with me!”
The men were silent as Father Miguel picked up his jacket. The serious, sad eyes of the guard told him all he needed to know. After clasping his brothers’ hands in a final farewell, Miguel marched down the hall in front of the guard. As he was pushed out into the bright courtyard, the priest stopped and stared. A large crowd had gathered. He recognized many important dignitaries, newspaper photographers, and even some of his faithful Catholic friends. They had all come to witness the death of a Jesuit priest who had eluded the police for over a year. His only crimes had been preaching the Gospel, forming catechists, and celebrating the sacraments in the homes of faithful Catholics.
Clutching his rosary in one hand and his crucifix in the other, Father Miguel raised his head. Begging the Virgin of Guadalupe to give him courage, he forced his trembling legs to walk toward the wall of execution. Along the way, one of the police officers fell to his knees and grabbed Miguel’s legs. With tears streaming down his face, he begged, “Father, forgive me!”
“I have nothing to forgive, my friend,” replied Miguel. Then he embraced the man and said, “I will pray for you all.”
Father Miguel stood and faced the firing squad, stretching out his arms like Jesus on the cross. As the guns exploded, he cried out, “Viva Cristo Rey!”
Father Miguel had sacrificed his life out of love of God and neighbor. Intending to frighten the Catholic population into submission, President Calles ordered several of the young men who had been imprisoned with Father Miguel to be shot that day as well. Among them was twenty-three-year-old Humberto Pro, Father Miguel’s brother.
But there was probably nothing that strengthened the faith of the Mexican Catholics more than the murder of their favorite priest. As news of the deaths was broadcast, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets, shouting, “Viva Cristo Rey!” And, “Long live the Pope! Long live the Catholic Church!” Leading the crowds was seventy-five-year-old Señor Pro, Miguel’s father. At the graves of his two sons the next day, he led the huge crowd in singing the Te Deum, a hymn of praise sung only on the most solemn and joyful of feast days.
Father Miguel Augustín Pro was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1988.
The Church in Mexico still had a long struggle ahead before achieving freedom. But recognizing the holiness of their new young martyr, the people used his memory as a source of inspiration and courage. In many nations of the world today, the Church is still persecuted and people are oppressed by unjust rulers. We can pray to Blessed Miguel Augustín Pro for the grace to be proud of our Catholic faith and to use all our talents and energies to spread the Gospel of Jesus without fear.