What can we learn from people who have weathered the darkest of times?
I think of what Fr. Viktor, the Passionists, and the Schwarzenfelders were experiencing on this day 80 years ago. The Passionists had witnessed the swift dismantling of their German-Austrian province. Military-aged priests and novices were enduring fight-or-flight, PTSD-level violence on the eastern front. Fr. Viktor had stubbornly entrenched himself in a closet-sized sacristy that Dr. Michael Buchberger, the Bishop of Regensburg, described as “a hole, worse than anything even found in a jail,” simply to protest his eviction and religious oppression that burned like a wildfire in Germany.
For six agonizing years, the Catholic population of Schwarzenfeld had lived in fear—fear of their government, fear of their own children, fear of erosion of religious freedom—all while death cards drifted from the front lines, telling them that they would never see loved ones again. Strangers packed their houses. The town just six miles down the road had been annihilated at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. And, an invading army was about to roll into their town. Fr. Viktor’s knowledge of his countrymen allayed their fears, yet hopes were far from certainties. What would the Americans really do when they arrived? Would they truly be liberators who restored the justice and freedoms long denied by Hitler and the Nazis? Or, would the advancing squadron of Sherman tanks pound their farm village to dust with incendiary shells?
To these people, the world was teetering on a precipice. Their lives could literally end in the coming days. And, they knew it would get far worse before it got better.
I also think of Mark Stern. At this moment 80 years ago, he and his fellow Jewish prisoners were encased in the darkness of a boxcar, rationing out handfuls of grain they had received when their convoy departed Flossenbürg two days ago. The only light in this darkness shone from bar-covered windows—and from a line of tiny bullet holes created by American planes that, on two occasions, mistook the convoy as a military transport. They too knew that their lives could literally end in the coming days. And, they knew it would get far worse before it got better—if they survived at all.
I look at what we’re experiencing 80 years later in April 2025. Gaza. Ukraine. Outbreaks of disease we thought extinguished by modern medicine. Climate change. Political upheaval, distrust between nations, and volatility in the stock market that makes hard-earned savings vanish from bank accounts. Our lives are dramatically changing from one day to the next, and it will undoubtedly get worse before it gets better.
The first takeaway message is this. Dark times will pass. History proves that it’s an indisputable fact.
Second, we can find inspiration from the way these people gain strength and resilience from faith.
As a Passionist, Fr. Viktor has encouraged parishioners to see the face of Christ in all who suffer, all who are neglected and alone, all who are marginalized by society—regardless of nation, race, or creed. None of us suffer alone. Through his ministry, they all perceive divinity in their shared pain. They also realize that, if Christ is present in them, then so is the agency we seek from the Heavens at times like these. The power to overcome the darkness lies within our own capacity for compassion and empathy. God’s mercy and healing occurs when we reach out and help each other.
In the darkness of the boxcar, Mark Stern is deriving strength from a similar concept. In his memoirs he wrote the following:
“I truly belive that prayer gave me the strength to survive all the hardships of the camps and the loss of my family. I only talked to myself about survival and found the strength through my belief in G-d and the belief that I had a future to go on. I believed in a power that had to be greater than anything I could see or touch. I’m not sure whether this belief came from my religious teaching or if it evolved from my suffering. But the fact remains that my faith in some unknown power which had determined my destiny sustained me. I believe that the direction of my entire life has been influenced by this universal power, and that people throughout our world are controlled by this same force regardless of the way they choose to worship.”
—Mark Stern, Shema: Secret of My Survival, Chapter III: Forced Labor 1942-1945, p. 58
Useful reminders
This post is part of a month-long series reflecting upon historical events that contributed to my debut historical fiction novel, The Sower of Black Field. Visit the “Latest News” area on my website for a recap »
The Sower of Black Field is available in paperback, eBook / Kindle, and audiobook on Amazon. Get your copy »
This post includes an excerpt from Mark Stern’s memoirs, Shema: Secret of My Survival. Sadly, the memoir is out of print, but contact me if you have an interest in reading it. You can find details about Stern’s memoir on Google Books »
