There is no shortage of nourishing Catholic food for thought, but there is a shortage of people telling you where to find it. COMPASS wants to reverse the shortage. Each week we recommend a book worth reading - and we tell you why; then we tell you where you can buy it on-line, for cheap. St Augustine read his way up to the heights of holiness, why can't we?
With God in Russia and He Leadeth Me by Walter Czizek, SJ
Are you curious? Ever wondered what it would be like to undergo arrest, imprisonment, interrogation, torture, exile (in Siberia, of all places), forced labor all because you are a Catholic priest — and therefore, automatically, a Vatican spy? Walter Czizek tells you all about it in these two seminal 20th century works, both of which are eminently readable (you can't put them down) and profoundly moving. With God in Russia simply journals the harrowing adventure that this young Jesuit priest from Pennsylvania undertook when he volunteered for the post-communist-revolution missions in Russia. He had to operate under cover: coal miner by day, priest by night, in order to escape arrest. Eventually he was caught, and the rest of the book chronicles the treatment he received and the work that God accomplished through him among his captors and fellow prisoners.
He Leadeth Me narrates Fr Czizek's personal, spiritual journey that ran parallel to the events described in the first book. It is a fascinating and life-changing testimony of the power of God's grace and the generosity of a man who knew how to respond to it. Here's a sample from the former (he describes his daily routine when the KGB had him in solitary confinement in a Moscow complex called "Lubianka" — where most prisoners gave in to despair and boredom, his seminary training and faith enabled him to stay fit spiritually, emotionally, and physically):
"So began the period of what I referred to as my 'doctorate' in the 'University of Lubianka.' In the hopes of improving my Russian, I began to read Russian literature. I started with Tolstoy and read almost all his works. I established a new order of the day for myself; spiritual duties before noon, then read till dinnertime. Before dinner, I'd make my noonday examination of conscience and say the Angelus when the Kremlin clock chimed twelve. After the noon meal, I said my three sets of beads in Polish, Russian, and Latin, then went back to reading until it was time for the exercise period or the trip to the toilet. After supper, I'd say my evening prayers and hymns from memory, then back to the books again until it was time for bed. That was my daily order, and nobody bothered me for more than a year. Except for the occasional visits from the chief of the prison, and the weekly health inspection and examination for parasites, I saw no one but the guards. I became, in effect, a hermit, alone with my prayer and my books. I even found myself forgetting how to talk! Occasionally I was almost tongue-tied in talking to the doctor, or the warden on his infrequent visits.
"Besides the daily twenty-minute exercise period, I tried to keep myself active by polishing the floor twice a day. We were required to do this once a day at Lubianka in any event, but while many of the prisoners used to give it the proverbial lick and a promise, I used to really work at it, just for the sheer joy of being active. The floors at Lubianka were of good solid oak, which took a beautiful sheen. I'd dust the floor first with a soft rag, then rub in the wax, which came in big sticks, and afterward go over it with a heavy iron wrapped in cloth — and plenty of elbow grease — to polish it to a high shine. With all the time on my hands now, I also set about mending the clothes I had been wearing ever since I was arrested at Chusovoy. By now they were in bad shape. Needles, knives, or anything of the sort were strictly forbidden in prison, but I used to occasionally salvage some of the larger fishbones from the soup and sharpen them on the iron slats of the bed to make a serviceable needle. With that and my fingernails, I'd loosen one of the staples from the binding of the book I was reading, sharpen it on the bed, and use it to pierce a hole in the bone. Then I'd pull a thread out of my shirt or underwear or socks, and proceed to practice the profession of seamstress. The needle, naturally, would be taken away when it was found, especially at the general inspection held every two weeks. It says a good deal for the efficiency of the inspections at Lubianka that I was seldom able to conceal anything so small as a fishbone needle either in the room itself or on my person.
"So, during the four years of my 'university education' at Lubianka, I stressed not only the spiritual side of life, but the physical side as well. Every day I took at least forty-five minutes of calisthenics to keep my body as active as my mind was with the books. I kept myself and my clothes as neat and clean as I could, my room spotless. I was determined through all this long, enforced idleness to remain human and mentally alert, and not to let the prison routine get me down. I was, as the saying went among the prisoners, 'dumb but happy.' With rare exceptions, I knew nothing of the outside world, but I kept track of the time and the days, remembering all the feast days of the Church as best I could, celebrating them with special prayers that I remembered or made up."
