Is there a question you

hope you will never be asked?

Most people have something

that we would prefer not to reveal. For most Germans who

were adults during the Second World War it might be

"Where were you and what did you do?" Chances

are you won't find many who admit they fought on the

Western Front or knew what was happening to the Jews.

Shame does not begin or end

with a single group. Gary Wills' recent book Papal Sin

excoriates the bishops and priests who were supportive of

the Nazis. Controversy still rages over the alleged

"silence" of Pope Pius XII. Not long ago Pope

John Paul II begged forgiveness for those Christians who

"were not strong enough to raise their voices in

protest."

While there were countless

acts of private heroism by people of every background,

few spoke out. But there can be no disputing where Franz

Jaegerstaetter stood. An Austrian farmer, devoted husband

and father, he not only saw the evil of Nazism but also

publicly refused to cooperate with that evil in any way.

Jaegerstaetter had been a

rough and tumble youth who found work in the Steiermark

iron mines. Then, in the late 1930s, he experienced a

religious re-conversion, if you will, to the Catholic

faith of his childhood. He married a devout young woman

and settled down in his village of St. Radegund where he

tended his parent's little farm. From his meager

subsistence, he regularly gave generously to the poor.

According to historian Rev.

Boniface Hanley, OFM, Jaegerstaetter became open about

his hatred of all things Nazi when he voted against the

German annexation of Austria. His village priest warned

Franz that he was courting serious danger, since Nazis

brooked no opposition, and advised him that he risked

putting his family in harm's way by not voting

"yes." The farmer answered, "Father, I

believe that God asks me to live by my conscience. If I

do what I think He wants me to do, then I know He will

take care of my wife and family."

When he refused military

service after being drafted, the local police chief

offered to try to get him a noncombatant post.

"Please don't put me in the terrible position of

having to arrest such a good man as you!" the chief

pleaded. Again Franz Jaegerstaetter was determined:

"I cannot believe that just because one has a wife

and children, he is free to offend God. Did not Christ

himself say `He who loves father, mother or children more

than me is not deserving of my kingdom'?"

When imprisoned, several

members of the clergy tried to persuade him that there

was "no inherent dichotomy between serving Christ

and serving one's Fatherland-especially if the

former means losing your life and leaving your family

abandoned." The prison chaplain remembers him

responding humbly and sadly, "I'm sorry, your

Reverence . . . but you just haven't been given the

grace." One witness recalls how the clergy and

guards wept openly at his steadfast spirit. "To the

end, his eyes shined with joy and confidence, his face

was full of peace."

On August 9, 1943, Franz

Jaegerstaetter was beheaded by guillotine, with no

blindfold, his face upwards toward the blade. His family

was left unharmed. As a child of the light, his

conscience would not let him serve the powers of evil. At

the end, he knew exactly what he had done with his life:

God's will.

For a free copy of

The Christopher News Note,

A Matter of

Conscience, write to

The Christophers, 12

East 48th Street, NewYork, NY 10017.

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