"Saint Charles Borromeo's Courageous Response to the Plague" by Domenick Galatolo

 

Apr 21, 2020

This article was first published on TFP Student Action

 

 

With the world at large still reeling from COVID-19 and over 170,000 dead, one wonders what is the most Catholic response: to hide or to seek? Most of us must render unto Caesar, and observe government mandates to “shelter in place.” But are others called to a higher mandate?

Truly courageous examples are replete throughout history, as plagues have, well, plagued humanity since the fall of Adam. In the golden pages of history, we find a holy bishop who faced a virus more deadly than the Coronavirus.

From 1576 to 1578, a plague ravaged through northern Italy killing tens of thousands. The epidemic was known as St. Charles Plague because of the heroic response of the Cardinal Archbishop of Milan, St. Charles Borromeo.

 

Stay in Place or the Salvation of Souls

On August 11, 1576 the plague broke out in the northern quarter of Milan as festivities were being planned for the arrival of the famed Don Juan of Austria. Hearing of the outbreak, most of the secular authorities along with Don Juan fled. St. Charles was attending the funeral of a bishop outside the city when he heard the news. Instead of staying in place or fleeing, he immediately set forth toward the city. As he entered Milan, many people rushed out crying for mercy.

Without resting from his journey, St. Charles went straight to the cathedral and said a short prayer. After appealing to God for help, he advanced into the epicenter of the outbreak, not even taking the time to change out of his dusty riding clothes.

When he finally retired to his episcopal palace, he found a few remaining government officials waiting for him. They asked St. Charles to take command of the city as their leaders, including the governor, had abandoned their posts.

St. Charles accepted the burden, saying: "A long time ago I resolved never to leave undone anything which might be for my people’s good. I beg you, above all, not to lose heart. Do not be affected by the example of those born and bred in the city who hurriedly abandoned it by flight at the very moment when it needed help."

Since the authorities out of fear of contagion had already forbidden public processions and religious ceremonies, many souls were deprived of the Sacraments. St. Charles said that it was because of this that the wrath of God had been called down upon Milan. Therefore, he told the officials that the only cure was to pray and do penance more piously than before.

“I will do my duty to the utmost”

To prepare himself for what lay ahead, St. Charles offered himself as an expiatory victim for the sins of his people. He also organized his affairs and made his last will. After this preparation, he went out every day to visit the sick and dying.

Profoundly moved by their suffering, St. Charles said:

 

"The dreadful state of these wretched creatures, everything lacking both for soul and body. These unhappy children seem to look on me as the cause of all their ills. Their silence reproaches me for my idleness. I put off holding out a helping hand when by my example I should have moved others to pity. I will delay no longer. By the grace of God, I will do my duty to the utmost."

 

He redoubled his efforts, focusing mainly on the spiritual welfare of the beleaguered.

 

“Do not prefer a late death to a holy one”

Many priests in Milan were in hiding, fearing they might catch the disease. Even among the holy Cardinal’s household, many fled. Of those who stayed some refused to join him when he went into infected houses. However, St. Charles sent out a beautiful appeal to his absent priests, saying:

 

“We have only one life and we should spend it for Jesus Christ and souls, not as we wish, but at the time and in the way God wishes. It would show presumption and neglect of our duty and God’s service to fail to do this.”

 

The saint rebuked his priests:

 

“Do not be so forgetful of your priesthood as to prefer a late death to a holy one.”

 

Answering the call, many secular priests and Capuchins fathers heroically served the sick especially in the leper house, which doubled as an emergency hospital. After the plague subsided, not one of St. Charles’ companions had perished, but many priests who stayed back and refused to help had been stricken.

 

Do not despise “ordinary remedies”

St. Charles advised his priests not to “neglect human means, such as preventatives, remedies, doctors, everything that you can use to keep off infection, for such means are in no way opposed to our doing our duty.”

Whenever people urged St. Charles to avoid unnecessary risk, he would reply, “God can replace us.”

But at the same time, he was not imprudent. Answering a concern of the Bishop of Brescia, St. Charles affirmed:

 

“From the beginning I resolved to place myself entirely in God’s hands, without however despising ordinary remedies.”

 

St. Charles issued prudent guidelines. The faithful were told not to gather in crowds and avoid contact with each other. Masses were not cancelled, but only held outdoors if the church was too cramped. He ordered more Masses said than before. Catechism classes were moved to street corners. He had separate places in church for the disease stricken and separate holy water fonts for them. His counsel to the clergy and magistrates was to “take the plague of the soul in consideration more than the contagion of the body which, for many reasons, is less pernicious.”

 

The Necessity of the Sacraments in Times of Hardship

Although the death rate and contagion rate were extremely high, St. Charles insisted on public prayer and penance. Ashes were constantly distributed. Three processions a week were held. In these processions, St. Charles walked barefoot wearing a thick penitential cord around his neck. Bells rang seven times a day for public prayer and the singing of psalms.

As those afflicted could not leave their homes to attend Mass or the processions, St. Charles set up nineteen columns throughout the city. At the foot of these pillars, public Masses were celebrated every morning. This allowed the sick to assist at Mass every day and the priests would distribute the Holy Eucharist to all the victims of the plague through their home windows. Even today, these pillars with crosses on top are visible all over Milan.

St. Charles went nearly every day to the leper house to give the Sacraments to the suffering. He baptized newborns and gave last rights to the dying.

A certain Capuchin brother, James, who worked in the leper house and saw St. Charles’ good works at the time, said, “He often goes to the lazer [leper] house to console the sick . . . into huts and private houses to speak to the sick and comfort them, as well as providing for all their needs. He fears nothing. It is useless to try to frighten him. It is true that he exposes himself much to danger but so far he has been preserved by the special grace of God, he says he cannot do otherwise. Indeed, the city has no other help and consolation.”

However, just as today, not all men fear God or take advantage of suffering to repent. Some young Milanese nobles decided to flee the plague and practice impurity and immorality in a villa far away from any city. They shut themselves up in this villa, which they dubbed the “Academy of Love.” Yet these reprobates soon found out that God is not mocked, even in the most secluded locations. The plague broke out in the villa and few sinners survived.

 

“Only by the Mercy of God”

By Christmas of 1577, the plague had abated. At the end of the plague, 17,000 people had died in Milan out of a population of 120,000. This number included 120 priests (most of these had fled). However, in the smaller city of Venice, 40,000 people died in the same two years. Why had Milan been spared from a greater loss?

 

St. Charles answers:

 

"Not by our prudence, which was caught asleep. Not by science of the doctors who could not discover the sources of the contagion, much less a cure. Not by the care of those in authority who abandoned the city. No, my dear children, but only by the mercy of God."

 

The Catholic Response to Coronavirus

In stark contrast to St. Charles, New York Governor Andrew Cuomo – a baptized Catholic – issued a recent statement, mocking and excluding God from the fight against Covid-19. The pro-abortion Governor congratulated himself during a press conference, saying: “The number [of infections] is down because we brought the numbers down. God did not do that. Fate did not do that. Destiny did not do that. A lot of pain and suffering did that.”

The crisis of faith is obvious. In this time of great need, most Catholics are spiritual orphans. No Masses. No Confessions. No Last Rights. No St. Charles Borromeos. The bishop of Springfield, Mass., for example, suspended the Last Rites in all instances in his diocese. At their final hour, the dying are deprived of the Church’s spiritual assistance and consolation.

As John Horvat points out in his column, "The Coronavirus Is a Call to Return to God," our reaction “reflects a society that has turned its back on God. We face the crisis trusting only in ourselves and our devices.”

What the world needs most are more St. Charles Borromeos, more heroic shepherds to restore the faith, promote confidence in God’s Providence and awaken true devotion to the maternal and Immaculate Heart of Mary.

Saint Charles Borromeo, pray for us!

 

Bibliography:

Reformer: St. Charles Borromeo by Margaret Yeo (CITY: The Bruce Publishing Company, 1938).

 

You can read the source of this text here.

Saint Boniface of Mainz, Apostle of Germany (ca. 680-755) Bishop and Martyr by Fr. Silas Henderson, S.D.S.

 You can read the original text here.

His life:

Boniface (whose baptismal name was Winfrid) was born in Devonshire, England. Educated by the Benedictines, he later lived as a monk in the abbeys of Exeter and Nursling.

With the blessing of his abbot, Boniface traveled to Friesland in 716, but his missionary efforts were unsuccessful. After returning to England, he was elected abbot of Nursling. Boniface resigned a short time later and traveled to Rome to seek the pope’s permission to evangelize the people of Germany.

In 745, Boniface established a number of monasteries throughout Germany. Going out from these mission centers, founded several dioceses and he was later named bishop of Mainz.

After serving the people of Germany for more than 20 years, Boniface was martyred on June 5, 755. Today, Saint Boniface is honored as a patron of Germany.

The Iverskaia Virgin, or Iberian Virgin

 You can read the original text in Portuguese here.

While researching old texts, we came across an article whose content caught our attention. The connections it draws to the Centennial of Fatima are so striking that we felt it would be of interest to share it with the readers of this blog. May the Iberian Virgin once again reign over the nation that profaned her!

One of the most important collections of icons—those distinctively Eastern religious paintings—in Europe, and perhaps in the world, can be found in the small city of Torrejón de Ardoz, not far from Madrid. There, in the old estate of the Jesuit College of Saint Isidore, the nobleman Sergei Otzoup established his Icon Museum.

The exact date of the estate’s construction is uncertain, but all indications suggest it was built in the early 17th century, when the Society of Jesus acquired a piece of land in Torrejón to supply the Imperial College, founded by Empress Maria, daughter of Charles V and widow of Maximilian I.

With the expulsion of the Jesuits from Spain in 1767, the estate was acquired by Don Juan de Aguirre. By 1805, the extensive property belonged to the House of Pignatelli of Aragon, Counts of Fuentes, who were closely associated with the spiritual sons of Saint Ignatius. During the restoration of the Society of Jesus under King Ferdinand VII, the Counts returned the property to the Jesuits.

Expelled once again in the 19th century, the Jesuits saw the estate revert to the Counts of Fuentes, who retained it until 1902. Finally, Don Rafael Onieva Ariza restored the property to its current magnificence and repurposed it for cultural use, naming it La Casa Grande.

Walking through the halls of La Casa Grande and entering the Icon Museum, one image stands out in particular: the Iverskaia Virgin, or Iberian Virgin.

In this icon, the Mother of God is portrayed with the Christ Child resting on her left arm, bearing the majesty of one seated on His rightful throne. It is in Mary that Jesus finds His delight. While she tenderly supports and protects the Divine Child, her right arm gestures toward Him, indicating to the faithful that He is the model of all perfection and the supreme Judge of every cause. As the Universal Mediatrix of all graces, her gentle gaze turns to each devotee who kneels before her, seeking her intercession and trusting in her care.

The harmony and sweetness radiating from the image—rendered in soft, blended tones of red and gold—are jarringly disrupted by several bullet holes visible in the painting. Clear marks of gunfire can be seen on both the Mother’s and the Child’s faces.

This startling desecration dates to a not-so-distant past. The date? May 13, 1917.

Yes—while Our Lady was appearing for the first time in Fatima, beginning a series of apparitions in which she foretold the spread of Russia’s errors throughout the world as a chastisement for humanity’s sins and promised the eventual triumph of her Immaculate Heart, this act of sacrilege was taking place in Moscow during the unrest that preceded the Bolshevik Revolution.

Sadly, as is well known, following the Eastern Schism, few of the faithful in the Russian Empire remained united to the See of Peter. A striking example of what remained of that union occurred during the jubilee of Saint Pius X, when a delegation of Russian Catholics presented the Holy Pontiff with an icon of the Mother of God—specifically under the title of Iverskaia Virgin. This suggests that devotion to Our Lady under this title predates Russia’s break with Rome and may even carry prophetic significance for the conversion of Russia, as foretold in the Message of Fatima.

Even within schism, the Blessed Virgin continued to be venerated—albeit outside the true Church of Christ—in countless sanctuaries and through many icons scattered across that vast land. Among them, the Iberian Virgin stood out as the patroness of Moscow. Her name traces back to the region of Iberia, in southern Russia near the Caucasus. According to museum brochures and postcards from Torrejón de Ardoz, this icon was painted in the 16th century and once stood in a small chapel at the entrance to the Kremlin.

After the Tsar was deposed, during the brief regency of Prince Lvov under Kerensky’s government, the chapel was so thoroughly destroyed on that fateful May 13th of the revolutionary year that not one stone remained. The Iverskaia Virgin icon was riddled with bullets—and it is said she wept when profaned. Believed lost during the months leading up to the Bolshevik Revolution, the icon was preserved—along with many others—thanks to Sergei Otzoup, who succeeded in removing them from Russia in December 1918.

Today, on display at the Icon Museum of La Casa Grande, the Iverskaia Virgin—desecrated in a hatred for religion—remains a sign of hope. A symbol above all for Russia, and also for the world, of the new era promised by Our Lady at Fatima and prophesied by Saint Louis-Marie Grignion de Montfort—the extraordinary French missionary of the 17th century—as the coming of the Reign of Mary.

 Source: Revista Catolicismo, May 1986

Mother Francisca of Jesus: A Great Brazilian Mystic – May 28th by Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira.

 You can read the original text here.

 

The name of Mother Francisca of Jesus, foundress of the Companhia da Virgem (Company of the Virgin), who passed away on May 28, 1932—93 years ago—is largely unknown among us.

Born Francisca Carvalho do Rio Negro, she was the ninth daughter of the Barons of Rio Negro. She was born in Petrópolis on March 27, 1877, and spent her early childhood in Brazil. At a very young age, her family relocated to Europe, settling in Paris. She would rarely see her homeland again; yet, by the hidden designs of Divine Providence, the work she would go on to found in distant lands would one day return to Brazil, to fulfill its high purpose in this nation so in need of priests: prayer for the Pope and for priestly vocations.

This, however, did not unfold without immense struggles. The future foundress was far from imagining what Heaven expected of her—especially because Heaven took its time to reveal its plans, leaving her perplexed for many years.

In her teenage years, moved by an impulse whose spontaneity could only be attributed to divine inspiration, Francisca made a vow of perpetual virginity before a small image of Our Lady of Lourdes, which always accompanied her. Could she have known the fierce battles she would face in defending this vow? For 14 years, she had to endure constant pressure from her family, who insisted on marrying her off. Worse still, her confessor failed to understand her, declaring her vow invalid—even though he was a man of virtue who would later be elevated to the episcopate.

God’s Challenge – Over time, Francisca succeeded in convincing everyone of the truth: God was not calling her to marriage. What a struggle it was! Suitors were never lacking. She possessed a noble and serene beauty—her high forehead, long straight nose, firm and well-shaped mouth, all framed in the elegant oval of her face and illuminated by deep, expressive, and determined eyes. Her beauty was both great and dignified.

She had won her first battle. Now in the noonday of her thirties, her natural strength was affirmed by maturity, while her spiritual life had become a well-tilled, fertile field. And there she was: free—no longer bound by family or spiritual director—ready to respond to the first call from the One to whom she had wholly consecrated herself.

But that call would delay yet another three years. Francisca now found herself like someone who, having sacrificed everything for an ideal, sees it slip away just as it seemed within reach. Her spiritual director required her to try various paths, all of which led nowhere; the way God intended for her remained hidden. "I wanted to do the divine will, no matter the cost—yet it was impossible to discern it!" she would later write in notes from that period of her life.

The Foundation – At sea (it was October, and she was returning with her mother from what would be her last visit to Brazil), Francisca—no more than a speck in the vastness of the ocean, yet a speck entirely held in God’s favor—was invited by the Lord into deeper prayer. In the midst of great recollection, the fog began to lift, and her vocation gradually became clear. Extraordinary lights began to illuminate her understanding of the priesthood, the ecclesiastical hierarchy, and the value of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. She came to understand that she must go to Rome and speak to the Holy Father about founding a religious order dedicated to prayer and self-offering for the Pope, the hierarchy, and priestly vocations.

Throughout the remainder of that voyage, this ideal became more defined, complete, and luminous—refined by the same hand that had inspired it.

Finally, on December 13, 1910, she was received by Pope St. Pius X. The great pontiff, whose life sanctified the Church, quickly recognized the supernatural origin of Francisca’s ideals. He granted her several audiences and ultimately encouraged her to begin a trial foundation, assigning Cardinal Pompili as its protector.

From that time come her first companions—two young women also captivated by the noble mission of intercession for the Church. For this small group, Pope Pius X granted the rare privilege of the Consecration of Virgins, which was solemnly carried out on February 6, 1912. This tiny seed of the Companhia da Virgem settled into an apartment on Corso d’Italia.

At that moment, the forces of modern civilization were aligning to shape a future of naturalism and neo-paganism. The prelude to the Great War was complete. Yet amid this vast storm, Our Lord was preparing a mystical counteroffensive through three poor, hidden, and humble women. In time, history would judge which side proved stronger.

As the foundation grew, the community moved to larger quarters. First to Villa Patrizi, near Porta Pia. Then to a more spacious residence surrounded by gardens at Via Tuscolana 367—now owned by the Congregation—where Mother Francisca had a small chapel built, dedicated to the Immaculate Conception. On June 12, 1921, Cardinal Pompili consecrated this church, and the house was officially named the “Priorado da Virgem” (Priory of the Virgin).

The Marvelous – At this point, Mother Francisca reached that fullness of Christian life which transcends the daily grind and the mediocrity of routine. It is a liberation from worldly triviality—because even the most mundane aspects of earthly life gain new and uncommon meaning. It is a “second degree” of living, in which sorrow, joy, and suffering are lifted to a higher plane and transfigured, for all is directed toward a single ideal: everything refers to it, everything is sacrificed for it, everything is committed to it.

After founding the community, her life reached full maturity. Even in handling minor misunderstandings and inevitable contradictions that every foundation must face, she did so with extraordinary grace. Meanwhile, her inner torments returned with renewed intensity. To add to it all, her health was irreparably compromised by the onset of Basedow’s disease—a progressive poisoning of the body that amplifies pain to the point that minor discomforts become nearly unbearable. She underwent a major surgery in 1922, and the following year, doctors despaired of saving her again. She required a second operation for an abscess inside her skull. Yet she recovered, following a novena to Pope Pius X. Later, she was again miraculously healed from a phlegmon through the intercession of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, who appeared to her.

These cascading hardships did not prevent her from organizing the contemplative life of her convent with meticulous care. But she was physically spent. On October 28, 1922, crushed by both internal and external suffering, she feared she might collapse. In a final act of will, she offered this prayer: “And yet, I want to suffer with You, my Lord Jesus.” At that moment, she saw Jesus carrying His Cross, followed by a jeering crowd. He said to her: “Who has suffered as I have? Follow Me—I need you. Will you refuse to come?”

No—it would not be Mother Francisca of Jesus who refused. At once, she begged His forgiveness and asked for the grace of true love. As a mark of this extraordinary favor, the Holy Face of Jesus was imprinted on the wall of her cell, just as it had once been impressed on Veronica’s veil. That image remains there to this day, preserved under glass.

Later still, during another difficult chapter for the Foundation, Mother Francisca—again overwhelmed by spiritual desolation—heard the interior voice of the late Pope Pius X say: “To your work, which is also mine, no harm shall come.”

In late 1928, several postulants in whom she had placed great hope left the Priory. Yet another interior voice consoled her: “You and your boat shall be shaken—but neither you, nor your boat, will sink.”

“You Have Loved Me” – Thus, the final stage of her life was wrapped in that golden dust found in the Fioretti or the Legenda Aurea. Her smallest gestures carried supernatural resonance. Yet above all this hung a dense darkness: Mother Francisca often believed she had lost her faith.

From this period come her most beautiful and inspired writings. Though she was enveloped in spiritual night, she was often pierced by flashes of intense divine light that plunged her into ecstatic joy. These writings are of the highest spiritual value and place their author among the great contemplatives of the Church.

She lived her final years in this way until she surrendered her soul to the Creator on May 28, 1932. Two years before her death, she wrote to her daughters: “We must love Our Lord generously, unto the destruction of self—which is absolutely necessary if one truly wishes to love Him.” And indeed, Mother Francisca had been so wholly emptied of self that nothing remained in her but what Christ Himself had built. She had been reborn; all that was sinful in her had died.

After her death, many miracles of healing and conversion occurred through her intercession. But the greatest miracle may have been this: the Companhia da Virgem lost its house on Via Tuscolana, 367... and so it moved to Brazil—to Petrópolis—returning to the homeland of its holy foundress, to continue its prayer for vocations in a country so in need of clergy.

A Rooster to Awaken the Pope—And Us Too!

 You can read the original text in Portuguese here.

 

The rooster awakens those who sleep—just as it once awakened the first Pope. And it reminds us of the sorrowful fragility of human nature: always prone to sin, and thus always in need of God’s mercy.

In the ancient ceremonies marking the beginning of the Petrine ministry, one constant and unmistakable concern stood out: it was essential to remind the new Pope that, despite the office he was assuming, he remained a mere mortal.

One of these rites—quite famous—consisted of burning a tuft of tow before the Pontiff while the master of ceremonies solemnly proclaimed: Sancte Pater, sic transit gloria mundi! — “Holy Father, thus passes the glory of the world!”

This gesture took place during the old papal coronation Mass. Paul VI was the last to celebrate it. The Bishop of Rome was crowned like a king and led in great pomp through St. Peter’s Basilica, but rituals like this served as a true antidote to vanity. They reminded everyone: the papal office is indeed noble and exalted; but the Pope is not God, nor is he above Him.

Another moving symbol with similar meaning could be found at the Basilica of St. John Lateran, during the Mass in which the Pope takes possession of the “Roman cathedra.” (Leo XIV will celebrate this Mass next Sunday, May 25.)

The ceremony involved a bronze rooster perched atop a column near the basilica’s doors. According to some historians, the rooster was pointed out to the Pope at a specific moment during the rite, evoking the Gospel rooster and urging him to “have compassion on the faults of his flock, just as Christ had compassion and forgave Peter’s threefold denial.”

This rite lasted until the 18th century, and we should not expect anything like it next Sunday. Yet the reality to which it pointed remains true, and the newly elected Pope has already alluded to it on at least two occasions.

First, in his audience with the cardinals two days after his election:

“The Pope, from Saint Peter to myself, his unworthy successor, is a humble servant of God and of the brethren—nothing more.”

And again, in the homily for the inauguration Mass of the Petrine ministry:

“If the rock is Christ, Peter must shepherd the flock without ever yielding to the temptation of becoming a solitary leader or a chief placed above others, becoming a master over those entrusted to him. Rather, he is called to serve the faith of his brothers, walking with them.”

Let us not forget, then: the Pope is the successor of Peter, the vicar of Christ, the Pontiff of pontiffs—yes; but ultimately, he is also a man, like us. When personal dislikes (or emotional enthusiasms!) toss us to and fro, threatening to shake our faith… let us remember the rooster!

For the rooster awakens those who sleep—just as it once awakened the first Pope. And it reminds us of the sorrowful fragility of human nature: always prone to sin, and thus always in need of God’s mercy.