A reflection by
Gregory James Geaney, O. Carm.
Pucusana, Perú
Not for a minute would I dare to compare myself to Titus Brandsma, Carmelite, about to be canonized a Saint. The only thing we have in common is our “Carmeliteness,” nothing more. But I can't help seeing some parallels in our lives' journeys, parallels that are comforting to me as I grow older and finally must face death in real time as Titus did. The parallels are unforeseen gut punches (or passive dark nights of the spirit) occasioned by 1) forced time spent all alone in one's cell, and 2) the prospect of untimely death hanging over one's head. Both experiences lead to an overpowering sense of uselessness and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.
Maybe Titus saw coming his incarceration in Holland of the 1940's, but I didn't see coming the Covid Pandemic in Peru of the 2020's. In March of 2020 I found myself going from busy pastor in Pucusana, a fishing town just south of Lima, to life in prison in the Pucusana parish house. It was a strict lockdown, the mother of all lockdowns in South America at the time. Suddenly my cell became more than just a day-time refuge from pastoral obligations or a night-time place to lay my head. It became an honest-to-God 13th century style hermitage, the type you would find on Mount Carmel in 1207 or so.
On January 19th, 1942, Titus's normal life, full of vehement activity, changed drastically. He ended up all alone in a real cell with bars and locks, and his first reaction was: "I am now getting what I always wanted in life. I am going to a cell where I will finally become a true Carmelite. "It was almost with a sense of joy that he embraced the solitude of his cell and focused in on the real presence of God accompanying him at every moment, day and night. In the silence of his cell, he would have to deal with a deeper sense of self and give a new meaning to the way he spent his days, no longer feeling useful as was his wont when fighting for peace and justice and equality in his job as University Rector.
My pandemic lockdown in the Pucusana parish was not so joyful, although I did experience a deeper sense of the presence of God in my life. I also had some good spiritual reading to keep my spirits up, like the book on Titus titled Encountering God in the Abyss by Constant Dölle. At the same time, I was experiencing a lot of real guilt (shut up in my room like a coward while the people in town went to work - nurses and doctors with Covid patients, people tending to stores in the market place, bus drivers and fishermen, essential workers). However, unlike Titus, I was not powerless. I asked my Superior for a change of venue, ending up in our Novitiate teaching some classes to the Novices...somewhat of a relief.
The relief lasted a couple of months. Then the Spirit struck again with a second gut punch (second passive dark night of the Spirit). One night, after preparing classes, I began to urinate blood. Several exams and operations later the doctor diagnosed malignant cancer in the bladder. After removal of the tumor i had to move to our main house in Miraflores, once again confined to my cell during therapy, experiencing not only uselessness, but powerlessness and, like Titus, having to be realistic about the possibility of dying in the not too distant future. I soon would be 88 years old.
As luck would have it, my therapy began to work, and I went back to the Pucusana Parish in a limited capacity. The challenge now was how to keep working without becoming bitter. Titus again showed the way. On his way to Dachau via Kleve he was thrown into smaller and more crowded cells. It was a time of terrible physical and spiritual suffering. for Titus, an awful passive dark night, but a night of enormous consolation for those who had the luck of sharing their lives with his. Titus could foresee the suffering to come in Dachau, no longer in a private cell, but thrown into the common barracks with thousands of other prisoners. In one of his poems, he wrote: ¨But pain for me is a blessing for my heart, for pain makes me become like You." The dark night would transform him, as did the time spent in his cell, into the God of compassion and mercy of Dachau. His focus would no longer be on God and himself, but on God and his brother prisoners by incarnating in himself the arcane but accurate definition of love: "when the needs of others are greater than my needs." No matter how much he suffered on work details or getting physically punished by sadistic soldiers, he would always be there for his brothers whose needs were greater than his. He visited each one each day in their common quarters, a consoling word to keep their spirits up, a friendly hug to renew their faith in love, a timely prayer to give them strength to get through the day, while he himself walked blindly in a pitch black night of the soul.
The transformation of Titus was subtle but total. His mentor, John of the Cross, would have it in his Spiritual Canticle: "No flocks are now my care, no other toil I share, and only now in loving is my duty." He no longer had a flock to care for in Holland. He was no longer looked up to as a distinguished scholar who could solve educational problems or give profound theological talks or write profound newspaper articles. Only love was left attending to the needs of his brother prisoners whose needs were greater than his. And so, Titus prepared for death by injection by humbly accepting his present state of dejection and subsequent rejection: "pati and contemni" --to suffer at the hands of the guards and be despised, becoming nothing, no-thing, just a number 30492. But at the same time, he was fusing with the God of Love and Compassion and Mercy, becoming love, which was everything.
As I said at the beginning, I would never dare to compare my life to Titus's life. But how he inspires me to end my Carmelite journey here on earth as nobody, no-thing, not looked for, not consulted, not needed, leaving only love, as Thomas Keating would say. Love is the only thing that matters in the long run. Titus shared God's love with his fellow prisoners right up to the end, and finally, with his nurse, Tizia, who reluctantly had to administer his final lethal injection. He felt so sorry for her and tried to ease her sense of guilt- her need being greater than his at the very last moment of his life. Wow!
God knows how many months or years I have yet to live. The only thing I know now is how to die. Saint Titus, we pray, please show us the way.
Not for a minute would I dare to compare myself to Titus Brandsma, Carmelite, about to be canonized a Saint.
As a University Professor with a specialty in Philosophy, Titus Brandsma would have been acutely aware of the ideas and propaganda circulating in neighboring Germany during the 1930s. The Nazi party promoted a broad spectrum of basic principles which enshrined raw power and violence, especially at the expense of the weak. Friedrich Nietzsche’s celebration of the “superman” glorified the violent exploitation of others as the only path to survival and success. One can only rise to the top of a struggle by stepping on those inferior people below. In such a mindset, Christianity was ridiculed for its care and attention to the poor, sick, elderly, and handicapped. In Brandsma’s own Netherlands, the Dutch Nazi party (the NSB) reflected the same toxic views, although in a somewhat milder form before the war broke out.
In December 1935, following the harsh anti-Jewish Nuremberg Laws, Titus contributed an essay to a collective work by Dutch intellectuals. His contribution, The Delusion of Weakness, suggested that the root of discrimination was envy. The Nazi myth of the Superman grew out of an imagined feeling of inferiority because of success and accomplishments within the Jewish community in Germany. He proposed instead that anyone who was uncomfortable with Jewish contributions should see them as a motivation to create his own success without rancor. In a quick response, Nazi writers in Germany called him a crafty professor, a Jew lover, and even a Communist.
Even though Titus did not respond or hit back at these accusers, he continued to deliver carefully crafted lectures criticizing Nazi ideology. It was enough for him to speak the truth and allow it to be accepted by serious listeners. He spoke frequently about the Nazi distortion of the Aryan race, the Volk, as a near substitute for God. Any sort of criminal activity could be justified if it was rooted in the advancement of the perfect racial purity, with Adolf Hitler as its prophet.
On July 16, 1939, he delivered a sermon honoring the Saints Boniface and Willibrord. He pointed out that the old Germanic paganism which was based on powerful forces was not as serious as the Neo-paganism of the Nazis. Pretending that smashing one’s enemies was a form of high civilization had nothing to do with Nordic culture or centuries of Christian tradition and spirituality. The value of the human person was paramount in the eyes of God. “See how these Christians love one another.”
At each step of his truth-telling, Titus was recorded by meticulous agents of the Security Service of Hitler’s SS.
Even before the outbreak of war or the invasion of the Netherlands, Titus was well known to agents who added their reports to a thickening dossier of his activity. Titus told his friends that there were 2 young men who attended his classes at the University, but were not registered as students. They took detailed notes on whatever he said, but never asked questions or took exams.
After Holland was invaded in May 1940, Nazi administrators took over the civil government and slowly molded the details of Dutch life to reflect Nazi ideology. The points of conflict between Titus and the occupation forces became clear. As the NSB worked to tighten their hold on ordinary life, Titus laid plans to protect Jewish students, maintain the freedom of Catholic schools, and strengthen the Catholic press.
It was his tireless work on behalf of the bishops to defend the Catholic journalists that finally got him into conflict with the Nazis. His ironclad refusal to allow “fake news” to contaminate the integrity of Catholic newspapers marked a point of no return. His fate had already been decided in Berlin. Titus was too intelligent and methodical to be convinced to accept propaganda. He was too courageous and stubborn to be swayed by threats and intimidation.
Nothing remained to the authorities except his arrest and ultimate death. And so it was.
Download the Leaflet 10. Clash of Ideas pdf here (4.97 MB)
As a University Professor with a specialty in Philosophy, Titus Brandsma would have been acutely aware of the ideas and propaganda circulating in neighboring Germany during the 1930s.
To Jesus with Mary
Our Lady held a special importance for Titus Brandsma throughout his life. As a young boy Titus became familiar with various Marian practices including the rosary which the Brandsma family prayed on a daily basis. This Marian devotion would last a lifetime for Titus who even in prison organised several rosaries for himself when his one was taken from him.
In addition, Titus became familiar with the idea that we find Jesus by going through Mary. With Mary as a mother and as a sister, he followed Jesus on his way to the heavenly father.
My soul magnifies the Lord
Titus entered the Carmelite novitiate out of his desire for a more intense prayer life and because of the Order's great devotion to Our Lady. Later, Titus places on the picture for his ordination the words of Mary in her Magnificat: My soul magnifies the Lord. He who is mighty has done great things to me. (Luke 1: 46, 49) During his Roman years (1905-1909) Titus visited the catacombs, where an ancient image of Our Lady, called the Orante, impressed him. This he refers to as the image of the praying Church and to the image of Mary who sings her Magnificat. In a Marian magazine, Carmelrozen, which he co-founded, Titus wrote dozens of articles so as to foster love for Mary through an increased knowledge about the different forms of veneration of Mary, her feast days, Christian art work and the teaching of the church and councils on Mary.
Mary’s divine motherhood
Of special importance to Titus was the Council of Ephesus (431) which had declared the dogma of Mary as Theotokos (God-bearer). Titus reflected on the divine motherhood of Mary writing:
In Mary we see the most beautiful image of our union with God. She, the bride of the Holy Spirit, teaches us how we also, though not in the fullness of grace but in a wider sense, must be brides of God, in order that he be born in us, united – also in us – with human nature, our human nature. Under the beneficent influence of the Holy Spirit we must be born to a new life with God, who lives in us more than we live of ourselves.
Increasing our devotion to Mary means learning to imitate the attitudes she has in her life. And so, we too are called to become like Mary: bearers of the divine life.
By following her example, we should obviously be other Marys. We ought to let Mary live in us. Mary should not stand outside the Carmelite, but the Carmelite should live a life so similar to Mary’s that the Carmelite should live with, in, through, and for Mary.
Mary, Hope of all Carmelites
In 1939, Titus wrote a Way of the Cross for a pilgrimage. At the ninth station, when Jesus falls under the Cross for the third time, he prays:
O Mary, who has observed with admiration and motherly compassion the final efforts of your Son, help me to remember this when the fulfilling of my task in life becomes too heavy.
Perhaps this prayer was with him when he was arrested in January 1942 and sent initially to the prison of Scheveningen. There Titus transforms his prison cell into a Carmelite cell with a picture of Christ and a picture of Mary:
In the part of the breviary we are using now and which was luckily left to me, is the beautiful picture of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. So now my breviary is standing wide open on the topmost of the two corner shelves, to the left of the bed. When sitting at my table I only have to look a bit to the right and I can see her beautiful picture; while laying in bed my eye is firstly caught by that star-bearing Madonna, Hope of all Carmelites.
With the eyes of his heart fixed on Mary and with Jesus at his side Titus continued his own way of the cross from Scheveningen to Dachau. There he died on July 26th 1942. May his example inspire us to live a Christian and Marian life.
Download the Leaflet 9. Mary, the Mother of God pdf here (4.26 MB)
Our Lady held a special importance for Titus Brandsma throughout his life. With Mary as a mother and as a sister, he followed Jesus on his way to the heavenly father.
‘O Jesus, when I gaze on You’
The poem ‘O Jesus’, which Titus Brandsma wrote – and which was smuggled out of the prison – is for many people a comfort.
The Inscription
Titus wrote the poem in two days, 12 and 13 February 1942, in the convict prison of Scheveningen – established for political prisoners. The poem places itself ‘Before the image of Jesus’. In his cell, Titus has fixed three small illustrations from his breviary on his small folding table: the image of Christ on the cross, with the wounds of the Sacred Heart; St Teresa with her saying Mori aut pati (to die or to suffer); and St John of the Cross with his Pati et contemni (to suffer and to be scorned).
The Opening Line
The opening line evokes the atmosphere of contemplative attention. Seated silently ‘before the image of Jesus’, Titus Brandsma keeps his loving gaze directed to Jesus on the cross. The lament ‘O Jesus’ expresses the intimacy of his attention.
Once more alive, That… That…
Titus prayerfully explains what is happening whilst he gazes: ‘Once more alive…’ Devotion causes us to ‘rise up out of tepidity’ and ‘awakens love’. In his description of the movement of love coming from Titus and the counter movement coming from Jesus, Titus describes not only the reciprocal love he experiences but, more than that, a special friendship.
Good friends should mutually care for each other so that the value of friendship is not lost. In ‘O, Jesus’ the special nature of the friendship arises out of the mutually shared suffering.
Suffering shared in Friendship
A friend asks for the courage to suffer, a ‘special friend’ asks for ‘the courage to suffer more’, certainly when it concerns the friendship with Jesus who bears the suffering of humanity. Whoever suffers with his friend is like him. Thus, the disciples of Jesus ‘resemble’ Him who had gone before them on the way of ‘suffering’ in solidarity in suffering which leads into his Kingdom of peace. Friends desire to ‘resemble’ each other, they do not wish to see their friend standing there all alone, they wish to share the lot of their friend. In this spirit Titus says: ‘Oh, for me all suffering is good’. Friends bear each other’s suffering, through which ‘all suffering’, which in itself is evil, is ‘good’ for ‘me’ as a ‘friend’.
The Union with God
Does Titus mean a glorification of suffering? No, a spiritual logic is at work here: in suffering shared in friendship is the way of the good; bliss is the ultimate flowering of the good; this is the union with God. The friend ‘knows’ that his friend has taken his suffering seriously. It no longer belongs to him alone. His friend also bears it. However, what is of most importance here is the ultimate goal of the way: the union with God. This is, the heart of all devotion. The suffering reaches beyond the awareness of itself and can – as in ecstasy – only call out: ‘O God’.
O, leave me here
Titus notes in his prison letter that it can be ‘very cold’ in the winter. But this does not need to change for him: ‘Just leave me here’, here ‘before the image of Jesus’.
At this point in the poem the motif ‘with me’ begins to resound. The solitariness serves the interiorization of the bliss which was received in the shared suffering of the friendship. The ‘here alone’ does not become ‘weary’.
Your Presence makes all things good for me
Solitariness is the place where Titus can expose himself to the bliss of the suffering shared in friendship. For Titus the meaning of ‘Jesus with me’ and ‘never so close to me’ lies in the suffering shared in friendship as a way to Jesus’ Kingdom, leading to the union with God which reaches a climax in the last two lines: ‘Stay with me, with me, Jesus sweet, / Your presence makes all things good for me’. The occupying power defines the course of events ‘in prison’, but this far ‘here’, in the cell of Titus ‘before the image of Jesus’, its influence does not extend.
Download the Leaflet 8. O Jesus when I gaze on you pdf here (3.57 MB)
The poem ‘O Jesus’, which Titus Brandsma wrote – and which was smuggled out of the prison – is for many people a comfort.
