Lion of Munster

Daniel Utrecht

Description

"The dear God placed me in a position in which I had a duty to call black 'black' and white 'white'." These words were spoken by Cardinal Clemens August von Galen, the bishop of the diocese of Munster in Germany from 1933 to 1946. In so doing, he risked death at the hands of the Nazis, one Gestapo leader even urging that he be publicly hanged. Joseph Goebbels and others in the Nazi leadership, knowing the bishop's popularity, advised waiting, subscribing to the adage that "revenge is a dish best served cold."In this, the definitive English language biography of the great Lion of Mnster, readers will encounter the young von Galen as he learns the Catholic faith and love of the fatherland from his family, members of the German aristocracy. A nobleman, a "prince" of his people and of his Church, the boy grew into a man, a six-and-a-half-foot tall giant of a man, who, though he loved his homeland, loved God, His Church and His law even more; for he knew that calling his homeland back to the ways of God is the one way in which a bishop can best demonstrate that love for the people under his spiritual care. And so, in three magnificent sermons and countless other speeches, communiques and gestures, the Lion roared.

Sujets

• Philosophie et théologie
• Catholic Church

Informations

• Publié par: TAN Books
• Date de parution: 24 avril 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781618907660
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THE LION OF MÜNSTER
The Bishop Who Roared Against the Nazis
BY DANIEL UTRECHT
OF THE ORATORY

TAN Books
Charlotte, North Carolina
Copyright © Daniel Utrecht 2016
All rights reserved. With the exception of short excerpts used in articles and critical reviews, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in any form whatsoever, printed or electronic, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This work would not have been possible without the numerous lengthy extracts taken from Löffler, Peter (ed.). Bischof Clemens August Graf von Galen: Akten, Briefe und Predigten 1933–1946 . Two volumes. 2nd ed. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1996. © Kommission für Zeitgeschichte. Used by permission.
Cover design by David Ferris
ISBN: 978-1-61890-764-6
e-ISBN: 978-1-61890-766-0
Cataloging-in-Publication data on file with the Library of Congress.
Published in the United States by
TAN Books
P. O. Box 410487
Charlotte, NC 28241
www.TANBooks.com Printed and bound in the United States of America. -->
In memory of my parents
CONTENTS
Introduction: A Glorious Homecoming
1. I and My House Will Serve the Lord
2. Priesthood
3. New Leader, New Bishop
4. Neither Praises nor Fear
5. Opening Shots Against the New Paganism
6. No Reflection on the Führer
7. The Great Procession
8. Battle Tactics
9. Fresh Graves in German Lands
10. Battle for the Cross
11. With Burning Anxiety
12. If That Is the National Socialist Worldview
13. Catholic Schools Under Attack
14. Nights of Broken Glass
15. To Be or Not to Be
16. Does the Führer Know?
17. “I Lift Up My Voice”
18. We Are the Anvil, Not the Hammer
19. The Destruction of “Worthless Lives”
20. Jesus Weeps
21. Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold
22. Finis Germaniae
23. Under Occupation
24. Cardinal
25. Two Homecomings
Acknowledgments
Appendix: On the Trail of a Mysterious Document
Bibliography
Index
Gallery
I NTRODUCTION
A GLORIOUS HOMECOMING


March 16, 1946: a cold, late-winter day in Münster. As Bishop Clemens August Count von Galen’s horse-drawn coach progressed through the old inner city, he told his secretary that he felt sorry for the crowds of people lining the streets to greet him: “The poor people are freezing to death this afternoon.” Always a keen historian of his diocese, he told his secretary about the day when his predecessor, Bishop Johann Bernhard Brinkmann, had triumphantly returned to Münster sixty-two years ago after six years of exile in Holland—it was February, but it was so warm that many of the people who had come from out of town spent the following night sleeping in the open on the steps of the buildings.
This was another triumphant homecoming. Bishop von Galen had returned, not from exile but from Rome, and was wearing the red hat and robes of a cardinal of the Holy Roman Church. It was less than a year since Germany’s defeat in the Second World War, and now Münster’s own beloved bishop had been named by Pope Pius XII to the College of Cardinals. Some fifty thousand people had crowded into the city to rejoice.
There had not been much reason for rejoicing in Münster, or in the rest of Germany, for some time. Adolf Hitler’s “Thousand-Year Reich” had done untold damage during its twelve years of power. Germany was a pariah among nations. The horrors of the concentration camps and death camps had been discovered after the war, and they were infinitely worse than anyone could have imagined. Now the entire country was under foreign occupation, and all Germans were blamed for the crimes of their former leaders, even if they themselves had suffered under those leaders.
The people were poor. Many still did not know whether their husbands, sons, and fathers were alive or dead. Ten months after the war, hundreds of thousands of Germans still languished in prisoner-of-war camps, unable to contact their families.
Münster itself was still a city of ruins. Nearly 90 percent of the buildings in the inner city had been damaged by multiple Allied bombing raids. Most were unusable; many were totally destroyed. Very few people still lived in the inner city. By this time, nothing had been rebuilt. The rubble had at least been moved to the sides of the streets and piled up, and this provided elevated places where people could stand to see the festivities. Others climbed onto what remained of the walls of bombed-out buildings. The cathedral, with its roof and towers missing, was unusable for the reception of the new cardinal, but it would not have been big enough anyway. All the festivities were to be in the open air.
Despite everything, March 16, 1946, was a day of rejoicing in Münster. Münster was a staunchly, stubbornly Catholic city and one of the largest dioceses in Germany. The diocese had been founded by St. Ludger in 805, nearly eleven and a half centuries earlier. But it had always been a simple diocese, never an archdiocese, and never in all that time had there been a cardinal occupying its episcopal chair. Now Clemens August von Galen was returning to the city, his city, still its bishop but also a cardinal.
From the tower of the church of St. Lambert came the sound of a fanfare. Trumpeters from the city orchestra had a position there and began to play when the cardinal’s coach came near. The coach had begun eight miles west of the city in the village of Telgte, where Cardinal von Galen had spent the morning at the shrine of the Sorrowful Virgin. He had a profound, childlike devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary and had frequently visited that shrine during his twelve years as bishop, often going there on solitary pilgrimages on foot in the early mornings.
When the coach arrived at the Principal Market, Clemens August stood, blessing the crowd. He was an imposing figure in his scarlet robes, standing about six and a half feet tall. The people of his diocese had always held him in awe, partly because of the respect they would hold for any bishop, partly because of the respect they would hold for a man of noble blood, and partly because of his imposing bearing: He looked the part of a nobleman and a prince of the Church. But they also had a warm, loving affection for him. He was sure of his episcopal dignity and was physically prepossessing, but they knew his kindliness, his simplicity, his easy way with children, and his courage.
Slowly he came down from the coach. Two altar boys took hold of the train of the long red cape, the cappa magna , which came down from an ermine hood covering his shoulders. He ascended the steps to a balcony covered with evergreen branches, and the crowd cheered mightily. Ascending the balcony, the mayor came to a microphone and began to read a citation from the city council granting Cardinal von Galen the title of honored citizen of Münster: “Your Eminence: Faithful to your motto Nec laudibus Nec timore , you have fought for twelve years against the violations of justice and of conscience, making use of the spoken and written word, at the risk of your freedom and your life, to the wondering agreement of all right-thinking people throughout the world . . . You have consoled and comforted millions of Germans by your manly words.”
Everyone knew exactly what the mayor was talking about. From the beginning of his time as bishop, shortly after Hitler took power, Clemens August von Galen had attacked the Nazi racial theories. In the middle of 1941, when Germany’s war successes were at their height, he openly reprimanded the Gestapo for confiscating the houses of religious orders. He had denounced the secret practice of deliberately putting sick and disabled people to death and, it seemed, had an influence in stopping it.
The cardinal spoke a few words of thanks. It was clear that he was deeply moved. He spoke only briefly, as the program of the day had planned for his address to come later.
After a procession to the cathedral, Cardinal von Galen took a seat on a throne that had been prepared before the ruined west portal. Across the large square packed with people, he had a clear view of what was left of his episcopal palace. He had been in the palace when it suffered several direct hits from American bombs in October 1943. When his secretary had come rushing back from the bomb shelter, he had seen the bishop standing high up in the ruins in the open air.
After several more speeches praising the cardinal’s courage during the Nazi regime, he came to the microphone. Again and again, he was interrupted by shouts of applause as he thanked Pope Pius for the honor he had given him and the people of his diocese for standing behind him during those years:

The dear God placed me in a position in which I had a duty to call black “black” and white “white” . . . I knew that many suffered more, much more than I personally had to suffer, from the attacks on truth and justice that we experienced. They could not speak. They could only suffer. . . . But it was my right and my duty to speak, and I spoke . . . and God gave it His blessing. And your love and your loyalty, my dear diocesans, also kept far from me what might have been my fate, but also might have been my greatest reward, the crown of martyrdom.
These were no empty words, and everyone knew it. Documents had been found and published after the war, showing that after Bishop von Galen’s sermons in the summer of 1941, the local Gestapo leader had recommended that the bishop be publicly hanged. Berlin responded that “revenge is a dish best served cold.” It would be better, thought Joseph Goebbels, to deal with the Bishop of Münster after the war had been won. Otherwise, his popularity in Münster and in all of Westphalia was so great that the government would have to reckon with losing all support for the war effort there.
Cardinal von Galen’s voice broke with emotion as he spoke about having missed the crown of martyrdom. After a pause to gather himself, he continued, “It was your loyalty that prev