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Holiday: January 5th

* March 28, 1811, Prachatice, Czech Republic
† January 5, 1860, Philadelphia, USA

Meaning of the name: modest (lat.)

John Nepomuk Neumann

John Nepomuk Neumann was born on March 28, 1811, in Prachatice in the Bohemian Forest. His father, Filip Neumann, came from Obernburg in Bavaria and became a stocking master in Prachatice. He married the daughter of a Prague saddler master: Anežka Lepšá. Ján was their third child, and three more were born after him. On the day of his birth, he was baptized in the church of St. James the Elder and was named after the Czech patron saint, John of Nepomuk.

As he himself mentions in his diary, both of his parents were deeply religious. His mother often took him to church for various devotions; he ministered almost daily. Despite this, he did not initially contemplate the priesthood; it seemed too noble to him. He began to consider it much later. After finishing elementary school in Prachatice, he went to České Budějovice to the Piarist grammar school, where he diligently studied Latin and Greek. However, he also had to take private Czech lessons because German was spoken more at home.

After graduating from high school, he hesitated between medicine in Prague and the seminary in České Budějovice. He was drawn more to medicine because he was genuinely interested in natural sciences, and, in addition, only 20 of almost 100 applicants were accepted to the seminary. However, his mother persuaded him to apply to the seminary anyway. So Ján submitted both applications and, to his surprise, was accepted to the seminary in České Budějovice.

Due to limited circumstances, he had to study externally, but he achieved excellent results. Sometime during his theological studies, he came across letters from the “Annale Leopoldinae,” a magazine about American missions, which shaped his future vocation. He felt very clearly that his Lord was also calling him to missions. After reading the letters of a Yugoslav missionary in North America, he decided that after his ordination, he would go there. To prepare himself linguistically, he moved to Prague, but strangely enough, he could not find an English teacher there either. He did not give up and began learning English and Spanish privately from factory workers.

After completing his theology studies, however, he faced another obstacle, almost unimaginable from today’s perspective: he was refused ordination due to the surplus of priests. Since there was no longer any place to place priests, the bishop was allowed to ordain only those theologians who had been promised a position as private chaplains in a noble family. However, Ján did not have any such protection. In his need, he turned to his friend, the priest of Budějovice, Fr. Dichtl. Through an acquaintance from the Strasbourg seminary, he contacted the ordinary in Philadelphia, Bishop Francis Kenrick, who was still laboriously seeking a priest to work with emigrants in North America. However, as a condition for paying for the trip, he demanded that the candidate have a recommendation from his bishop, which Ján did not have either. Finally, a hopeful path opened up: Bishop Jean Dubois of New York wrote a letter requesting that priests be sent to work with the growing minority of German immigrants.

Finally! John left Prachatice on February 8, 1836, deliberately without saying goodbye. In Budějovice, he sent his parents a note explaining that he did not want to bother them unnecessarily. Let it be their consolation that he was going where the Lord was sending him. He completed a rather exhausting journey by ship across the ocean and landed in New York at the beginning of June, ragged and penniless. Still, with determination, he went from American diocese to diocese, asking for a missionary position. “I will ask for permission to work for the souls who are most abandoned, whether they are Germans or Indians. And if no one accepts me, I will withdraw into solitude, where I will repent for my sins and the sins of others.”

But he did not have to search long. He soon found St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where Bishop Jean Dubois warmly welcomed him. John had imagined he would spend several months preparing for his future work and for receiving the sacrament of the priesthood, but the bishop misled him—there was no time for long preparations. In the same month, on June 25, 1836, John of Nepomuk was ordained a priest at the age of twenty-five. He was immediately assigned to work in a vast area around Buffalo, near Niagara Falls. On his way to his new place of work, the young novice priest stopped in the town of Rochester, where he met Father Prost, the superior of the American Redemptorists (Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer). A deep friendship developed between them.

He courageously took on his first parish. In June, he celebrated the first mass in the village of Williamsville, in a church without a roof and windows. He himself came from rough circumstances, but the harsh living conditions of his parishioners deeply affected him. In those days, there were many scattered emigrant settlements, consisting mainly of German families, but also of French, Irish, and Czech families. Dense forests, swamps, and rivers separated the individual settlements, and there were no proper roads. He served spiritually and took care of the immigrants’ practical needs. He thought a lot about children and their education, founding and helping to build schools, first in Williamsville and Lancaster and later in the North Bush settlement, where he moved in 1838. There, he also first met and befriended the Indians, calling them “the poor children of nature.”

During his constant, arduous, and lonely journey from one settlement to another, he felt an ever-increasing need for a support system, a kind of spiritual family. The community-based work of the Redemptorist missionaries attracted him. Finally, in 1840, he wrote a letter to Father Prost, in which he confided his secret desire to join the Redemptorists. He was accepted with pleasure. He entered the novitiate in Pittsburgh and completed it in Baltimore at the monastery of St. James, where he also took his vows on January 16, 1842. Together with him, his brother Václav, who had come from Bohemia to help him, entered the congregation as a lay brother.

In Baltimore, John participated in the parish’s pastoral care and also helped organize the construction of the new basilica of St. Alphonsus Liguori, the founder of the Redemptorist congregation. After only two years, however, he was elected superior of the religious house in Pittsburgh, and from 1847 to 1849, he led the entire American Redemptorist mission. But his mission in America did not end there. Divine Providence had an even more challenging task in store for him.

In 1851, he returned to Baltimore as the superior of the monastery of St. James. In addition to administering the parish, he devoted himself to writing and publishing the “Katholische Kirchenzeitung”. He also took care of the nuns, whom he himself invited to lead new elementary schools, orphanages, and hospitals. At that time, he was caught by the unexpected election of the new bishop of Philadelphia – he was to become it himself! John did not want this, and, to tell the truth, even the Catholics of Philadelphia were not enthusiastic: John of Nepomuk seemed to them not very representative for such an office. He was of short stature – he measured only 160 cm. He did not suffer from dressing; moreover, he was a foreigner and spoke English with a strange accent. Archbishop Kenrick, however, insisted on his election.

John of Nepomuk was ordained a bishop on March 28, 1852, coincidentally on his 41st birthday. This happened in the Baltimore Basilica of St. Alphonsus, in the construction of which he himself had participated years earlier. He chose the words of the well-known prayer as his motto: “Sufferings of Christ, strengthen me!” Even in his new office, he devoted himself primarily to ordinary people, tirelessly visiting all the parishes entrusted to him. During each visitation, he organized spiritual renewal, but he also founded hospitals, orphanages, and schools, and invited new religious communities to the diocese to take care of these institutions. He built 80 churches and more than 100 parish schools. He is therefore rightly considered the founder of American Catholic education. He also made outstanding efforts to mitigate manifestations of racism. He advocated elevating liturgical celebration and reformed the local seminary. For the needs of his pastoral ministry, he himself wrote the Small and Large Catholic Catechisms, which later saw twenty-one editions. Wherever he went, he strove to renew spiritual life and to restore unity with the Bishop of Rome.

In the autumn of 1854, he traveled to Rome to personally participate in the solemn declaration of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary. Until the very day of the declaration (December 8), he lived as a regular Redemptorist in a Roman monastery, visiting pilgrimage sites in the area on foot and performing works of penance. He also met Pope Pius IX at a personal audience. After the declaration, he set off on his first visit to Bohemia in the 19th century! First, at the end of December, he visited his sister Jana in Prague, the superior of the Borromean monastery. He intended to arrive in Prachatice in secret, but people heard about his arrival, and his sleigh was greeted from afar by the ringing of bells, gunfire, and music. Everyone gathered in the streets, kneeling to receive the famous native’s blessing. In his home, his father welcomed him and hugged him; his mother was no longer alive at that time. He stayed in Prachatice for only a few days in February 1855. At the end of March, he resumed all his duties in Philadelphia.

His life’s journey ended very suddenly – on January 5, 1860, when he was returning from the post office, at the age of 49. It was a cardiac arrest. Archbishop Kenrick said of his death, “He could not die otherwise than on the road. He was always in motion. Every hour, every moment of his life, his soul was directed towards the Lord God.” He was buried in the Redemptorist Church of St. Peter in Philadelphia.

The beatification process began in 1897, and on October 13, 1963, it was declared part of the Second Vatican Council. Pope Paul VI solemnly canonized him on January 19, 1977. Commemorators consider it a miracle that some priests and religious figures from Bohemia were able to attend his canonization in Rome, given that the communists ruled Bohemia and it was the year of Charter 77.

Prachatice native Ján Nepomuk Neumann paradoxically became the first American saint. He not only preached unity, but also acted as if he himself embodied a bridge between different worlds: the son of a German and a Czech woman served several white nations, Indians, and blacks in America. May he obtain for us such a broad and open heart, which we so need in this time of merging cultures and worlds, but also a truly missionary spirit, the Spirit of Christ.

In December 1992, an Italian missionary arrived in Singapore. On his way to his mission in the evening by taxi, he saw Christmas lights everywhere, with symbols of the Christian Christmas holiday. He told the taxi driver, “I have never seen anything like it.” Encouraged by this confession, the man remarked, “For us in Singapore, Christmas is the most important holiday of the year.” “But what are you celebrating?” asked the missionary, wanting to get to know the driver’s thoughts. But the man did not answer. Even in Christian countries, where Christmas is celebrated as the Nativity of the Lord, some people do not know the answer to this question or the meaning of Christmas. That is why the Church says, on the eighth day after Christmas, the following sentence of John the Baptist: “Among you stands one whom you do not know.”

What does it mean to “know Jesus”? In all ancient and modern languages, including biblical Hebrew and Greek, the verb “to know” has a wide range of meanings. It can mean visual knowledge of a person, knowledge of everything or almost everything related to him, and sharing life, feelings, joys, and suffering. For us to know Jesus, human knowledge and experience are not enough. Such knowledge is why the evangelists speak of angels who announced the mysterious birth, and—as we will read in tomorrow’s Gospel—the heavens will be opened, from which the Holy Spirit will descend, confirming Jesus’ divine nature. Even if a person possessed all the knowledge found in the Gospels and other Scriptures about Jesus, they would still lack the gift of faith. Jesus will remain unknown.

In June 1994, the police found Brother Ettore, a Camillian who lived for and with the poor, during a check near the central station in Milan, where drug addicts and prostitutes meet. The policeman asked for his documents, checked them, and said, “Brother, you cannot stay here. What kind of religion is he to be here at this hour?” Someone shouted, “Leave him alone; he is Brother Ettore.” He said with a smile, “Mr. Policeman. Our Lady fulfilled her duties, but allow me to fulfill mine too.” The policeman objected, “What is duty? Please leave!” Although this episode did not occur on Christmas Eve, it convincingly shows that, for many Christians today, Christ remains someone and something unknown.

At the beginning of the new year that the Lord grants to our lives, it is beneficial to raise the gaze of our hearts to Mary. For she, as a mother, sends us back into our relationship with her Son: she brings us back to Jesus, she speaks to us about Jesus, and she leads us to Jesus. The Solemnity of the Most Holy Mother of God thus immerses us once again in the mystery of Christmas: God became one of us in Mary’s womb, and we, who have opened the Holy Door to begin the Jubilee, recall today that “Mary is therefore the door through which Christ entered this world” (St. Ambrose, Epistle 42, 4: PL, VII).

 The Apostle Paul summarizes this mystery by stating that “God sent his Son, born of a woman” (Gal 4:4). These words—”born of a woman”—resonate in our hearts today and remind us that Jesus, our Savior, became flesh and is revealed in the fragility of the flesh.

 He was born of a woman. This expression brings us back to Christmas above all: the Word became flesh. The Apostle Paul specifies that he was born of a woman, almost feeling the need to remind us that God truly became man through a human womb. There is a temptation that fascinates so many people today but which can also tempt many Christians: to imagine or manufacture an “abstract” God, linked to a vague religious idea, to some fleeting beautiful emotion. Instead, he is concrete; he is human: he was born of a woman, he has a face and a name, and he calls us to enter into a relationship with him. Jesus Christ, our Savior, was born of a woman; he has flesh and blood; he comes from the womb of the Father, but he was incarnated in the womb of the Virgin Mary; he went from the highest heaven, but he dwells in the depths of the earth; he is the Son of God, but he became the Son of man. He, the image of Almighty God, came in weakness, and though He was without blemish, “God made Him to be sin for us” (2 Cor. 5:21). He was born of a woman and is one of us. He is one of us. That is why He can save us.

 He was born of a woman. This expression also speaks to us of Christ’s humanity, to tell us that he reveals himself in the fragility of the flesh. If he descended into the womb of a woman and was born like all creatures, here he reveals himself in the fragility of a child. That is why the shepherds who went to see with their own eyes what the angel had announced to them did not observe extraordinary signs or magnificent manifestations, but “they found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger” (Lk 2:16). They found a helpless, fragile child who needed his mother’s care, needed swaddling clothes and milk, and needed caresses and love. Saint Louis Marie Grignion de Montfort says that divine Wisdom “did not want to give herself directly to men, even though she could have, but preferred to give herself through the Virgin Mary. Nor did she want to come into the world at the age of a perfect man, independent of others, but as a poor little child who required the care and nourishment of her mother” (Treatise on True Devotion to the Virgin Mary, 139). And so in the whole life of Jesus, we can see this choice of God, the choice of smallness and concealment; he never succumbs to the temptations of divine power to perform great signs and impose himself on others, as the devil suggested, but reveals God’s love in the beauty of his humanity, dwelling among us, sharing an ordinary life made up of work and dreams, showing compassion for the suffering of body and spirit, opening the eyes of the blind, and refreshing lost hearts. Compassion… The three attitudes of God are mercy, closeness, and compassion. God becomes close, merciful, and compassionate. Let us not forget this. Jesus shows us God through his fragile humanity and his care for the delicate.

 Sisters and brothers, it is beautiful to think that Mary, the girl from Nazareth, always leads us back to the mystery of her Son, Jesus. She reminds us that Jesus comes in the flesh, and therefore the privileged place where we can encounter him is above all in our lives, in our fragile humanity, and in the humanity of those who pass us by every day. And by invoking her as the Mother of God, we affirm that Christ was begotten of the Father but truly born of the womb of a woman. We proclaim that He is the Lord; He is the Lord of time, but with His loving presence, He also inhabits this time of ours, even this new year. We admit that He is the world’s Savior, but we must seek Him in every person. And if he, who is the Son, made himself small to allow himself to be taken into the arms of his mother, to be cared for and nurtured by her, then this means that even today he comes in all those who need the same care: in every sister and brother we meet, who needs attention, listening, and kindness.

 This new year that is opening, let us entrust to Mary, Mother of God, that we too may learn, like her, to find God’s greatness in the smallness of life; that we may learn to care for every creature born of woman and, above all, to protect the precious gift that is life, as Mary does: life in the womb, the life of children, the life of the suffering, the life of the poor, the life of the elderly, the lonely, and the dying. And today, on the World Day of Peace, it is precisely this invitation that flows from Mary’s maternal heart to which we are all called: we are called to care for life, to care for wounded life—so many wounded lives, so many—to restore the dignity of the life of every “born of woman”; it is the fundamental starting point for building a civilization of peace. Therefore, “I ask for a firm commitment to promote respect for the dignity of human life from conception to natural death, so that every person can love his or her life and look to the future with hope” (Message for the LVIII World Day of Peace, 1 January 2025).

 Mary, Mother of God, and our mother await us right in the manger. She shows us, as she did to the shepherds, a God who always surprises us, who does not come in the splendor of heaven, but in the smallness of a manger. Let us entrust this new Jubilee Year to her, let us hand over to her our questions, our worries, our sufferings, our joys, and everything we carry in our hearts. She is a mother. Let us entrust the whole world to her so that hope may be reborn, so that peace may finally sprout for all the peoples of the earth.

History tells us that when the bishops entered the church in Ephesus, the faithful people, with staffs in their hands, cried out, “Mother of God!” Those sticks were surely a promise of what would happen if the “Mother of God” dogma were not proclaimed. Today, we do not have sticks, but we do have a child’s heart and a voice. Therefore, let us all together invoke the Holy Mother of God.

Another year is behind us with its three hundred and sixty-five days, with its work, and with its worries and joys. It is behind us, with its plans we could have implemented, as well as the less successful ones. The year has passed. But it is not erased. It has not been lost forever. That is why, at the end of the year, we look back, take stock, and conclude. Of course, these reflections extend beyond economics.

Everyone, although the end of the old and the beginning of the new year is associated more with external manifestations of joy and fun, should assess the previous period in the silence of their heart. Indeed, because good and evil endure past the stroke of midnight. He will accompany us as a guide to our future as well. An assessment before the “Lord of Time” can save us in the future.

We have lived this year, as in all others, immersed in its joys and miseries. We have heard and read a lot about the events of this year in recent days. Some things have interested us very much, others not. Naturally, everyone considers different values ​​to be significant and vital. 

Therefore, we reflect on what appears significant to us and what we believe is relevant to our lives. In the year that is ending, not so much the outstanding achievements and progress of our time have attracted interest, but rather concern and fear have appeared in people’s souls. The worries that weigh on the people of this earth are too significant. Concern for nutrition and health, for the climate and the protection of species, for peace, tranquility, social justice, and ensuring human dignity; concern for solidarity with the hungry and those who suffer injustice; concern for the consequences of biological and medical research and technical progress on the life of this earth. Politicians are paralyzing each other rather than reaching a consensus. And the moral reserves in our country?

When we reflect on this at the end of the year, we do so also with the intention of better recognizing the context of our lives, which cannot be separated and detached from the concerns of the world and the people of these times. It is not just a matter of wanting to change something around us, but, above all, a change primarily in us. God lends us a hand in this effort. Just a few days ago, we joyfully recalled his coming into this world as a man. This is not just the poetry of Christmas, but the reality of Christian everyday life… He gives us courage. We do not just have to complain, lament the misery of this world, or resign. “Behold, I am with you…”

“God carries the cosmos,” says Bishop Franz Kamphaus, and adds, “If we wanted to take the world into our own hands, we would be going terribly far. He carries the cosmos. If this is really the case, then we have free hands, feet, heads, and hearts to begin the reform of each of us: within ourselves, in the Church, and in society.” This courage comes from the trust that we are in God’s hands, that He is carrying us. With this trust, friends, let us enter the new year as new people.

  It is not enough to have a vocation in life. Its fulfillment is different for each person. And this daily discovery of our vocation leads us to deepen our love for those for whom we are responsible. Life events often make it challenging for us to find a new direction. After the death of her husband, Anna dedicated herself entirely to God in service in the temple. She could have married another man, but in her search, she heard God’s voice. She indeed sought her next mission in prayer and “counseling” with God.

The prophetess Anna had the gift of the Holy Spirit—the grace to recognize the Son of God present. In the temple environment, in prayer, in renunciation, she opened herself to an encounter with God, who embraced her with his care. In the Holy Spirit, she rejoiced in the salvation of Israel, which came in the newborn Jesus, whom Mary and Joseph brought to the temple to present, as was the Jewish custom for firstborn sons. Occasionally, we complain that God does not speak to us. Such complaints may not be due to some “godly season” of typical dryness in our spiritual life. Occasionally, it is our fault when we drown out the moments when God wants to speak to us. We prevent God from speaking through television, our interests, and the way we solve our problems.

Let us ask what our life paths should be in the vocation we live. Let us pray and listen attentively to discern what God wants from us today. Through regular prayer, we can receive the gift of constant prayer, in which we go through life with a continuous focus on our Lord—the Redeemer. Let us not neglect any prayer that we should pray today. Encouraged by the example of the prophetess Anna, let us devote at least five minutes today to meet Jesus Christ, the coming Messiah and Redeemer. It is He who wants to touch our lives in a healing way. In those five minutes, let us give Him ourselves, our lives, and all that we have. Lord Jesus, provide us with your Spirit, that we may discern what our calling is and how we are to fulfill it. 

CURRICULUM VITAE

He came from London. He studied theology, became archdeacon of Canterbury, and later served as the king’s chancellor and a close friend of the king. Later, as archbishop and primate of England, he defended the church’s freedom and rights, even against the king. Due to the resulting hostility, he lived in exile in France for 6 years. After a partial reconciliation, he returned and was murdered in his cathedral shortly before his 52nd birthday.

CV FOR MEDITATION

HE LAID HIS LIFE FOR THE LIFE OF THE CHURCH. HE ENCOURAGED

He was born in London towards the end of 1117 or in 1118, the son of Gilbert Becket. He studied theology in Paris and at the age of twenty-five became a deacon and assistant to Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury. His learning, wisdom, and polished eloquence led the archbishop to send him to study both church and secular law in Bologna, Italy. He completed his studies in Auxerre. In the meantime, he handled the embassy between the English archbishopric and the papal see.

From 1154, he was Archdeacon of Canterbury and Provost of Beverley, and in 1156, on Theobald’s recommendation, the young King Henry II appointed him his Chancellor. For Thomas, this meant, at least outwardly, a life of luxury, becoming the organizer of feasts and great hunts and various entertainments and expeditions in the company of the king. In his office, he defended the real and supposed rights of the crown with considerable zeal. He was a friend of the king, who also entrusted him with his son’s education. Thomas helped manage state affairs, tried to maintain unity and peace in the country, oversaw the observance of the laws, had robbers prosecuted, defended people experiencing poverty against oppressors, and promoted trade and the good name of England abroad.

In 1161, the Archbishop of Canterbury died, and Thomas was said to be on the battlefield with France at the time. King Henry II received the news in Normandy and decided to do everything he could to ensure that his chancellor took the vacant position. Thomas Becket did not like the king’s efforts, for he saw through his plans. He told him directly that, firstly, he was not a suitable man to be promoted to the Order of the Holy Monks, and secondly, their friendship and current trust would be turned into hostility by such a choice. He openly told the king that he saw the king’s interest in interfering in church affairs and that he, as archbishop, would not tolerate it.

The king nevertheless did not change his decision, and the Canterbury Chapter therefore elected Thomas as archbishop and primate. After accepting the election, Thomas Becket was ordained a priest, and on June 3, 1162, he was ordained a bishop. He took up his office with all responsibility and seriousness.

He was first and foremost a humble servant of God and tried to live an ascetic life, although he had to maintain a certain grandeur of office on the outside, and for some time, he was even chancellor. In the vast palace, however, he was content with one room, modestly furnished, wore a linen undergarment, and began the day very early with a long prayer service, after which he celebrated Holy Mass. As a primate, according to the old custom, he hosted nobles, dignitaries, and scholars, but he himself ate little and fasted often.

Thomas, when he was chancellor, defended the crown’s privileges against everyone. Still, as archbishop, he stood up for the rights of the church and against the king, demanding that the nobles return illegally held church property. He also demanded that clergy members be subject exclusively to the church court. King Henry II, seeing that he could no longer agree with Thomas, convened a parliament in Westminster in 1163 and asked the bishops there to commit themselves to preserving the old anti-church customs of the country. When he failed, he convened a parliament in Clarendon the following year. The king had 16 articles drawn up to limit papal authority in England severely. According to them, church authority would practically pass into the hands of the king. Disputes over spiritual benefits were to be resolved only by secular courts, bishops and abbots were to be elected only in the royal chapel, and bishops were not to leave the king’s realm without his permission.

Despite the threat of death, Thomas refused them. However, under pressure from the bishops, he ultimately forwarded them to the Pope. After the Pope’s refusal, he wanted to undergo a strict penance for having succumbed to the bishops’ pressure and asked the Pope for absolution. He accepted them with a firm determination to remain faithful to the Church.

When Thomas failed to appear in court due to illness, Henry II declared him a traitor and ordered the confiscation of all his property. Thomas did attend the subsequent trial in Northampton, but when the verdict of his guilt was to be read, he declared that he had forbidden the prosecution of spiritual shepherds and was appealing to the Pope. He quickly left the meeting place. On the night of October 14, 1164, he secretly left England. Disguised as a monk, he traveled across the sea and Flanders to Senes, France, where he met Pope Alexander. He appeared before Pope Alexander to request his resignation, citing the manner of his election as the reason. However, the Pope confirmed his election and asked him to remain in office.

Thomas remained in the Pontigny monastery for some time, but because of Henry’s threat to expel all Cistercian monks from his country if their monastery in France gave refuge to his archbishop, he left the monastery in 1166. He went to Sens, where he continued his exile as a monk of the monastery of St. Columba. He prayed for Henry and his archdiocese and lived a very ascetic life until about November 1170.

In June of that year, through the intervention of the Apostolic See, an inevitable reconciliation took place in France between Henry and Thomas, who was allowed to return to England. Cardinal Albert, however, warned Thomas not to trust the apparent reconciliation. Nevertheless, Thomas returned to Canterbury with enormous determination on 5 December 1170, even though he foresaw a violent death.

Previously, in agreement with the Pope, he had declared anathema against two bishops and suspended the Archbishop of York as a necessary restriction on their harmful influence. The messengers of the punished bishops warned Thomas, and when he did not revoke the punishment, the bishops complained to the king, who was staying in Normandy, that Thomas was behaving like a king and preparing war rather than peace. Such behavior greatly infuriated the king, who felt humiliated, and he asked that “there be no one who would avenge his shame on that impudent priest.”

The four nobles took these words as a challenge and hurriedly left for Canterbury. The king is said to have realized his haste afterwards, but the servants he had sent did not catch up with the knights. They first haughtily demanded that Thomas abolish the church’s punishments and, after his refusal, they left to form a band of armed men. Meanwhile, the archbishopric’s servants forced Thomas to go to the church. He defended himself by saying, “The church is not a fortress,” and he said that, if necessary, he would gladly lay down his life for the church. He did not even allow the church doors to be closed. While he was praying on the steps of the altar of St. Benedict, armed conspirators burst into the church and shouted, “Where is the traitor?” Only after one of them used the word “archbishop” did Thomas rise, turn to them, and say in a calm voice, “I am an archbishop, but not a traitor. If you are looking for me, you have found me. For God and for the Church I am willing to shed blood, but in the name of the Lord I forbid you to harm my people.” One conspirator then announced to him that he would die because the punishments were not abolished, and Thomas replied that he was ready to use his blood to secure freedom and peace for the Church. He received four slashing wounds, the last of which shattered his skull in front of the altar. It was December 29, 1170.

The king was horrified by the news and expressed regret for having given rise to such a crime. To avoid ecclesiastical punishment, he sent messengers to the Pope, tasked with interpreting his promises. Henry II. personally reconciled himself with the Church and, in the presence of his son, the Pope’s envoys, the bishops and abbots of the country, swore that he had not ordered the murder of Thomas and made a declaration regarding his willingness to make satisfaction for giving the cause of this crime. At the same time, he swore to be obedient to the Pope and his successors, that he would allow appeals to Rome, that he would grant pardon to the followers of the murdered man, that he would return the Church’s property, and that he would abolish the articles that had been the cause of the dispute and introduced to the detriment of the Church. He also declared that he would take part in the Crusade and support the Templars. He recognized England as a papal fief and received absolution at the doors of the church.

It was a victory achieved through the martyrdom of Thomas Becket, whom the Pope had already canonized on February 21, 1173.

Henry VIII’s reign saw attacks on everything associated with Thomas Becket. In 1538, Henry VIII destroyed the rich reliquary containing his remains, ordered the murals depicting his figure to be painted over, and forbade his mention in the Church of England. Despite this, Thomas’s memory spread to many countries. Charles IV had part of his remains interred in the Prague Cathedral as early as 1377.

RESOLUTION, PRAYER

I will consider the Church of Christ’s and the world’s ongoing conflict and the Gospel’s truth: “No one can serve two masters…” (Mt 6:24). Even if a person gains the whole world, it will profit him nothing if he loses his life. But whoever loses his life for Jesus and the Gospel will save it. (cf. Mt 16:26; Mk 8:36; Lk 9:25)

God, you gave Saint Thomas the courage to sacrifice his life for the Church’s justice and freedom; through his intercession, strengthen us to die for Christ’s love and not lose eternal life. We ask this through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, forever and ever.