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THE MAN OF

VILLA TEVERESt. Josemaría Escrivá: His Years in

Rome

THE MAN OF

VILLA TEVERESt. Josemaría Escrivá: His Years in

Rome

Pilar UrbanoTranslated by Helena Scott

With ecclesiastical approval

The original work, Hombre de VillaTevere, is © Fundacion Studium, publishedby Editorial Plaza y Janés, Barcelona, 1995.Pilar Urbano, 1994.© Translation—Scepter (U.K.) Ltd., 2002© Second edition—Scepter (U.K.) Ltd., 2003© This edition © 2011, Scepter Publishers,Inc., New York.

Cover and inside photos courtesy of Fun-dacion Studium, Madrid.

All rights reserved. No part of this bookmay be reproduced, excerpted or transmittedin any form by any means, electronic, mech-anical, photo copying, or sound recording,except with the publisher’s prior written

permission. Inquiries regarding reprints orexcerpts should be sent to info@scepterpub-lishers.org or the address below.

Scepter Publishers, Inc.P.O. Box 211, New York, N.Y. 10018www.scepterpublishers.org

Translated by Helena Scott

Text design by Carol Sawyer/Rose Design

Printed in the United States of America

eBook ISBN: 978 1 59417 142 0

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Public-ation Data

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Urbano, Pilar.[Hombre de Villa Tevere. English]The man of Villa Tevere: St. Josemaría

Escrivá: his years in Rome / Pilar Urbano;translated by Helena Scott.

p. cm.Includes index.ISBN 978-1-59417-142-0 (alk. paper)1. Escrivá de Balaguer, Josemaría, Saint,

1902–1975. 2. Opus Dei (Society) I. Title.BX4705.E676U7213 2011267'.182092--dc22[B]

2011013567

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CONTENTS

1 A Full-length Portrait2 On Board the J.J. Sister3 Subletting in Città Leonina4 The Making of Villa Tevere5 Like a Giant6 “Why this useless murmuring?”7 Hunchbacked8 The Communicator9 When God Takes a Hand

10 Faith with Blood in Its Veins11 He Was the Father12 Monsignor at Home13 Passion for Freedom14 The Flight of the Peregrine Falcon15 Traveling Light

16 Clay and Grace17 Working Summers18 Rome, How You Shine!19 A Luminous Twilight

Chronology

Index

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Like Nietzsche, you said you couldonly believe“in a God who could dance”Well, I assure you he can:I have known a man who danced withGod.

1

A Full-length Portrait

September 1966: the poplars at Molinoviejoconference center, near Segovia in centralSpain, were turning gold. A painter namedLuis Mosquera had set up an improvised stu-dio in a seminar room. He came from Mad-rid every morning to paint a portrait outsidehis own studio “as an absolute exception,” ashe put it, “because this sitter really interestsme.”

The sitter had to overcome his dislike ofposing with his hands folded. “Ten sessions,”he complained, “as if I were a film star!”Mosquera wanted even more time. “I needtwo or three times that many sessions. I’m a

slow worker, because I think a lot about eachbrush stroke.” In the end they agreed on fivesessions, each two and a half hours.

Mosquera knew the clothing would be aproblem in this portrait. Monsignor Escriváwas wearing a plain black cassock, the onlyrelief provided by his white clerical collarand the white cuffs at his wrists. The entireportrait’s vitality would have to come fromthe face and hands.

The painter could see he was faced with asubject of notable contrasts. He had to getonto canvas a mature person who projectedthe vitality of youth; an ascetic character,tempered by suffering but still joyful. Thiswas a contemplative overflowing with activ-ity; clearly a great intellectual, yet with noneof an intellectual’s aloofness; a very simpleperson who could be forthright when he hadto but was not brusque. He was pleasantlyserious; a peaceful man, but prepared tofight for what he believed in. One had only to

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look at him. His firm jaw indicated tenacity;his mouth, strength of character and self-control. The deep lines on his foreheadshowed a character molded by past suffer-ings—or maybe present ones.

As Mosquera studied his subject he be-came more and more interested in this per-sonality. For some time he debated withhimself how to get this complex priest ontocanvas. In the end, as he dipped his brushesinto sienna and ochre, he made up his mind:“A priest first, but one who is deeplyhuman.”

Mosquera studied the hands: vigorous,strong, capable, expressive. He could ima-gine them taking up a pen thousands oftimes, telling the beads of many rosaries,handling the Christian mystery of theEucharist day after day for years. They werethe hands of a craftsman, hard workinghands, made for work well done. “Somethinglike the hands of a potter.”

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Three characteristics stood out in the face.There was intelligence. There was friendli-ness—or was it an intense capacity to com-municate? And there was a third factor, anindefinable element that was to be the paint-er’s main challenge in all five sittings. It wassomething very subtle, difficult to grasp, letalone recreate on canvas. Nevertheless thereit was, not so much seen as glimpsed, fromthe moment the painter came face to facewith his subject each morning at eleven, withthe golden-leafed autumn poplars asbackground.

He was to discover it gradually, observingthe priest in silence, scrutinizing his features,listening to him speak while posing, or feel-ing penetrated by his gaze.

He became very interested in that gaze. Incontrast to so many others, those eyesseemed to bring light forth from the interiorof the person—like genuine Russian iconswhich are drenched with the golden light

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they bear within. That gaze, rather than re-flecting images of the world outside, seemedto communicate messages from its own innerdepth. It was an attentive gaze that did notscrutinize; neither intrusive, inquisitive, norquestioning. A gaze which, paradoxically,saw, yet did not look! Those eyes, small,short-sighted, and bright, had the rare traitof piercing through the present, as if ob-serving faraway horizons, while at the sametime establishing a close, affectionate rap-port. Mosquera found himself confrontedwith an enigma: it was as if those eyes wereholding back out of respect, while at thesame time breaking down barriers by comingforward to meet the person before them. Itwas only later that he would discover thatthe secret was not so much in the eyes as intheir look. How was he to translate that lookonto canvas? It was the gaze of an adven-turer, a patient voyager who, forging everfarther into the deep, watched the stars and

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scanned oceans. Where had he seen thatgaze before? In which port, on what beach, inwhich fishing boat had he seen that deep, at-tentive, concentrated look of a fishermangazing into the distance?

There were witnesses to these scenes:Alvaro del Portillo, Javier Echevarria,Florencio Sanchez Bella, Emilio Muñoz Jo-fre, and Alejandro Cantero. One of themmade the following notes during thoseSeptember days.

“So that he could get a fuller idea of hissubject, Mosquera asked the Father to talkwhile he was posing. Yesterday several of uswere in the studio with him. The Father wasthe life and soul of a pleasant, animated,amusing conversation. We were interested tosee what was going on, and he spoke to all ofus. But, as time passed, he focused more onMosquera. The Father was ‘a docile model’according to the painter. At his suggestionthe Father folded his arms and kept them

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folded, staying quite still, scarcely breathing.When Mosquera at last said ‘That’ll do,’ hecarried on talking normally but still didn’tchange his position…. Today I was alone withthe Father and the painter, sitting in a cornerof the studio for a whole session. The Fatherwas speaking to Mosquera in terms of closefriendship. He called him by his first name,Luis. Rather than praising his talent, he ap-plauded the effort and enthusiasm withwhich he tackled his work. From there hewent on to explain how Luis could make hisart into ‘something holy, something both hu-man and divine.’ Then in plain, simple lan-guage, he told him what Opus Dei is. Andwith moving sincerity he told Luis that Godhad chosen to use him, the Father, as an in-strument to carry out the Work in the world.He stressed, with absolute conviction, thathe himself was ‘a clumsy, deaf instrument’who saw himself as ‘full of wretchedness,’‘capable of every error and every horror,’ but

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who at the same time only desired to love Je-sus Christ madly.

“The Father spoke for over half an hour. Insilence, sitting in my corner, I made use ofhis words to do my personal prayer.

“The painter went on with his job, ab-sorbed and attentive. You could see he wasmoved, captivated, by the Father’s words,which were prayer done aloud.

“Suddenly, the Father stopped. There wasa silence, while Mosquera kept on mixingcolors on his palette. Then the painter beganto talk about the bohemian life artists live,and about their emotions and passions. Hespoke of his recent marriage, his secularisteducation, and his scanty practice of religion.He was touched into baring his soul, ignor-ing my presence. The Father stopped himshort, with compliments about his art. Hecut in on purpose; he wished to avoid thisconfidential outpouring. At the end of thesession, when Mosquera had left, the Father

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said to me, ‘Did you realize that if I hadn’t in-terrupted him he would have made a public

confession?’”1

Months later, by the time he finished the

portrait2 in his studio in Doctor Arce Street,Luis Mosquera had resolved his doubtsabout the third factor that had been bother-ing him so much. It was what had attractedand captivated him, something that had nev-er fully emerged from his palette and hadchallenged the skill of his brushes in a newway. The fact was that one could paint lightand shade, transparency and opaqueness, joyand sorrow, wealth and poverty, order andchaos, the smooth and the rough. These wereall chancy, difficult undertakings which nev-ertheless could be conquered by skill. Butwho could paint grace? What resources ofcolor could ever be capable of marking themysterious connection between human clayand grace, which is holiness?

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During those five sessions at Molinoviejo,the artist became deeply aware that thepriest sitting in front of him was somethingmore than a prelate, chancellor, founder, orillustrious figure. Something more, andsomething different: he was a saint throughand through. He was a saint, clay and grace,from top to toe, but a very human saint.

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2

On Board the J.J. Sister

On the port side of the J.J. Sister, Father Jose-maría Escrivá and a very young law profess-or, José Orlandis, a member of Opus Dei,were leaning on the rails breathing in the seaair. They looked at each other and smiled. Apassenger nearby commented, “After thestorm comes the calm.” The platitude de-scribed the situation perfectly. They had justbeen through twenty hours of terrible storm;the little mail steamship had been buffetedby a violent gale from the Gulf of Lyon. TheJ.J. Sister, notorious for pitching and toss-ing, kept its course despite wind and tide, al-though the dining room china and glassware

were shattered, the waves swept the deck,and the furniture slid up and down. All thepassengers and the crew, from the captain tothe cabin boy, were seasick. At the height ofthe storm Father Escrivá quipped, “Do youknow what? If we go down and get eaten byfish … Perico Casciaro will never eat fish

again as long as he lives!”1 (Father PedroCasciaro, one of the very early members ofOpus Dei, was well known for etiquette.)Soon afterward he referred to the reason be-hind this hair-raising voyage. “How the devildipped his tail in the Gulf of Lyon! It’s veryclear that he’s not exactly happy about our

arrival in Rome!”2

It was 5 p.m. on a warm day, Saturday,June 22, 1946. The sun beat down, but thebreeze on the high seas made being on deckvery pleasant. The J.J. Sister was sailingeastward from Barcelona to Genoa. Suddenlythe sea surged again. There was a moment ofanxiety among the passengers.

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“What’s up now? Another gale?”“No, a school of young whales!”The captain was still looking through his

binoculars when he saw the menacing metalbulk of an enormous mine floating near thebows. World War II had ended less than ayear earlier and it was not unusual to findthis type of ‘souvenir.’ The boat veered tostarboard to avoid it. After that everythingseemed to calm down. Father Escrivá andOrlandis ran their gaze along the tenuousline of the horizon. Far away they could seethe French coast, misty in the distance, beau-tiful. They stood in silence, entranced.

Three years earlier Alvaro del Portillo, an-other young member of Opus Dei, hadtraveled the same route, but by air, while thewar was still raging. His fellow travelers weresome friendly, excitable Italian actors. Dur-ing the flight several fighter aircraft hadflown overhead and opened fire on a shipuncomfortably close to them. The terrified

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actors started shouting, Mamma mia, c’èmolto pericolo! Affoghiamo tutti!—“This isreally dangerous! We’ll all be drowned!” DelPortillo, how ever, did not bat an eyelid. “Iwas quite sure nothing would happen. I was

carrying all the papers.”3 He had with him allthe documents he was to present to the HolySee to obtain the nihil obstat, the green lightfor setting up Opus Dei, or the Work, in dif-ferent dioceses. At the time Opus Dei hadjust one limited approval: a kind of passgranted by Monsignor Eijo y Garay, bishopof Madrid-Alcalá, to allow it to develop as a“Pious Union.” From every point of view thiswas insufficient for the universal scope itsnature demanded.

On the day in June 1943 when Pope PiusXII granted him an audience, Alvaro del Por-tillo had not yet been ordained a priest. Heappeared at the Portone di Bronzo, the en-trance to the Vatican, wearing the full dressuniform of a civil engineer, which was

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adorned with so much gold braid and trim-mings that the Swiss Guard jumped to atten-tion and presented arms. Obviously theytook him for a field marshal or an admir-al—though an astonishingly young one.

The project of Opus Dei, its apostolate ofholiness through professional work, with itsdesire to expand to all points of the compass,was welcomed by the Holy See not just form-ally but “enthusiastically.” A few monthslater, on October 11, the Church declaredthat there was nothing in its spirituality thatcould not be blessed or encouraged by thePope. This was the nihil obstat, the go-aheadthey had sought. It was an important step,but only one in the long, steep, wearisomeclimb on the canonical path that cost thefounder of Opus Dei and all its members somuch prayer, work, negotiation, efforts, andsuffering.

A pathway of hope had opened up. It wasto take them forty long years to travel it, like

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a new exodus across the Sinai desert. But itwas a cheerful crossing over a fruitful desertin which, year by year, vocations came by thethousands.

Every century produces outstandingmovements, and each has its own intrepidfigure who leads the way. Father JosemaríaEscrivá was one of the greatest of the twenti-eth century. In the certainty that he was ful-filling God’s desires, he was encouraged tofound the revolutionary innovation whichwas Opus Dei.

Like all genuine revolutions, Opus Deigoes back to the origins. It links the men andwomen of today with the citizens of the earlyChristian period who achieved holiness intheir work and secular state in the world.Opus Dei did not invent anything: it redis-covered, in a way as simple as it was radical,that Christianity is a leaven which has to im-pregnate and transform civil society from theinside, setting a course toward God for all

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human activities, as long as they are cleanand honest. But it needed to be establishedand activated, and lived out in the middle ofthe world, with no limits other than those offreedom itself. It was as simple and sublimeas that; but not that easy.

Opus Dei exists to serve the Church “as theChurch wishes to be served.” To do this, itwas essential from the start that its specificspirituality should obtain canonical recogni-tion only the Church could give. But this ca-nonical confirmation should not distort itssecular nature or clip its wings. It was withinthis difficult balance that Father JosemaríaEscrivá had to work to the end of his life, as afaithful son of the Church and a faithful in-strument for founding the Work.

Efforts to attain an appropriate canonicalformula took Alvaro del Portillo to Rome asecond time in February 1946. By then hewas a priest. He brought to the Vaticandozens of letters of recommendation from

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bishops who backed the request for aDecretum Laudis—a “decree of praise”—forthe Work. However, when it came to settingup a suitable canonical framework forsomething new in the Church, the projectmet with rigid resistance on the part of can-on lawyers. In the Holy See they told Fatherdel Portillo Opus Dei had been born toosoon.

Later on, Father Escrivá would write:“Both to the world and to the Church theWork seemed a great novelty. The canonicalsolution that I was seeking seemed im-possible to attain. But, my daughters andsons, I could not wait for things to be pos-sible. A high-ranking member of the RomanCuria told us, ‘You have come a century toosoon.’ Nevertheless we had to attempt theimpossible. I was urged on by the thought ofthe thousands of souls who had dedicatedthemselves to God in the Work, with full

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commitment, in order to do apostolate in the

middle of the world.”4

At the gates of the Vatican

The gates of the Vatican were shut be-cause the caller had come too early. ButGod’s work can’t wait. Father del Portillo didnot waste a second. Besides negotiationswith the Vatican, he made visits and calls toask for more letters of recommendation fromcardinals soon to leave Rome for posts inPalermo, Argentina, Mozambique, and Co-logne. He got new letters supporting the re-quest for the Decretum Laudis from Cardin-als Ruffini, Caggiano, Gouvcia, and Frings.

Even though he had mailed a letter toFather Escrivá, he distrusted the chaoticpostwar postal service and gave another to aSpanish diplomat returning to Madrid to bedelivered by hand. In both letters he relatedthe response of the Holy See and added: “I

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can’t do any more. It’s your turn now.”5 Al-though Father Escrivá was suffering fromsevere diabetes, he considered it necessaryfor him to come to Rome.

“I won’t be answerable for yourlife”

As soon as Father Escrivá received Fatherdel Portillo’s two letters, he called a meetingof the general council of the Work at a centerof Opus Dei in Villanueva Street in Madrid.He read the letters to them, and told thembluntly that his doctors had reacted unfavor-ably to the idea of his making such a trip;Doctor Rof Carballo had told him, “I won’tbe answerable for your life.” Father Escriváthen went on, “The doctors say I may die atany moment. When I go to bed I am not sureif I will get up again. When I get up in themorning I don’t know if I will make it to the

end of the day.”6

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The governing body of the Work was madeup of young men, but they had the maturitywhich comes from living an interior life.Against their personal feelings, they gave pri-ority to the needs of a mission greater thanall of them. They agreed unhesitatingly towhat they felt Father Escrivá wanted to doand encouraged him to set sail as soon aspossible.

“Thank you,” he responded, “but I wouldhave gone anyway: what has to be done, has

to be done.”7

This took place on Monday, June 17, 1946.The tickets and visas were arranged in a fewhours. On Wednesday, June 19, at 3:30 p.m.Father Escrivá left Madrid for Saragossa.From there he went to Barcelona to boardthe J.J. Sister for Genoa, and from there toRome. Nowadays the trip is one short flightfrom Barajas Airport in Madrid to FiumicinoAirport in Rome. In those days, with the Se-cond World War just over, there were no

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commercial flights between Spain and Italy,the French border was closed, and one couldonly make the trip this way.

“Will I turn out to be a fraud?”

Father Escrivá broke his journey at threeshrines dedicated to the Mother of God.First, Our Lady of the Pillar in Saragossa,then Montserrat, and the last stop was inBarcelona, the shrine of Our Lady ofRansom. He sought from his Mother, whomhe called “all-powerful in her petition,” allthe recommendations, strength, and guid-ance he would need.

In Barcelona, early in the morning of Fri-day, June 21, Father Escrivá met a smallgroup of his sons in the oratory of an apart-ment in Muntaner Street. They did theirprayer together. With his eyes fixed on thetabernacle, Father Escrivá appealed in wordsChrist had heard before: Ecce nos reliquimus

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omnia, et secuti sumus te: quid ergo eritnobis? “Here we are, having left everything

to follow you: What is to become of us?”8

It was the same question St. Peter hadasked as spokesman for the misgivings andanxieties of the Twelve. Father Escrivápaused. There seemed no light at the end ofthe tunnel but a foreboding of disaster. Withthe confidence born of love, he continued ina hushed, impassioned voice, “Lord, haveyou allowed me, in good faith, to deceive somany souls? I’ve done everything for yourglory, knowing it is your Holy Will! Is it pos-sible that the Holy See can say that we havecome a century too soon? Ecce nosreliquimus omnia, et secuti sumus te! I’venever wished to deceive anyone. I’ve onlywanted to serve you. Will I turn out to be a

fraud?”9

Everyone present knew perfectly well whatit meant to “leave everything” and pay for itwith their reputation. In Barcelona certain

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good people had set in motion a ruthlesscampaign of insults and calumnies againstOpus Dei, provoking discord among the fam-ilies of members and their friends, and warn-ing parents against letting their sons “besnared in the nets of this new heresy.”However, Father Escrivá’s words were not areproach, nor was he demanding a reward.They were a plea, uttered almost on theverge of tears by one whose only foothold onearth was heaven.

The J.J. Sister arrived in Genoa very latethe night of June 22. Father Alvaro del Por-tillo and Salvador Canals were waiting, walk-ing up and down the quayside. FatherEscrivá greeted each with a big hug, then,looking at Father del Portillo over the rim ofhis glasses, addressed him: “Rascal! Here I

am! You got your own way!”10

By the time they got to the hotel it was solate that there was no way of getting a meal.All Father Escrivá had had since leaving

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Barcelona thirty-two hours earlier was a cof-fee and some biscuits. Father del Portillo hadkept a small piece of Parmesan cheese fromhis dinner, thinking Father Escrivá wouldlike it. It was all he got to eat that night.

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3

Subletting in Città Leonina

They drove from Genoa to Rome in a batteredhired car, large and old-fashioned, with arunning board, extra folding seats, and astrong, rancid smell of oilcloth. Arriving atdusk on a beautiful Roman summer evening,they were greeted by the sight of the Tiber,pink façades, and the smell of rosebay andcypress. On rounding a bend of the Via Aure-lia they saw the dome of St. Peter’s. FatherEscrivá, deeply moved, broke out into pray-er: “I believe in God, the Father Almighty …”

It was dark by the time they reached theirdestination and climbed to the fifth floor.The members of the Work had half a top

floor apartment in the Piazza della CittàLeonina, sublet to them by a countess whohad come down in the world. She had alsolent them some pieces of furniture and orna-ments that still had a certain elegance des-pite their shabbiness. There was not muchspace. They had fitted up the best room as anoratory. The dining room doubled as a sittingroom, a study, a workplace, and a receptionroom, as well as a place for formational talks.At night, they opened up some folding bedsin the same room. There was only one bed-room, for Father Escrivá or anyone whohappened to be ill. The room used by DonAlvaro (as Father Alvaro del Portillo wasnormally called) was just a wider part of thecorridor, used by everyone during the day.The apartment was very poor, but did have acovered balcony with sliding doors, a kind ofgallery that they optimistically called “theterrace,” looking onto St. Peter’s Square.

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As always, Father Escrivá went straight tothe oratory to greet “the Master of the house”and prayed for a few seconds on his kneesbefore the tabernacle. Loving care andpoverty were both apparent in the way theoratory was furnished. At the first opportun-ity in Rome, Father Escrivá bought a finecrucifix made of variegated marble, with verystylized lines, on which the figure of Christlooked alive and serene. From then on itpresided over the little altar.

After dinner they had a lively get-together.With Father Escrivá were Don Alvaro, JoséOrlandis, and Salvador Canals (nicknamedBabo). Within a few weeks they were joinedby Ignacio Sallent and Armando Serrano.With Vladimiro Vince, this was all there wasof Opus Dei in Rome, or in Italy. In thatsame year, 1946, the Work would begin tospread, with members going to Portugal andEngland and, in 1947, to France and Ireland.

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While the Pope slept

At one stage in the conversation, thepeople with Father Escrivá pointed acrossthe gallery toward the Vatican, where thelights of the Pope’s rooms could be seen.They could imagine him moving about fromone room to another. As the Swiss Guardbarracks was a fairly low building, they werealmost certainly the Pope’s nearest neigh-bors. Father Escrivá decided that on this, hisfirst night in Rome, he would not go to bed.Passing the hours in a vigil there on the bal-cony, he kept the Holy Father company withhis prayers.

Father Escrivá had a deep, sincere, evenenthusiastic love for the Pope. It wasn’t heroworship but the conviction that the Pope, nomatter who he is, is the successor of Peter.He holds the keys. He binds and loosens. Inspite of any human frailty he may have, he isthe firm rock on which the Church is built. In

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words Father Escrivá borrowed from St.Catherine of Siena, he is il dolce Cristo interra—“the sweet Christ on earth.” Or, stillmore strongly, he is the Vicar of Christ.

With Pope Pius XII as with his prede-cessors for centuries, the papacy had trap-pings of Baroque splendor that elevated anddistanced the figure of the Pope, surroundinghim with ornament and an almost imperialprotocol, perhaps to symbolize his spiritualpower and authority. Pius XII radiated holi-ness and majesty, but he could only be seenfrom a distance. There was no television; itwas not the custom to hold large public audi-ences; and the Pope didn’t travel. Only a fewselect people had access to him. At solemnceremonies Pope Pius was carried in triumphon an imposing chair like a throne, erect andpriestly, wearing the triple crown of gold andsilver. To see, just a stone’s throw away, thewindow of the room where the Pope wassleeping like any other tired man was moving

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and heartwarming to someone of FatherEscrivá’s faith and sensitivity.

For years he had pounded the streets ofMadrid day after day, wrapped in his cape,saying rosaries “for the Pope and his inten-tions.” Earlier, when Pius XI occupied theChair of Peter, he wrote, “I used to imaginemyself beside the Holy Father when he wascelebrating Mass. I did not know then, nordo I now, what the Pope’s chapel was like,but at the end of the rosary I would make aspiritual communion, desiring to receive OurLord from the Pope’s hands. You won’t besurprised to hear that I feel a holy envy forthose who have the good fortune to be phys-ically near the Holy Father, because they canopen their hearts to him, and show him their

esteem and devotion.”1

“Thoroughly Roman”

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That night of June 23, 1946 not justRome but the whole of Italy spent a particu-larly restless vigil: the next day the new par-liamentary assembly would meet to elect Al-cide de Gasperi as president. King HumbertoII abdicated and gave up all his powers. Butthere was only one matter which concernedFather Escrivá: It could not be true that theWork of God had come too soon, or too late.Opus Dei existed because heaven wished it.No suitable canonical formulas? God wouldprovide a way.

Dawn broke on his reverie. A bird flew fastand low across the Piazza della Città Leon-ina. Reaching the reddish wall, it fluttered amoment before taking off again. A halo ofwarm sunlight surrounded the basilica’sdome.

Inside the top floor apartment, there wasthe noise of beds being folded and showersrunning. The housekeeper had arrived, aHungarian not particularly expert at

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domestic tasks, and she could be heard pre-paring breakfast.

When Father Escrivá later told an old prel-ate of the Curia he had spent his first night inRome keeping vigil “out of love and devotionfor the Pope,” this good man told others, whomade fun. “Lots of people made me a laugh-ingstock. At first I was hurt by their gossip;later on it made my love for the Pope lessSpanish—which is a love that springs fromenthusiasm—and much firmer, a love born ofreflection, more theological and thus farmore profound. Since then I have often saidthat in Rome I ‘lost my innocence,’ and that

incident was of great benefit for my soul.”2

The wheels in the palace grindslowly

This half-apartment in Città Leonina wasan interim base, but they were to spend an-other thirteen months there. From

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December 27 on they even had to give upsome space in order to provide anothertotally separate apartment for a group of wo-men of the Work who had come to Rome atthe founder’s summons to begin their ownapostolate and take charge of the domesticmanagement of this center.

A Spanish proverb says, “Wheels in thepalace grind slowly,” and speed was hardlythe outstanding feature of the negotiationswith the Curia. Still, Father Escrivá obtainedpositive results in his contacts with the HolySee. The first words of affection and encour-agement he heard from that source in Romewere from Monsignor Giovanni BattistaMontini, an intelligent, sensitive Italian fromBrescia who, since the end of the SecondWorld War, had been laboring to update theVatican’s diplomatic relations. Years later, hewas to become Pope Paul VI.

One day, talking with Salvador Canals andtwo other members of the Work, he asked

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them for “a photograph of the founder so asto be able to show it to the Pope.” Julian Ur-bistondo put his hand into the inside pocketof his jacket, took out his wallet, and handedMontini a little photograph of the Father.Monsignor Montini could not repress a sur-prised smile when he read the dedicationFather Escrivá had written on the back:“Rascal! How are you treating your par-

ents?”3

Pope Pius XII had received Alvaro del Por-tillo twice and, separately, the law professorsJosé Orlandis and Salvador Canals, as well asthe scientist José María Albareda, whose in-tellectual capacity the Pope found amazing.Since 1943 he had prayed for the founder byname and had a copy of The Way among his

books.4 It was time to prepare for the firstaudience of the Pope with Father Escrivá.

It took place on July 16. Father Escrivá ex-plained to the Pope what Opus Dei was andwhat it was not. After their conversation,

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Pius XII asked the responsible parties to re-sume the juridical studies that finally resul-ted in a new apostolic constitution, Provida

Mater Ecclesia,5 opening the way for secularinstitutes. As a secular institute, Opus Deicould have a definite canonical status withinthe Church. It was not a perfect formula be-cause members of Opus Dei neither prac-ticed nor were intended to practice the stateof perfection of the secular institutes. But insome way, total self-dedication by lay peoplewho did not change their state in life, job, orplace in the world had now been given aformal blessing.

When barely three weeks later Pius XIIalso published the Decretum Laudis approv-ing Opus Dei, Father Escrivá had achievedrecognition of the universal call to holinesswhich the Work promotes for men and wo-men, priests and lay people alike, in one andthe same vocation. He did not need to takeany shortcuts or easy ways out. He prayed

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and got other people to pray; he studied andgot others to study; he worked and got othersto work. He knocked at doors and spenthours in waiting rooms. He spoke with thestrength and humility of someone perform-ing a task commissioned by God. However,as would shortly be seen, the constitutionProvida Mater Ecclesia was not the right“clothing” for ordinary people walkingthrough the world nel bel mezzo dellastrada, in the middle of the street. So, atevery opportunity, with Aragonese clarityand tenacity, Father Escrivá said he was “giv-ing way without giving up, intent on recover-

ing any concessions later.”6

“Opus Dei,” he would write years later,“has created many canonical and theologicalproblems in the Church and has solvedthem—I say so with humility, for humility istruth. Once solved, the problems appearedsimple; in particular, the fact there is only

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one class of members, which includes both

clergy and laity.”7

Pius XII perceived a splendid panorama:the personal holiness and personalapostolate which Opus Dei could spread allover the earth. He also observed FatherEscrivá’s spiritual stature, and the divinescope of his vision, to which the Pope was togive definitive approval on June 16, 1950.Soon after the Pope told Cardinal NormanGilroy of Sydney, Australia that he had beenprofoundly impressed by a recent visit fromFather Escrivá. “He is a real saint, a mansent by God for our times” (é un vero santo,un uomo mandato da Dio per i nostri

tempi).8 No inkling then of the bitter hours,the great suffering, that Father Escriváwould have to endure during his pontificate,though not at the Pope’s doing.

Some nights during the summer of 1946 aswell as later, Father Escrivá would go downwith several of his sons to St. Peter’s Square,

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deserted and silent. They would go to the ob-elisk which Caligula had brought from Heli-opolis and Sixtus V had placed in the hugeesplanade; or else they would walk underBernini’s columns. Standing on the darkflagstones Father Escrivá would recite theCreed, emphasizing each word. After saying,“I believe in the holy Catholic Church” hewould add with special insistence, “I believein my mother, the Roman, Roman, Roman

Church.”9

A few months later he introduced anotherphrase: “I believe in one, holy, Catholic andApostolic Church … in spite of everything!”Later, he told a high-ranking official,Monsignor Tardini, his great confidenceabout these additions. When he came to theexpression “in spite of everything,” Tardiniasked “Ah, and what do you mean by ‘in spiteof everything’?”

“I mean, ‘in spite of your sins and mine,’ “

replied Father Escrivá.10

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His negotiations at the Vatican continuedunabated. It was a struggle in legal logic, try-ing to bring down ancient canonical walls inorder to open a way for the Work. The hingesof some doors had the rust of centuries. Theformulas obtained in 1941 and 1943, and theone now being prepared, which became offi-cial in 1947, were the best solutions possibleand the most suitable—meaning the least un-suitable. “However, there was no other op-tion; either we accepted everything or wewould have to carry on trying to go forwardwith no path to follow. In reality, we were theneedle that pulled the thread through. Ex-perience has confirmed that those institu-tions which sought approval as secular insti-tutes after us, have found themselves at easeand joyfully accept the things which clashwith our secularity, because such is theircalling. One can see more clearly every daythat, leaving the thread in place, the ‘needle’

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has to leave the cloth which is now called

secular institutes.”11

The Roman dog-days, July and ferragosto(the August holiday), passed. Father Escriváprayed, worked, studied, wrote, walked,talked with people, and practiced patience.He was ill. His diabetes was unpredictableand dangerous, with fever, dehydration, at-tacks of raging thirst, muscular exhaustion,head aches, weakness, and prostration. Fath-er Escrivá did not complain. Except for DonAlvaro, no one knew what he was goingthrough. He even outdid his younger sons inenergy and good humor. Sometimes, cominghome to Città Leonina exhausted, they wouldfind a power failure and the elevator notworking. Father Escrivá would grasp thestair rail and start the climb. On reaching thelanding, he would joke, “They say there arefive floors in this house but I think they areexaggerating. There are four—because we’vealready done one.” A little farther and:

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“What’s more, there aren’t four, only three.”So, merrily, they reached the last steps.There he stopped, breathed deeply, and ex-claimed with a mischievous smile, “Sure, this

house has only two or three steps.”12

There was something more than a natur-ally friendly and optimistic disposition here.This was a man of tenacity who, day afterday, for years had practiced a “smiling as-ceticism” as training in virtue.

Father Escrivá returned to Madrid onAugust 31. He brought with him two import-ant documents: a brief, Cum Societatis, anda letter, Brevi Sane, praising the aims of theWork. He also brought a strange, very valu-able personal present from the Pope: thecomplete relics of two young Christian mar-tyrs, St. Mercuriana and St. Sinferus. By thisgift, Pius XII showed his understanding ofthe similarity between the members of OpusDei and those early Christians.

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The relics of St. Sinferus were placed inthe oratory of a center for men of Opus Dei.The relics of St. Mercuriana were placed bytwo priests, Father Alvaro del Portillo andFather José María Hernandez de Garnica,under the altar of Los Rosales, a center forwomen, in Villaviciosa de Odon, near Mad-rid. Father Escrivá was present at the cere-mony with some of his daughters: AntonietaGomez, Mari Tere Echevarria, Josefina deMiguel, and others.

He attended to different matters concern-ing the running of the Work—the generalcouncil was still in Madrid—and then went toMolinoviejo, near Segovia, for a few days’rest. Molinoviejo had just opened as a con-ference center for retreats and courses. Dur-ing Father Escrivá’s stay, a simple ceremonytook place in the little shrine of Molinoviejo,following Father Escrivá’s wishes. It was offundamental importance: the first membersof the Work took promissory oaths, making a

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free commitment to the Work in conscience,without vows.

September 24 was the feast of Our Lady ofRansom. Father Escrivá recalled the churchnear the port of Barcelona where he hadgone to ask his heavenly Mother for help be-fore embarking for Genoa. Inside the littleshrine at Molinoviejo, at noon, he and agroup of his sons said the Angelus together

in front of a statue of Our Lady.13 These werepeople who had joined the Work at the verybeginning, and although they were young,they were very conscious of being “seniors”in Opus Dei. A crucifix stood on the woodenaltar, with a stout candle burning on eitherside. There these members of Opus Dei com-mitted themselves to maintain its spirit ex-actly as God had given it to their founder.One of the commitments they made was topractice personal poverty, preserving it as ithad been practiced at the beginning of OpusDei; another was to maintain unity with the

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directors; the third was to help each otherwith fraternal correction. In fact, the only“mutual benefit” between two members ofthe Work is prayer, service, and the concernmanifested in fraternal correction. This is allthe help anyone in the Work should expectfrom any other. It is the real meaning of thephrase in big letters on a wall-hanging inMolinoviejo and a mural in Villa Tevere:Frater qui adiuvatur a fratre, quasi civitasfirma: “A brother who is helped by his broth-er is like a strong city” (Proverbs 18:19).

On the red flagged floor in the little shrinewere straw mats to kneel on as protectionagainst the cold floor. On leaving the littleshrine, Father Escrivá asked for two or threeof these as souvenirs. He was neither nostal-gic nor sentimental nor a relic-maker, but hehad a historical consciousness of everythingthat had to do with the shaping of the Work.

One afternoon at the beginning of Novem-ber, returning to Los Rosales, he announced

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to his daughters that he had to go back toRome on November 8. This time he did notknow how long he would be away. “FatherPedro is staying here to represent me, foranything you need,” he told them. Withoutmore ado he went out into the garden andbeckoned to someone waiting outside.

This was Father Pedro Casciaro, a youngarchitect with a doctorate in mathematics,who had been ordained shortly before. Fromthen on he was to be the counselor of OpusDei in Spain, and as he governed the Workhe would try to identify himself “with the

mind of the Father.”14 It must have beenaround that time that a priest in Madrid re-marked, “So now he’s off to Rome, leavingthe Opus in the hands of a few good-for-nothings.” The response was: “If this Opus isDei, it will last even if the founder is nothere. And if it is not a Work of God, with orwithout a founder it will collapse of its ownaccord.”

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In Rome, work on drawing up the consti-tution Provida Mater Ecclesia intensified.Many visitors came to the apartment in CittàLeonina, mostly ecclesiastics working in thedicasteries of the Curia. Father Escrivá feltlike a wound-up spring. Not a minute wasbeing wasted, but he still had an inner senseof urgency. The Work could not travel atman’s speed but had to go “at God’s pace.”On December 6 he wrote to the members ofthe Work in Madrid, “Everything is going

very well, but excessively slowly.”15

Two days later Pius XII again received himin a private audience. On the 16th of thesame month, in another letter to Madrid, hepointed out: “Don’t you forget it was duringthe octave of the Immaculate Conception ofOur Lady when the Roman ‘solution’ began

to take shape.”16 The founder had discoveredthat the Holy See was not just willing butanxious to grant the approval of Opus Dei assoon as possible. It was better to make the

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most of this opportunity, even though it wasto be a stop-gap solution. So the negotiationscontinued.

On December 27, Father Escrivá and DonAlvaro went to the military airport ofCiampino to meet five women of the Workarriving from Spain: Encarnita Ortega, Dor-ita Calvo, Julia Bustillo, Rosalia Lopez, andDora del Hoyo. Now the top floor apartmentin Città Leonina began to take on the air of apleasant, welcoming family home. But someof the women boarded for a while in anotherhouse and later moved into a residence hall.

They soon began to look for a permanentheadquarters of Opus Dei. MonsignorsMontini and Tardini suggested to FatherEscrivá that he should set up “a big house”near the Holy See. Father Escrivá put hishands in his pockets, and all he found was ahandkerchief, a small notebook, and somerosary beads. They were living from day today. When guests came for lunch, everyone

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in the house knew that this hospitality wouldinevitably have to be paid for: there would beeither no evening meal or no breakfast. So-metimes there was no money for firewood orgas. Julia and Dora were hard put for cook-ing, and used a charcoal brazier and bellows.

No money; but they had never had moneyto spare. They knew all about eating plainbatter fritters; turning an old suit to use theless worn side of the cloth; economizing onlights and heating; keeping count of everynail; and making spaghetti at home becauseit was cheaper. They had never had the lux-ury of “saving up.” The enterprise they wereengaged in was alive and growing, develop-ing and spreading to other countries. Thisknowledge urged them on and made moredemands on them. Yet somehow in a pinchthey never lacked essentials. Father Escriváwrote: “My God, you always come to meet

our real needs.”17

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Cardinals, bishops, and priests visited theapartment in Città Leonina very often. Tworegular visitors were the canon lawyers Fath-er Arcadio Larraona and Father SiervoGoyeneche. They spent whole days withFather Escrivá and Don Alvaro, discussingpoints of canon law and working on thedrafts of the constitution Provida Mater Ec-clesia. These visits upset the women of theWork, who had to perform real miracles withmeager supplies.

A bunch of roses without thorns

The advice given by Monsignors Montiniand Tardini was well founded: it would bebest to locate near the Holy See for severalreasons. The canonical path had to beopened up. Opus Dei needed to be Roman-ized. Father Escrivá wanted the Pope to feelhis love as a good son at first hand, and to beable to count on the Work as an instrument

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of secular apostolate which “only wishes toserve the Church, not make use of it.” Andthere was a reason which could not be dis-regarded: the Work needed to move awayfrom Spain, where there was a climate ofhostility and the founder was being defamedas a heretic, a Freemason, a sectarian, a se-cretive deceiver of young people, someoneambitious for honors, a political opportunist,a miracle-monger, a madman, and muchmore. Often, while having breakfast afterMass, Father Escrivá would ask Don Alvaro,“My son, where will the insults come from

today?”18 He remarked that he felt like “aspittoon which anyone and everyone thinks

they have the right to use.”19 Years later hewould joke, “I know my fellow countrymenvery well. As they have mistreated me andcontinue to mistreat me so much, when I diethey will want to carry my dead body fromone end of the country to the other on their

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shoulders; but I will rest here in Rome, in

some little corner of this house.”20

Monsignor Montini, referring to these at-tacks, remarked to Father Escrivá, “Our Lordhas seen fit to make you suffer right from thebeginning what other institutions suffer

years later when they are up and running.”21

He did indeed suffer greatly, but with no an-guish or surprise, because he trusted Godwith a blind trust, the trust of love.

When he visited the office of Dr. CarloFaelli, an endocrinologist, to continue histreatment for diabetes, the doctor inquiredafter examining him, “Have you suffered alot? Occasionally diabetes occurs whenpeople have serious problems.”

“No, I haven’t.”Father Escrivá was telling the truth: he al-

ways made light of his difficulties. Not out ofstoicism or insensitivity, but in the certaintythat for those doing God’s will, “difficulties

are not difficult.”22 After the consultation,

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Dr. Faelli noted on the clinical history: E’ unuomo che ha sofferto molto, anche se af-ferma di non aver avuto dispiaceri. “He is aman who has suffered greatly, although he

states he has not had any sorrows.”23

Long afterward, on June 23, 1971, thetwenty-fifth anniversary of his arrival inRome, during a gathering in the headquar-ters in Villa Tevere, Father Escrivá recalledevents still vivid in his memory. “Twenty-fiveyears of God’s goodness, of suffering, joy,learning, and—‘losing our innocence’! Wecreated the universality of the Work righthere.”

Then he concluded by urging them on. “Imust insist that we didn’t feel unfortunate,not for a second. But you will understandbetter now why I used to say so often,‘prima, più, meglio’ [sooner, more and bet-ter]. Everything was disproportionate: thehuman means and the material means. If wedon’t see God as the cause, it would not

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make sense. I am grateful, deeply grateful to

the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”24

That same day, early in the morning, thewomen of the Work in Italy had sent himtwenty-five red roses, without thorns. Thishad a special significance. On one of his tripsto Spain while the government of the Workwas still in Madrid, he found that the generalcouncil had put aside a complex matter sothat he could study it with them and tellthem how to resolve it. Father Escrivá, whostrongly supported responsible freedom andbelieved everyone in governance shouldshoulder responsibility, had remarked, “Mychildren, when you die, you will be canon-ized, because you are so very good! Andwhen they paint pictures of you, they willpaint you looking very handsome and won-derful—as of course you are— and with yourhands full of roses, lots of roses! Do youknow why? Because you left the thorns to

me!”25

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Now, moved by his Italian daughters’thoughtfulness, he asked to see some of themto thank them. He remarked, “These rosescame without thorns. The thorns, lots ofthem, came first. There were one or tworoses as well, but lots of thorns! If I had tolive through these past twenty-five years allover again I couldn’t bear it.”

He paused briefly, then corrected himself.

“Yes I could! With God’s help, I could!”26

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4

The Making of Villa Tevere

The house of the head of afamily

They scoured Rome for a house. Not just anyold house: they did not want a hut, or apalace, or a mansion, or a barracks, or ahotel, or an office block. It had to be a homefor the head of a family, a very large family.It was to be the permanent head quarters ofOpus Dei, a dignified place with plenty ofroom and with the potential for furtherbuilding, since in the future men and womenfrom all over the world would come to live

there, to study and be formed in the spirit ofthe Work.

In an antique shop in Piazza di SpagnaFather Escrivá and Don Alvaro spotted abeautiful Baroque wooden statue of theMadonna. It was very cheap—8,000 lire, orabout six dollars. Thinking ahead to the newhouse, it was a bargain they did not want tomiss. But it took them more than a month to

scrape together enough money.1

Father Escrivá did not have an open-handed patron behind him. At that momentvocations to the Work in Italy could be coun-ted on the fingers of one hand. In Spain theWork had been established in Madrid, Bar-celona, Saragossa, Valencia, Bilbao,Granada, Valladolid, and Santiago. However,the young women who lived in Los Rosales,besides studying, had to rear chickens andgrow vegetables to feed themselves. The menin Molinoviejo likewise combined their stud-ies with building an extension and setting up

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a small farm. Recently graduated architects,engineers, physicists, lawyers, and mathem-aticians were not above battling with hens,pigs, or cows. They swept up coal dust,mixed it with plaster, and used it to feed theboiler for the central heating. In the kitchenthey invented some sophisticated ham-burgers—made of rice, cooked and mashed.These ways of making do were a true pictureof the finances of Opus Dei in those earlyyears.

Postwar Italy was an aristocratic republicwhere destitute but dignified princesses,dukes, counts, and marquises swarmed inthe impoverished salons of what had beenhigh society. Some were well up on news ofhouses to rent, small palaces being disposedof, furniture going to auction, tapestries,lamps, and pictures for sale, privately anddiscreetly, by people who did not want theirnew poverty to show.

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One day the telephone rang in Città Leon-ina. Duchess Virginia Sforza-Cesarini was onthe line. The person who answered the tele-phone, surprised, made gestures of inquiryto the others. No one knew her.

“I have been told you are looking for avilla, a residence,” she said. “Maybe I knowone that would suit you. I would be delightedto invite you to tea in my house.”

Father Escrivá and Don Alvaro paid a visit.The Duchess Sforza-Cesarini was a charm-ing, gracious lady, but the offer she made onbehalf of a third party did not interest them.Among the disadvantages, the house wasoutside Rome. Father Escrivá used the visitto talk to the duchess about the love of God,a life of prayer, and the value of suffering.Then he explained Opus Dei to her, how therange of its apostolates would be throughoutthe world, and how this task had to be direc-

ted from the heart of the Church in Rome.2

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Virginia Sforza was impressed, and offeredto help in their search for a house. A fewdays later she contacted them again: “I haveseen something which I think you will findinteresting.” It was a large villa, with agarden which could be built on, in the Pariolidistrict of Rome. It belonged to another aris-tocrat, Count Gori Mazzoleni, who wanted tosell it and leave Italy. The house had beenleased to the Hungarian ambassador to theHoly See, but diplomatic ties between theHungarian Communist government and theVatican State had been broken off. The own-er wished to sell as soon as possible, withoutusing agents.

Father Escrivá, Alvaro del Portillo, Sal-vador Canals, and a fourth person went tosee the villa. It was on the corner of VialeBruno Buozzi and Via di Villa Sacchetti. Thegarden reached as far as Via Domenico Cir-illo. Count Gori Mazzoleni received them inthe porter’s lodge where he was living, since

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the main house was still occupied by civilservants and employees of the Hungarianlegation, who were staying there illegally(and would continue to do so for two moreyears). Father Escrivá liked the situation ofthe house, the extent of the land which couldbe built on, and the quattrocento Florentinestyle of the main building. He asked DonAlvaro to go ahead with arranging the pur-chase. As they had no money, they would buythe property by making a symbolic downpayment, then get a mortgage and use it topay off the count.

Don Alvaro, Salvador Canals, and a lawyerfriend, Dr. Merlini, negotiated with the own-er and came to an agreement. They achievedsuch a reduction in price that it almostseemed a gift. Two or three years later theproperty would be worth thirty or forty timesas much. But even though it was a smallamount, at the time they did not have themoney. They resorted to asking everyone

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they knew for help. They managed to per-suade the owner to formalize the salewithout any money, giving him as a pledge afew gold coins that they had been keeping tomake a sacred vessel with. Not wanting tolose these, they stipulated in the contractthat the gold coins should be returned whenthey paid the total amount. They committedthemselves to finalizing the deal within twomonths. Gori Mazzoleni’s only condition wasfor payment in Swiss francs. He was contentto wait until the buyers got the money to-

gether.3 When the contract was finallysigned, in the early hours of the morning,Don Alvaro and Salvador Canals returned tothe apartment in Città Leonina to find FatherEscrivá waiting for them, on his knees pray-

ing in the oratory.4

“He accepted the gold coins—and he’s giv-ing us two months!” they said. “His only con-dition is that the payment must be made inSwiss francs.”

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Father Escrivá started to laugh andshrugged his shoulders, surprised andamused. “We don’t care! We have neither liranor francs, and one currency is the same as

another for Our Lord.”5 Later on, asking hisdaughters to pray for this matter, he saidwith a mischievous wink, “Mind you get the

currency right: it has to be in Swiss francs.”6

Payment had not yet Gori Mazzoleni metEncarnita Ortega and Concha Andres oneday on the streets of Rome. He stopped hiscar and gave them a lift to Città Leonina. Onthe way he praised Don Alvaro to the skies:“To me, he’s not just an honest person withwhom I’ve made a deal; he’s a loyal friend, a

wise counselor, and an admirable priest.”7

Sometime later, when the people of theWork had moved to the villa on BrunoBuozzi Street and were living in the lodge,the count went to visit them. He was takeninto what had been his house, and, seeing

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the floor shining, asked Salvador Canals,“Have you changed the floor?”

“No, it’s the same one, but clean.”8

The Count might have said the same laterif he visited the main house: some of thewalls had been washed, others had beencovered in cloth, though not where big pic-tures were going to be hung, so as to savematerial. The people of the Work themselvesdid most of the decorating, painting ceilings,beams, and door frames. They were the samerooms but they had been thoroughly cleanedand artistically painted.

“Where shall I sleep tonight?”

From July 1947 until February 1949 whenthe Hungarian “tenants” eventually left thevilla, the people of the Work lived on the twofloors of the lodge. Upstairs were the kit-chen, laundry, and dining room; downstairs,the residence, “Il Pensionato.”

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Few rooms and many people. Every squarefoot was used intensively. There was onlyone bed with legs and a mattress; at night,people unrolled bedrolls, as if they werecamping. Later on, Father Escrivá would re-call this strange, cramped way of livingwithout dramatizing the situation and evenhumorously: “As we had no money, we didnot turn on the heating. Neither did we havea place to sleep. We didn’t know where wewould sleep at night—inside the hall door, inone corner or another. There was just onebed and we reserved it for whoever was ill.

Like St. Alexis, we lived under the stairs.”9

What he omitted was that as soon as any-body got a cold or was threatened with flu,Father Escrivá himself was always first tounroll a bedroll under the dining room tableand would sleep there. If his sons plugged inan electric heater for him, he would turn itoff because he did not want to be warm whilehis sons were cold.

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During the day, everyone helped with thebuilding and decorating; they also studied,went to classes at the pontifical universitiesand carried on apostolate with their uni-versity classmates. Soon Opus Dei spread toseveral Italian cities: Turin, Bari, Genoa, Mil-an, Naples, and Palermo.

The Opus Dei “banker”

In addition to the difficulties of payingfor the property and food, there was the ex-pense of the building alterations in progress.For the next few years they lived among scaf-folding and pickaxes, as well as the comingsand goings of foremen, bricklayers, car-penters, and plumbers. These workmen hadto be paid every Saturday without fail, at 1:15p.m.

Don Alvaro bore the brunt. He obtainedcredit, signed bills of exchange, and bor-rowed money. He himself told a little—not

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everything—of the difficulties in buyingbuilding materials and paying the workers.“The first time we managed to pay themwithout any problems as we had saved up abit of money, but by the second time, wecouldn’t. So we began to search all overRome for people who would lend us themoney we needed. One person did offer tohelp, but the next day he came back to say hewould have to mortgage his property, whichwas a step out of all proportion to theamount we were asking for. So we had lost aday. Saturday was looming, and the workershad to be paid come what may.

“In the end we spoke to a lawyer calledMerlini, a man with a beard which reallysuited him, a good, devout Catholic and acompetent jurist. He had helped us to buythe house, and in many other negotiations.‘This time,’ he said, ‘it so happens that I havesome money left with me by a client, whichhe has given me the use of for a year.’ He lent

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it to us at no interest, and it was enough fortwo weeks’ wages. Then Our Lord saw to itthat we should manage with bills of exchangeand a certain amount of juggling. It was amatter of robbing Peter to pay Paul: a kind ofmadness, and a source of great stress. Howdid we manage? It was a miracle. I don’t

know how, but we always paid.”10

One day Don Alvaro fell ill. He was run-ning a temperature of forty degrees (104ºF).Father Escrivá came to his bedside and, see-ing him so ill and worried because “Saturday,pay day, is coming up,” he asked, “Alvaro,my dear son, what will happen, what canhappen if for once we don’t pay them, and letthem wait until we have the money?”

“What can happen? I don’t mind going toprison. But it’s the honor of the Work that isat stake.”

“Well then, get yourself up and see if youcan find the money, wherever.”

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While awaiting Don Alvaro’s return, Fath-er Escrivá, as he so often did, went to ask hisdaughters for an intense bombardment ofprayers for this intention. He was deeplyaffected.

“What kind of a swine am I? I’m killingpoor Alvaro. But we have no option: he’s theonly one who can go to the banks and solvethe problem, because they know and trusthim. With just a little bit, only the tiniest bitof what he’s carrying on his shoulders, I’dhave died by now.”

Then, to defuse the situation, he addedplayfully, “My son Alvaro’s illness would becured instantly if we put a healthy poultice ofliras, or better still, pounds sterling, on hisliver.”

After a little while, Don Alvaro returned.Father Escrivá came out to meet him.

“Have you got it?”“Yes, Father.”“How did you get it?”

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“As always Father, by obeying.”11

In the end they found a construction com-pany belonging to Leonardo Castelli. Hestudied the work already underway, as wellas the plans of the projected buildings. Hecould see it was not just a makeshift job, butsomething that had to be done thoroughly, aproject to last for centuries. He trusted DonAlvaro’s goodness and honesty, and decidedto take over the contract. From then on Cas-telli would pay the workers’ wages. He evenincreased the number of workmen to speedup the job. Don Alvaro had to pay Castelli’sbill every two or three months. The cost wasno less, but they had more time to find themoney.

They all tightened their belts. They got upat the crack of dawn to walk to the universit-ies so as to save the bus or streetcar fares. Onthese long walks they wore rope-soled san-dals and carried their shoes in a bag so as notto wear the shoes out. On the way, one would

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read the day’s lesson aloud while the othersmemorized it to the rhythm of their ownstrides. A packet of twenty cigarettes, slicedwith the precision born of long practice, wastransformed into sixty mini-cigarettes.

As the villa was so big, it had seven en-trances from the street. All but two were nowclosed off. Money was so tight they did nothave enough to pay lo Zio Carlo, “UncleCharles,” a carpenter from Città Leonina, toboard up all the doors, so he did half of themand finished the job when they could pay.Meantime they stopped the drafts with news-papers and sacks.

About this time, March 1948, FatherEscrivá suffered a facial paralysis as a resultof the cold, but only three people knew aboutit. He only referred to it much later, saying ina conversation, “My face went like that too,about twenty years ago. There are three wit-nesses to it in Rome. But it was not a joke; it

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was because we had no money for heating

and it was very damp indeed there.”12

Ten years amidst scaffoldingand builders

They had taken on a formidable construc-tion project to house the offices and the liv-ing quarters of the general council and thecentral advisory of Opus Dei. Faculty andstudents of the Roman College of the HolyCross, for men, also lived there for someyears, as they did not move to Cavabiancauntil 1974; and for some time the studentsand faculty of the Roman College of OurLady, for women, had to live there too, untilthey moved to Castelgandolfo in 1963. Therealso was quite a large domestic staff. In all,more than 300 people lived there.

One day, while walking through part of thehouse with one of his sons, a naval officernamed Rafael Caamaño, Father Escrivá

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explained how many of the architectural ordecorative features had been copied fromother places seen while walking aroundRome or traveling in Italy. “We were not try-ing to be innovative but to get the thing donewell.” Then, laughing because some peoplemight think the house had the airs of a greatmansion, he added lightheartedly, “We havecopied so many lovely things from here andthere that everything has an ‘ancestry’ and a‘genealogy.’ Besides, when you copysomething you can improve on it, do it more

cheaply and with fewer defects.”13

Father Escrivá kept a close eye on thework, both at the planning stage and when itwas being done. He often climbed up thescaffolding with the architects and the build-ers. Sometimes, on days when the men werenot working, he took his daughters with himso that they too could enjoy imagining wherethings would be. It was not just his house buteverybody’s—a big family house. On one of

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these visits he showed them a large crucifixhanging in the Galleria di Sotto. “I told theartist to do his very best to make a living, se-rene Christ, not one twisted in agony on theCross,” he said. “I wanted people’s hearts tobe moved to contrition just by contemplatingit.”

Then he read the phrase he’d had en-graved on a plaque beside it. They werePeter’s words when Jesus had asked himthree times, “Peter, do you love me morethan these?”

Domine, Tu omnia nosti, Tu scis quia amote—“Lord, you know all things, you knowthat I love you.”

Father Escrivá continued looking at thecrucifix. He whispered an irrepressible ex-

clamation, “And how!”14

They lived in discomfort, privation, andausterity, through the cold and damp ofwinter and the suffocating summer heat, of-ten going hungry. Father Escrivá did not try

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to conceal the truth with euphemisms, andwould say to his sons, “You can’t becomeeasygoing here! Humanly speaking you haveit tough, thank God! Although years ago itwas much worse. I’ve told you so often thatmany of your brothers have been hungrywith me: not for one or two days, but long

spells. We did not have a cent.”15

In time, no one would remember the hard-ship. They could only talk of Father Escrivá’simmense love, tender and firm at the sametime, toward each of them, “calling us eachby our own nicknames: Pepele, Pilé, Olly,Beto, Wally, Riny, Cipry, Babo, Quecco, andmore, because a big and beautiful family iswhat we were and what we are.”

When there was a break in his work, Fath-er Escrivá would often step into a smallgarden in front of Villa Vecchia and walk upand down while he said a part of the Rosaryor chatted with a companion. He could notavoid the company of his children, and he

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did not want to. He would look toward thewindows, open perhaps because of the heat.Everybody was busy studying or working. Ifhe saw someone, he cleared his throat to at-tract attention and, if the person looked up,beckoned him to join him. Soon he would besurrounded by young men and would have alively conversation, strolling from one side ofthe garden to the other. Other times hewould sit in a corner at a central area calledthe Arco dei Venti, perhaps because therewas a breeze there. He would talk to his sonsabout supernatural themes and give themthe spirit of the Work, letting them drink itfrom its source while he forgot his tirednessand gave himself to them joyfully.

One afternoon in 1954 he was talking inthis way when suddenly he lost the thread ofwhat he was saying. Gazing at them one byone, he asked point-blank, “Do you know,my sons, why I love you so much?” A fewseconds went by. The answer came with

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irresistible forcefulness: “I love you so muchbecause I see the Blood of Christ bubbling

through your veins.”16

Financial problems persisted, a permanentfeature of Father Escrivá’s life, although lackof money never stopped him from doingwhat the spread of Opus Dei demanded. Heput into practice the old saying: “Spend all

you ought, though you owe all you spend.”17

Worry about ways and means did not des-troy his peace of mind for a second. Whenmoney worries were at their peak, in October1948, Father Escrivá directed a workshop forhis daughters who held executive posts in theWork. They met in Los Rosales. They studiedand worked intensely to get through a week’sprogram in three days. The agenda was verydiverse, taking in subjects ranging from thespiritual formation of people of Opus Dei tothe maintenance of the centers; from newapostolic initiatives to the need for physicalrest.

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When they came to a session called “Studyof the Financial Situation,” the women sup-posed they would need to produce an analys-is of ways to maintain apostolic projects.Folders, notebooks, records of experiences,estimates of expenses and incomes, extractsof domestic accounts, and more, were piledup on the table in the dining room, wheresessions were held. But Father Escrivá said,“My daughters, financial questions aresolved by personal responsibility and equallypersonal poverty. Rather than studying thematter here, it is something you each need todiscuss in your prayer, face to face with ourLord.” That session took place in the even-ing, in the oratory of Los Rosales, in intense

silence.18

Father Escrivá believed financial problemshad to be solved by making demands on one-self and having total trust in God. As part ofhis own dialogue with God, he wrote: “Myfinancial situation is as tight as it ever has

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been. But I haven’t lost my peace of mind.I’m quite sure that God, my Father, will

settle the whole business once and for all.”19

He practiced the same person al povertyexpected of his children. There are countlessexamples. Father Escrivá had just two cas-socks. One, cut in the Roman style and al-ways clean and well-ironed, was for goingout and receiving visitors. The other was forwearing around the house. It had so manydarns and patches that he said, “It has more

embroidery than a Manila shawl.”20

His bedroom was a small cubicle with abed, a table, a plain wooden chair with nocushion, and a tiny built-in wardrobe. Every-one had to walk through it to get to otherrooms. The room where he worked was thesmallest, darkest room in Villa Tevere. Onlythrough one tiny window, looking on to aninterior patio, could a breath of air and asliver of light get in.

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He had a thorough-going determination tohave no possessions, nothing of his own, notto complain if he lacked what he needed, andto do without anything superfluous. He alsopracticed poverty in his body and soul all thetime.

One morning, before breakfast, FatherEscrivá had gone with Don Alvaro to have ablood test in Via Nazionale. It was 11:30 be-fore they were through. As they had to makea few calls elsewhere, it was not worth goinghome, so they went into a bar in PiazzaEsedra for breakfast. Standing at the bar,they asked for a cappuccino and a bread roll.Don Alvaro paid. As they were about to drinkthe coffee, a beggar woman came in, went upto Father Escrivá, and asked him for money.

“I have no money. The only thing I have isthis. Here you are, and God bless you!” Hepassed his untouched breakfast to her. DonAlvaro immediately tried to pass on his

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breakfast to Father Escrivá. “You have this,and I’ll get another one for myself.”

“No, no, leave it. I’ve had mine.”Don Alvaro insisted. Father Escrivá re-

fused to budge. The girl at the till joined in,“Father, you have your cappuccino, we’llmake another for this woman.” FatherEscrivá, smiling but determined not to givein, closed the episode by saying, “No, no,thank you very much. Relax, I’ve had break-fast already.” He wanted to be poor becausehe wanted to be Christ. And because hewanted to be Christ, other people’s helpless-ness, suffering, and destitution struck at hisconscience. He would have preferred to suf-fer himself.

An “assault course” by the Tiber

The work on the house in Bruno BuozziStreet increased. They were still living in thelodge which they called Il Pensionato, “the

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boardinghouse.” Encouraged by the motto“God and Daring” of earlier years, FatherEscrivá launched into the building of the Ro-man College of the Holy Cross. It was mad-ness, a dream. But to commit himself furtherbefore God, he gave it the legal formality of adecree, signed on June 29, the feast of Sts.Peter and Paul, 1948. In the text he pro-claimed that people from every countrywould come to the Roman College to receivespiritual, intellectual, and apostolic training.It would be a school where men were formedto be educators in their turn. It would be an“assault course,” a rigorous training groundfor passing on to others the compelling newsof an ideal that could enrich every aspect oftheir lives.

This mixing and sharing of young peoplefrom many nations would open up their ho-rizons, ridding them of any provincial out-look, nationalism, or discrimination by raceor class. In the Roman College they would

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acquire a perspective incompatible with anykind of arrogance: para servir, servir—“tobe useful, serve.”

Repeatedly, Father Escrivá pointed out tomen and women that they weren’t there tobecome “supermen” or “superwomen.” Hetold them they would always be “earthen-ware”: brittle clay, easily broken, but able tohold the fine liquor of wisdom.

In a corner of the villa visible from theCortile Vecchio as well as from the Galleriadella Campana, a white marble slab ex-pressed this idea in sober Latin words. Theinscription, dated 1952, was addressed toevery visitor, resident, or guest. “Considerthese buildings you see around you as therigorous training ground from which a raceof strong men and women will go out, whoshall always fight joyfully and peacefully,throughout the world, for the Church of Godand the Roman Pontiff.”

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On saying good-bye to some who had fin-ished their studies in the Roman College andwere returning to their countries, FatherEscrivá expressed what each of them felt: “Ifyou have used your time well, Rome willleave a mark on your soul, a deep, lasting im-print. And you will be able to be more faith-

ful sons of the Church.”21

The Roman College of Our Lady for thewomen of the Work was established onDecember 12, 1953. The number of studentsgrew so fast that by 1959 a proper collegehad to be built for them with all speed. Villadelle Rose was built outside Rome, at Castel-gandolfo, on land which Pius XII had madeover temporarily to the Work and whichJohn XXIII donated permanently.

Villa delle Rose was finished in 1963. NowFather Escrivá launched the building of thecampus for the Roman College of the HolyCross, also on the outskirts of Rome near ViaFlaminia: Cavabianca. He had no mania for

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building. The cause, rather, was the tide ofvocations responding to the “universal call toholiness.”

Keener on finishing things than beginningthem, he always refused to bless foundationstones. In the case of the building on BrunoBuozzi Street, he held a simple ceremony tobless the last stone of the group of buildingsthat made up Villa Tevere. It consisted of thesign of the Cross and recital of a Te Deum,followed by a cheerful “Auguri, everybody!Siamo arrivati!—we’re here!” It was January

9, 1960, and pouring rain.22

The result of all this effort was a fine, largehouse, simple and unpretentious in style.What had been a large garden was now builtover. More levels had been added, and sever-al floors below ground level. The complexwas neat and well balanced, by no meansmonumental or imposing. The classicFlorentine style of the original “old house,”Villa Vecchia, had been maintained. The

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different levels meant lots of staircases, shortbridges, and connecting corridors.

Literary invention came to the fore inchoosing a name for every corner. Thecortili, tiny inner courtyards, took theirnames from ornamental details: del Fiume,della Palla, dei Cantori, delle Tartarughe,del Cipresso—river, ball, singers, tortoises,and cypress. The ensemble was as varied asit was compact.

For those who lived in Villa Tevere, eachplace had its intimate history. Every stoneheld memories of Father Escrivá. “This iswhere the Father told me….” “How often theFather, standing in front of this image of OurLady, would….” “When we painted the frescoon that wall, the Father helped….” Here wasthe background of his life, inseparably linkedto the epic of the Work itself: a marble slab;bare footprints, showing the start of a route;the guardian angel of Opus Dei; the cheerful

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inscription Omnia in bonum telling the view-er that “everything is for the best.”

Altogether, Villa Tevere comprised eighthouses. For the women, there were LaMontagnola, Villa Sacchetti, La Casetta, IlRidotto, and Il Fabbricato Piccolo. For men,there were the Casa del Vicolo, Uffici, andVilla Vecchia where Father Escrivá lived withthe members of the general council.

“We pray more than we eat”

On one occasion, referring to the factthere were only four dining rooms as againsttwenty-four oratories, Father Escrivá said,

“That’s good; we pray more than we eat!”23

The whole complex had a name which hehad given it even before the scaffolding wasraised: Villa Tevere (Tiber). He was thinking,perhaps, of the allegory of the old river Tiberwhich embraces Rome, surrounding her as iflovingly.

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Sometimes, having gathered for a get-to-gether in the eve ning, the men would startsinging. Everyone sang, some better, someworse. They sang popular songs, songs full ofgenuine love. One of them might be bornethrough the windows to float on the warm airof the Roman night.

Roma, che la più bella sei del mondo, ilTevere ti serve da cintura … Rome, you arethe most beautiful city in the world, girdedby the Tiber …

Rome had penetrated the hearts of theseyoung men, leaving not a melancholy nostal-gia but a deep impression on their souls.

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5

Like a Giant

Ut gigas

Exultavit ut gigas ad currendam viam.1 “Hewas filled with joy and, like a giant, rose torun the course.” Father Josemaría Escriváoften used to repeat these words, emphasiz-ing the rhythmic flow of the Latin. Thisrather strange verse from the Book of Psalmssometimes impelled him to find time wherethere was none, other times to fight stillharder in his interior struggle, and still oth-ers, to give of himself whole heartedly. He

never realized that these six Latin wordswere a graphic description of his own life.

Great men, a very different species frommere “celebrities,” provide the biographerand the historian with an interesting prob-lem. On the one hand, they are men of theirtime, well acquainted with the mentality,customs, and events of their age; on the oth-er hand, they are men who look forward, andare spurred on by their vision of the future.They are ahead of their time, swimmingagainst the tide of inertia of their owngeneration.

They propose bold, imaginative, untypicalsolutions to problems. Because they can seewhat is invisible to others, they dare to takeon the impossible. Because they can seeahead, they are prophetic. Because they havenothing to lose, they are rebels. Public opin-ion either ignores them or misunderstandsthem. Those who live in the comfortable

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greyness of ordinary life feel upset andbothered by such troublemakers.

One day in August 1941, in semi-darknessin the oratory at 14 Diego de Leon Street,Madrid, Father Escrivá was leading a medit-ation. He spoke about faith, boldness, anddaring to ask for the moon, in the unshak-able confidence that God can give it.

“Afraid?” he said. “I’m not afraid of any-one! Not even of God, because he is my Fath-er.” He turned and looked at the tabernacle,and added, as if speaking directly tosomeone there in the same room, “Lord,we’re not afraid of you, because we love

you.”2

Father Escrivá unfolds a dream

Ut gigas … On an afternoon in November1942, also in Madrid, Father Escrivá arrivedat 19 Jorge Manrique Street. It was a centerfor women of the Work. At that moment

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there were just ten women in Opus Dei: LolaFisac, Encarnita Ortega, Nisa Gonzalez, LolaJiménez-Vargas, Amparo Rodriguez-Casado,Enriqueta Botella, Laura and ConchitaLópez-Amo, Maria Jesús Hereza, and AuroraOliden, who was from Leon and was a friendof Nisa.

Father Escrivá met with the three whowere at home, Encarnita, Nisa, and LolaFisac, in the sitting room-cum-library. Heunfolded a paper and spread it out on thetable. It was like a chart, a graphic plan set-ting out a variety of apostolic tasks. The wo-men of the Work would carry them out allover the world, either as personal initiativesor corporate works. He explained the chartenthusiastically, pointing to each of theheadings in turn: agricultural schools forcountry people; university halls of residence;maternity clinics; centers for the profession-al training of women in different areas—hos-pitality and catering, secretarial work,

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nursing, teaching, languages, and others;activities in the field of fashion; mobile lib-raries; bookshops. The most important thingof all was the apostolate of friendship, de-veloped on an individual basis with theirfamilies, neighbors, acquaintances, and col-leagues, “and that will always be impossibleto register or measure.”

Father Escrivá repeated every now andagain, “Dream, and your dreams will fallshort!” The three looked at him, thunder-struck, astonished. It did not occur to themthat they were to do all this themselves. Itseemed more as if the Father were unfoldinga wonderful dream for a faraway future.They felt unskilled, devoid of means or re-sources, and incapable.

Father Escrivá could read in their facesboth desire and fear, a cowardly “If only wecould….” He picked up the paper very slowlyand started to fold it. His face had changed.

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He was very serious now—perhaps upset, ordisappointed, or saddened.

He had been struggling for more thantwelve years to give form and life to the idealof having women in Opus Dei. This ideal waswhat he had seen God wanted on February14, 1930. The first women to come to theWork had prayed a lot but never lifted a fin-ger. They were very good, but of a mysticaldisposition: Father Escrivá had to tell themthey were not suitable. Later on came otherswho talked a lot and bustled about, but didnot pray. They left. The present ones be-longed to “the third batch.” Could it be that,at the moment of truth, they were going to sitthere paralyzed with fear?

Choosing his words carefully, he said,“When looking at all this, you can have oneof two reactions. That of thinking it issomething very fine but unreal and unrealiz-able. Or else that of trust in our Lord—that ifhe is asking us for all of this, he will help us

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follow it through.” He stopped. He looked ateach of them individually, as though tryingto transmit his own faith, communicate hisown conviction. Before turning toward thedoor, he added, “I hope you will have the

second reaction.”3

Breaching frontiers

They did. In the next forty years the wo-men of Opus Dei spread over both hemi-spheres, and set up and put into action morethan 40 university halls of residence, 200cultural centers, 16 secretarial and languageschools, 79 schools which were parents’ initi-atives and another 12 as corporate projects,94 institutes for professional training, and 13

agricultural schools for women.4 They alsostarted countless dispensaries, primaryhealth care centers, literacy programs, cam-paigns for cultural and social development,food distribution services in rural areas,

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evening courses for primary and secondaryeducation in working-class districts, andmuch more.

Ut gigas … Forty years on, those three wo-men had multi plied by more than 10,000.As the men’s side of Opus Dei had spread,the women’s had too, in parallel, and was es-tablished in cities and towns in more thanseventy countries and on every continent. In1984, they were soon to begin theirapostolate in Sweden, Norway, Finland,Taiwan, Hong Kong, South Korea, Macao,Ivory Coast, Zaire, Cameroon, SantoDomingo, New Zealand, Poland, Hungary,and Czechoslovakia.

Father Escrivá had a powerful, muscularfaith. “A champion of the faith,” Cardinal Te-

deschini called him.5 He preached andworked hard. He was never intimidated. Hechipped away at difficulties with his de-manding mottoes: “More, more, more,”“Don’t be content with what is easy.” He was

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never satisfied. “You see: it has nearly alldied out … will you not help to spread theblaze?” (The Way, no. 801). He was ambi-tious: “Our apostolate is a sea withoutshores.” He was always ready to set outanew: “So much has been destroyed! There isso much still to do!” He was fired with an unquenchable ideal: “Regnare Christumvolumus! We want Christ to reign!”

Once when some of his sons were talkingto him about the University of Navarre, henoticed a certain sense of complacency intheir achievements, and at once warnedthem not to rest on their laurels. “This is onlythe beginning—within a short time there will

be ten or twenty similar universities.”6 Andso there were: following on the University ofNavarre in Spain, came the University ofPiura in Peru, the Pan-American Universityin Mexico, La Sabana in Colombia, the Aus-tral in Argentina, the Andes University inChile, and the University of Asia and the

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Pacific in Manila, the Philippines. And planswere well under way for StrathmoreUniversity of Nairobi, Kenya and the LiberoIstituto Universitario Campus Biomedico inRome.

On November 17, 1969 in a gathering of

university students,7 someone mentioned LaMoncloa University Hall in Madrid. FatherEscrivá recalled how this hall had cost a lotof prayer. The owner of the building theyrented and ran as a hall of residence in Jen-ner Street in Madrid had given them notice.The day it expired, Father Escrivá set outvery early and went to the owner’s house,getting him out of bed. He had brought withhim a check for 5,000 pesetas, at the time,1943, a considerable sum. He gave it to theowner as a deposit to extend their lease untilthey could find another place.

Now it was back to square one. Hesearched high and low. He prayed with allhis might. Before the lease expired, an

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industrialist called Messeguer from Murcia,in the south of Spain, turned up, and com-mitted himself to help turn two neighboringhouses, badly damaged by bombing duringthe civil war, into a hall of residence bigenough for 100 students, and a third de-tached house into the base for the cateringstaff. The refurbishing was carried out in re-cord time. Father Escrivá finished this ac-count by saying, “Everything was sorted out,with no miracles; but I must say, with a lot ofprayer.”

Just then, Father Jose Gil, a priest of theWork present at the get-together, spoke upwith some good news. “Well, right now in LaMoncloa we are seeing a miracle: out of 104residents, ninety are coming to daily Mass.Just think, Father: ninety!”

“But aren’t they also bringing friends oftheirs from other halls of residence?” askedFather Escrivá.

“Well, Father … we’re working on it.”

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“We’ve been working on it, my son, since1928! So that if each of them isn’t bringinganother ten along with him, we can only talk

about half a miracle.”8

A strange bourgeois: far-seeing,never satisfied, daring

He had the dissatisfaction of a burningspirit who wanted to set fire to everything hetouched. In Rome one day he was shown arecently published book by a son of his, thelawyer and theologian Father José Luis Il-lanes, on “sanctifying work.” He flippedthrough it, and then, without wasting timeon expressions of satisfaction, told thepeople with him in the sitting room, “Otherbooks like this can and should be written, onthe spirit of service, on loyalty, friendship,human virtues, and so on. They would do

souls a lot of good.”9

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Ut gigas … The plans for the constructionof the shrine of Our Lady of Torreciudadwere under study. Father Escrivá knew that,from a human point of view, it was crazy toconsider building a basilica of monumentaldimensions among the ridges of the Pyren-ees. It was a challenge to those agnostic, ma-terialistic times of soulless commercialismwhen pragmatism demanded that every cu-bic meter of concrete show a profit. Never-theless he saw with the eyes of faith multi-tudes of pilgrims there.

“Build confessionals, lots of confessionals,because people will come from all over theworld to get rid of their sins!” he said. Healso gave the architects some challenging ad-

vice: “Don’t be afraid of size!”10

Seeing the need to start human and spir-itual training and development before ad-olescence, he encouraged the setting up ofschools, and youth clubs for younger chil-dren, “not because at that age it is easier to

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win them over, but so that from an early agethey can acquire the Christian principlesthey will need later on in order to preserve

their faith and lead good lives.”11

He insisted on the importance of providingprofessional, doctrinal, and moral trainingand support for women in all walks of life, atthe university, in the home, in the coun-tryside, in industry, and so on. He said “anti-Christian militants” were tirelessly promot-ing materialistic and atheistic ideas in thissphere. “And once the woman is corrupt ed,the family is corrupted, and then society is

too.”12

In a January 1968 interview with PilarSalcedo, a journalist, in Villa Tevere he madeground-breaking statements which werepublished in Telva, a Spanish women’s

magazine.13 He talked about human love,marriage, the family, women in the home,and in the workplace, and about “not block-ing up the sources of life.” Reading his

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replies with the benefit of hindsight, it isclear that Father Escrivá was anticipating afrontal attack by the feminist movementsthen in fashion; he was trying to cushion theblow, to absorb the impact of unpopularitywhich the encyclical Humanae Vitae, aboutto be published, would unleash on Paul VI. Itwas a way of serving the Church. FatherEscrivá risked injury to himself by treadingthe path beforehand to clear the way.

He was also anticipating by twenty yearsPope John Paul II’s reflections in theApostolic Letter Mulieris Dignitatem on wo-men and their role in society. The Telva in-terview under lined the dignity of womenand their double vocation: to give life to hu-manity and humanity to life.

In a world of specialized technical know-how, Father Escrivá realized the need to pro-mote the study of the humanities. This wasnot just because “it is essential to be a wholeman,” but to counter trends which

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diminished the human person, leavingpeople unable to claim their historic, artistic,philosophical, and literary heritage.

Many of those who heard his talks and get-togethers during the 1960s recall how FatherEscrivá pressed them “to wage war onpoverty, ignorance, illness, suffering, andagainst the saddest of all forms of want:

loneliness,”14 while he encouraged them tochannel the generosity of young people “intothe great project of charity and justice whoseaim is to ensure that there is no one who is

poor, illiterate, or ignorant.”15

He considered ignorance a great impedi-ment to freedom that enslaves people by im-peding their access to the truth. He did nothesitate to describe as “the worst kind of

crime”16 the activities of powerful people whorendered those under them defenseless bykeeping them uneducated, misinformed, andin ignorance. “The greatest enemy of souls,of the Church and of God, is ignorance …

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which is not confined to one particular social

class: you can find it everywhere.”17

He drew a practical conclusion: “TheChurch of Jesus Christ is not at all afraid ofscientific truth. And we, children of God inOpus Dei, have a duty to make our presencefelt in all the human sciences. Backed bysound doctrine, how much good we will do to

souls! How much ignorance we will dispel!”18

“People who appear to be far from God onlyseem so. They are fine, good people…butthey are ignorant. Even their sins are likeblasphemies on the lips of a child: they don’trealize what they are doing. People are notbad. People are good. I don’t know any badpeople. I do know ignorant people. That iswhy I never get tired of saying that Opus Deiis not anti-anything. We have to love every-one a lot: evil can only be drowned in an

abundance of good.”19

Ut gigas … He opened his arms wide tothe lonely, the downtrodden, the weak, the

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mistaken, the defenseless, without excludinganyone. “And if you ask me whether I lovecommunists, I will say yes, communists too!Not Communism, though. It is a heresy fullof heresies, a brutal materialism which leadsto tyranny; but I do love communists, be-

cause they are in great need.”20

In one gathering he talked about someonefrom Central America, a well-known JewishFreemason, who had come to see him inRome. “I asked him, ‘Why do you love theWork so much?’ He answered, ‘Because I’vefound a lot of understanding and opennessin the Work.’ Then I said to him, ‘My friend,all the Freemasons I’ve met in my countryare fanatics; but you’re not a fanatic, andthat is why, although you’re not a Catholic oreven a Christian, you are helping us.’ Then Ipromised him I would pray for him verymuch. And I explained why I love Jewishpeople such a lot: ‘My first love is a Jew— Je-sus Christ. And my second love is also

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Jewish: his most holy mother Mary.’ I gavehim a medal of Our Lady. He was de-

lighted!”21

However, because of his conviction thatthe Catholic faith he held was the true faith,his limitless understanding for everyone didnot lead him to compromise on doctrine, orto debase the content of truth by leaving outdifficult bits, which would have been a falseecumenism. Whether in public or privateconversation with Muslims, Protestants,Jews, or Buddhists, he would say: “You donot have the whole truth. I am going to praythat one day you will achieve the gift of thetrue faith. But I assure you that you do haveall my respect: I respect you and I respect

your freedom.”22

Father Escrivá’s respect for freedom wasborn of and nourished by respect for eachperson, because each possesses the supremedignity of being a child of God. Once whenreading the morning news during a trip to

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Spain in October 1968, he was deeplytroubled to see that a publication wheresome of his sons worked was making a per-sonal attack on someone. He commented, “Icannot defend my children’s freedom outthere, if my children don’t first of all defendthe freedom of others. You can speak thetruth, criticize things which are going badly,and offer well-thought-out resistance at ahigh level of debate, but you cannot stoop toblows below the belt. We cannot have twodifferent moral standards, one for ourselvesand another for other people. No, my sons.

We have just one moral standard: Christ.”23

Father Escrivá made his daughters andsons in Opus Dei realize that the centers ofthe Work and their activities were to be opento all classes of people without any discrim-ination on grounds of belief, race, socialclass, or ideology. But each activity did needto be appropriate to the social group and cul-tural level it was intended for, “because Opus

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Dei does not take any one out of theirenvironment.”

In Africa, too, he was ahead of his timeand of the socio-political changes later tocome about in Kenya with independence,which was not even dreamed of when peopleof the Work first went there. The founderheld firmly that the two corporate education-al projects developed in Nairobi by womenand men of the Work had to be interracial.This aroused not only the opposition of thewhite British residents, but also the suspi-cions of the Africans and of the Indiancolony, none of them integrated with theothers. Kianda College and Strathmore Col-lege were finally built in an area which en-abled people of different races, creeds, andsocial classes to be educated together.

Option for the poor and richalike

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The same thing happened in other coun-tries where integration at first seemed im-possible. Where Chicago runs into WestSide, he encouraged a club for the educationand training of boys and young men.Midtown Center is open to boys, whose en-vironment is a mix of drugs, sex, idleness,crime, violence, and poverty. The center stafflabors to prevent boys from starting on thedownward spiral called “there’s nothing to be

done.”24 With the same aim women of OpusDei work in the heart of the Bronx to givegirls who live in this area of crime, rootlesslives, and foul language something theirschools have defaulted on and their familiescannot supply.

Father Escrivá often said, “Charity doesnot mean giving loose change and oldclothes. We have to give love! We have togive our hearts!”

One day in January 1969 in Rome his eyesshone as he talked about the rehabilitation

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and social integration gradually taking placeamong the black people of Harlem. “All of ushuman beings are made of the same clay. Weall speak the same tongue. We are all thesame color, as children of the same Father.We are all children of God! We’re all equal!This project makes me very happy. Treatthem as equals, looking them in the eye, faceto face, never looking down on them. Arethey less educated? Well, let’s give them aneducation! The cleverer ones can do a uni-versity degree. We can give the less cleverones the teaching they need so as to lead de-

cent lives.”25

In May 1970 during a catechesis in Mexicoto a group of people from the United States,he said: “I have something very harsh to sayto you. I understand the great problem youhave with black people in your country. If welook for the root of the problem, we will findthat both sides have been and are at fault.The result is that there is great resentment

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toward the whites. You need to be preparedto spend two or three years working withoutexpecting anything in return. If you are con-stant, you will win their confidence, by work-ing with devotion and affection…. About 200years ago, there were more black people inMexico than in the U.S. It did not cause anyproblems. If there were any problems, theyhave been able to overcome them in thesetwo centuries, with divine love and humanlove, unafraid of mixing races. We have to beconvinced of this reality which I will not tireof repeating: there aren’t lots of differentraces—Caucasian, black, yellow, brown.There is only one race: the race of the chil-

dren of God!”26

He said that again in Mexico at the old es-tate of Montefalco, where since the early1950s people of Opus Dei, with many others,had been carrying out an enormous social,cultural, and apostolic project among localIndians. “No one is greater than anyone

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else—no one! We are all equal! Each one ofus is worth the same: we are worth the blood

of Christ.”27

“Those at the bottom have tocome up”

At Villa Tevere on November 11, 1966, anupper-class family from Barcelona namedVallet came to visit him. It was a big group.Among them was a boy wearing the smartuniform of Viaro School. Father Escrivá tookthe lad aside and told him something hemight previously not have known: his par-ents were paying the school so that anotherboy from a poor family could study there too.That was sharing. That was practicing socialjustice and human solidarity.

Turning to the adults, he stressed the samepoint. “We have to achieve the disappear-ance of the poor by raising them up; not by

pulling down the upper classes.”28

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On countless occasions Father Escrivá ex-plained the Christian criteria of socialjustice. It was “not what the Marxists say; itis not a class struggle: that is a great in-justice…. Social justice is not achieved by vi-

olence, or shooting, or forming factions.”29

And again: “Those at the bottom have tocome up. Those on top will fall of their own

accord if they are no good.”30

One day in May 1967 he said to some of hissons: “We want there to be fewer poor, fewerpeople with no training, fewer suffering fromillness or disability, or suffering in old age.That is our aim. But you won’t achieve thatby setting people against each other. Besides,I insist, the ones at the top will fall of theirown accord. What we have to do is advancethose at the bottom. We are enemies of viol-

ence.”31

He went to see the building work atMolinoviejo and walked around the site onfoot. Seeing Juan Cabrera, the foreman, he

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waited for him with open arms and theygreeted each other with a big hug. Then, dur-ing the tour of the site, he talked with theworkers he met. “It’s only fair, isn’t it? Theyhave to pay you well for your work. And ifthey don’t, you must say so.”

A carpenter reassured him, “Father, don’tworry: they pay us very well here.”

“Look here, my son, I would like all yourchildren to be able to study. And that’s notjust talk; I spend a lot of effort on making it

happen.”32

In the autumn of 1968 he had to go toSpain from Rome. To save time he agreed totravel by boat instead of going by car as washis habit. He drove from Rome to Naples, in-tending to embark on the Michelangelo forAlgeciras. But a strike by the crew forced himto stay in Naples for a week. He did not getimpatient. When he eventually reached hisdestination, he talked about his adventures.“It seemed absurd to me, with all that there

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is to be done, to waste a week in Naples. Butvery often in life I have experienced howthings happened to me that I didn’t under-stand at the time; but years later our Lordhas made me see that they did make sense. IfGod wills, I will understand the Naples epis-ode. If not … they will explain it to me inheaven, if all of you help me to get there!”

As for the strike: “As far as I know, havingspoken to several of them, these men hadreason to complain. To save money, the ship-ping company was operating with the min-imum of staff. Because of that, many sailorsand stewards, most of whom were veryyoung, could only spend one month a yearwith their families. That’s not just, and it

isn’t human either!”33 Later they learned thathe had hardly left his cabin during the voy-age because of the worldly atmosphere onboard.

He was a priest who did not interfere inpolitics, or argue about current issues that

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were open to free debate. He only spokeabout God and what could bring men to God.Still, some of his texts could be used asguidelines for a substantial program of polit-ical, economic, or social action. For instance:“We have to uphold the right of all to live; toown what they need in order to live with dig-nity; to work and to rest; to choose a particu-lar state in life; to form a home, to bring chil-dren into the world within marriage andbring them up; to be able to face times ofsickness and old age in security; to have ac-cess to education and culture; to join withother citizens to achieve legitimate ends;and, above all, we have to uphold the right ofall to know and love God in perfect free-

dom.”34

One afternoon in December 1971, in VillaVecchia, Father Escrivá was talking to two ofhis sons who had just come from Spain,Pablo Bofill and Rafael Caamaño. The sub-ject of “the option for the poor” arose.

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Slowly, as if exploring the depths of the mys-tery, he concluded, “All souls are poor. Butthe Church is rich. Yes. And her riches arethe sacraments; and her doctrine; and all the

merits of Christ….”35 He sprang to his feetsmartly. A moment before, while talkingabout other matters, he had seemed like anold man, weighed down by a heavy burden ofsuffering. Now he was transformed: he wasstanding tall, looking cheerful, strong, andcourageous, as if about to set off on a cross-country run.

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6

“Why this uselessmurmuring?”

Psalm 2 on Tuesdays

Since 1932 people in Opus Dei have recitedPsalm 2 every Tuesday. It is a powerfulpsalm which speaks of rebellion, brokenbonds, yokes cast away, mutinies, and plotsamong princes to harass the Lord and hisChrist. God jeers at his enemies, submitsthem to his will, breaks them in pieces like apotter’s vessel, and rules them with a rod ofiron. It is also a tender psalm, in which thissame God declares his love for his Son,whom he begets “today”—every day. The

psalm starts off with a challenging question:“Why among peoples this useless murmur-ing? Why do the people devise vain things?”

In the Middle Ages the Knights Templaralso recited Psalm 2 before going into battle.Emblazoned on their shields was the imageof two warriors riding on one horse: possiblyone knight had picked up the other. Herewas a symbol of robust fraternity.

Father Escrivá always referred to the Workas a twofold reality, “family and militia.” Itwas a family of welcome, trust, and compan-ionship. It was a militia, making demands,imposing discipline, involving struggle.

Almost all Father Escrivá’s preachingspeaks of struggle: a vigorous, constantstruggle against oneself, not anyone else.From the beginning he conceived Opus Deias a militia of Christians who, far from mak-ing war, would make peace. They would sowjoy and peace in the world—or, more pre-cisely, joy with peace. At the heart of this joy

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with peace is struggle, effort, self-denial,war. “Man’s life on earth is warfare,” FatherEscrivá used to say, echoing Job.

Pax in bello, peace in war. That is how aday or a life in Opus Dei could be summar-ized. The family greeting used by this militiais “Pax!”

Our Lady of Peace

The Prelatic Church of Opus Dei in Romeis several meters underground in VillaTevere, and is dedicated to Our Lady ofPeace. It is not by chance or a mere whim ofthe decorators that a glass case at the backhas swords on display. These swords havenever drawn blood: they are ceremonialswords, dress swords, swords of peace. Thiscollection of weapons represents Pax inbello, peace in war. This is the peace thatcomes of personal struggle, always in battlearray and constantly on guard.

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The three battlefronts of OpusDei

For many years the people of the Workhave been battling on three fronts simultan-eously, waging a canonical battle, an ascetic-al battle, and a battle for training anddevelopment.

The ascetical battle, each individual’s per-sonal battle for holiness, for people of OpusDei is a struggle not generally focused on evildesires but on virtue. They don’t considerthemselves incapable of sinning, but they areintent on finding love.

The “battle for training and development”took up a lot of Father Escrivá’s time and ef-fort. It was a one-to-one affair in which heformed those who would form others. (“Youare the bridge. You are the continuity,” hewould say to the students of the Roman Col-lege in the 1950s.) His aim, which heachieved, was to offer everyone in the Work

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the chance to make a serious study of philo-sophy and theology. The classes had to bepitched at the right intellectual and culturallevel. This was not about creating a set of in-tellectuals, but enabling every person inOpus Dei to acquire deep religious devotionwith a firm theological base, and enoughsound moral criteria to be able to act freelyin their own sphere.

The phrase “Opus Dei is a great cateches-is” means that everyone in the Work has tobe able to give their fellows a sure, attractive,and very clear notion of God. They have to beable to say what their faith is about, whomthey love, and why they hope.

People in Opus Dei do not settle for simplefaith—even manual workers need to read,study, and develop their understanding ofwhat they believe. They will apply the sameskills to their study of the fundamentaltruths of the Catholic faith as they do to theirwork. None should have an illiterate piety

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devoid of sound arguments, a religion ofemotional spasms, morality based onblindness.

Aspirations and his guardianangel

One of the aspirations Father Escrivápassed on to his children was Deo omnisgloria!—“all the glory to God!” But it wouldbe a gross error to conclude that people inOpus Dei have a relationship with God basedon Latin. Father Escrivá taught his childrento relate to God naturally. Himself a lover offine Latin, he enjoyed making free transla-tions, not allowing an adverb or a gerund tostifle the heart’s expression.

On the stone lintel of the door into the sit-ting room of Villa Vecchia he had engravedthe words, Respiciat nos tantum Dominusnoster et laeti serviemus. Sometimes, onpassing through, he would stop and say

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aloud, “If Our Lord just casts a glance our

way, we will work cheerfully!”1 He translatedwell; not with a dictionary but with his heart.With the same freedom of spirit, and becausehe loved God with all his soul, he treated himwith the trust of a son who knew he wasloved.

“Be like children before God,” he said. “Ispend the whole day saying childlike aspira-tions—childish ones. If you heard them you’d

laugh! Or maybe you’d cry!”2

On occasion he recommended, “When youare doing your personal prayer, if you seeyou are not capable of praying, not even byturning your distractions into prayer, thenmeditate once again on those splendid pray-ers we Christians possess: the Our Father,the Creed, the Hail Mary, and the others.They are like an open book! One word—waita little, another word—wait another while,and so on!”

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He himself discovered strands of gold ineach Hail Mary of the Rosary. Sometimes hewould emphasize one word, reciting “prayfor us sinners, now”; other times, “at thehour of our death.” Or, as he said “the Lordis with you!” he would be enthralled by thediscovery of Our Lady’s likeness-unto-God.

One day he was traveling by car with DonAlvaro and two other sons. When they got toBologna he saw a church’s bell tower. Hisheart and mind flew toward the distant tab-ernacle; he spontaneously cupped his handsround his mouth and called out, “Hey, Lord!An affectionate greeting from all of us here inthis car!”

This “piety of a child” was not an imitationof children’s silliness but their spontaneity,their candor and openness. It found verynatural ways of dealing with supernaturalrealities. For instance, Father Escrivá cultiv-ated a close friendship with his guardian an-gel. He was so conscious of his angel’s

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company that every time he went through adoor, no matter how much of a hurry he wasin, he made a gesture unnoticeable to anyonewho did not know about it: he stopped for asplit second, to let his guardian angel go

through first.3

People of the Work do not pray about in-tellectual theories or arid theology. Theypray about their real lives, and they live bytheir prayer.

One of Father Escrivá’s concerns was toavoid doctrinal errors or any weakening ofmoral conscience among people of the Work.He urged them to be vigilant and not “swal-low” any book without taking precautionsbeforehand. Those were times when manyCatholics were losing their moral and doc-trinal criteria, or letting the foundations oftheir faith crumble, because they weredazzled by the idea of “progress.”

“Watch out,” he warned them. “This warn-ing comes from a man who knows a lot, not

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because of his doctorates, but from years ofexperience. It comes from an old priest. Itcomes from me, and I’m not one to be over-cautious.” He himself always sought advicebefore reading treatises of high theology.Humbly and straightforwardly, he consultedwhoever had the post of spiritual director ofthe Work at that moment.

How to become a “director”

Father Carlos Cardona, who studiedmetaphysics and had an impressive intellec-tual capacity, clearly recalled the day inSeptember 1961 when Father Escrivá toldhim he had been appointed spiritual directorof Opus Dei throughout the world. Ithappened in Villa Tevere, in a meeting roomknown as “Commissions.” Father Cardona’sfeelings showed in his face: he was obviouslyoverwhelmed and had a natural fear of notbeing up to the job. Father Escrivá was gifted

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in “discerning spirits.” He realized that hisson’s sense of panic might result from themistaken belief that he was to rely on hisown strength and talents to carry out thetask.

Father Escrivá looked Father Cardona inthe eye and said, “I haven’t appointed you forpositive reasons, because there aren’t any.I’ve appointed you because the negative reas-ons, of which there are plenty, aren’t of suffi-cient weight to impede it.” Father Cardonahad been living under the same roof as Fath-er Escrivá for five years and knew how muchhe loved him, how well he knew him, andhow he missed no chance of making de-mands on him, correcting him, and lovinglyhitting him where it hurt—any sign of intel-lectual arrogance.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Fath-er Escrivá went on. “There are brothers ofyours who would do it better than you, but Ineed them where they are. And on the other

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hand you couldn’t do their jobs.” Then all atonce there was a change of mood, and FatherEscrivá smiled. His whole face beamed. Heopened his arms wide and, taking his son byboth shoulders, he rocked him lovingly toand fro, calling him by name and makinglight of his troubles. “But Carlos, you’re notto worry. We’ll help you! And between us all,it will work out—with God’s grace.” As he leftthe room he said half-jokingly, half in earn-est, “‘Spiritual Father,’ pray for me to Godour Lord! Amen.”

Father Cardona went directly to theoratory of the Holy Apostles. He threw him-self on his knees and spoke to our Lord trust-ingly and daringly. “I’m transferring the ap-pointment. You be the spiritual director. I’llwork for you, at your bidding: I’ll be your

clerk.”4 This was the “piety of a child” FatherEscrivá had taught him. Father Cardonacould not help feeling amazed when, shortlyafter, Father Escrivá consulted him about

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some doctrinal books he was reading and, inall simplicity, asked for a list of theologicaltreatises on the Trinity, adding, “But be care-ful what you give me! They need to be booksof sterling doctrine, sound to the very lastletter. By no manner or means would I want

to put my faith in danger!”5

The canonical battle

The third “battle” people of Opus Dei hadto fight was an external battle, fought withprayer, study, waiting, and keeping quiet.This was the canonical battle. It was a ques-tion of opening up an appropriate canonicalpath through the general law of the Churchso that the Work could exist, work, andspread in accordance with its secular nature.

The inscription over the door into the gen-eral council’s sitting room in Villa Tevereand described how to win the third battle: Insilentio et in spe erit fortitudo vestra. “Your

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strength shall lie in your silence and in yourhope.” They had not come “a century toosoon” but more than half a century elapsed,from 1928 until 1982, before Opus Dei ob-tain ed a suitable canonical formulation as apersonal prelature of universal scope.

“They fit in too!”

On January 13, 1948 Father Escrivá andDon Alvaro were driving from Rome to Mil-an. It was a cold, dark day with a dense fog.Less than a year earlier, in February 1947,Pius XII had conferred the Decretum Laudis,a preliminary approval, on the Work, andthey were waiting for definitive approval tobe granted. The car was going slowly with itsheadlights on. They had got as far as Paviawhen Father Escrivá, who had been quietand absorbed in his thoughts, suddenly ex-claimed, “They fit in too!” He had just dis-covered the canonical solution whereby

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married people could also join Opus Dei.6

Quite a few were ready to join, aspiring to besaints in their married lives, their daily work,and their social environment. They werealready fulfilling the norms and customs ofOpus Dei. They only needed to find a canon-ical way to join.

Father Escrivá presented his petition to

the Holy See on February 2, 1948.7 The doorswere opened to married people withoutdelay. Victor Garcia, Tomas Alvira, andMariano Navarro were the first three to join.Several more followed a few months later.

Within an ace of stepping down

Father Escrivá started to feel a growingurgency to help diocesan priests. His con-science was stirred by the absence of spiritu-al attention or cultural enrichment, and alsoloneliness, of so very many priests.

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The solution would be for those who had avocation to join Opus Dei. But how theycould combine belonging to the Work withtheir dependence on their own bishops?Father Escrivá reached the point where hehonestly thought God was asking him tomake the enormous sacrifice of leaving theWork to start a foundation dedicated to dio-cesan priests.

At that time, not just in Spain but almosteverywhere in Western Europe, the clergy inbig cities had lost the place formerly theirs insociety, and found themselves marginalized.Many country priests were badly cared forand spiritually isolated, without support orincentives. Father Escrivá suffered over theharsh loneliness endured by priests in bigcity parishes and country priests. Withoutsupport their vocation either withered orwent soft; or, if they stood firm, it was onlyby dint of heroic stoicism.

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That same year, 1948, on a trip to Spainfrom Rome, Father Escrivá told his sisterCarmen and brother Santiago of an import-ant decision he had made and had alreadymade known unofficially to the Holy See.With the definitive approval of the Work inhand and its publication now imminent, hewas going to set about organizing an associ-ation concerned exclusively with priests.“After all your help and all you have done forthe Work,” he told them, “I think you havethe right to know about this new step as soon

as possible.”8

Don Alvaro and the members of the gener-al council of the Work were told, but FatherEscrivá needed extra fortitude to tell hisdaughters. One day he summoned EncarnitaOrtega and Nisa Guzman to Villa Vecchia.

“Our canonical solution is on the point ofcoming through. I think the Work can goahead without me. Our Lord is making mefeel the loneliness of so many of my brother

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priests. I am going to give up the post ofpresident general of Opus Dei, to dedicate allmy efforts and time to a new foundation ex-clusively for priests. The spiritual, ascetical,cultural, and even human abandonment inwhich our priests live, scattered among vil-lages and city parishes, is heartbreaking.They have a very great mission to carry out.A priest never goes to heaven alone or to helleither: for good or for evil, he always drags along trail of souls with him. But how lonelyand neglected they are here on earth!”

Encarnita and Nisa were stunned. FatherEscrivá, seeing the shock his news hadcaused, said, “You have to be very peaceful,very serene, and very secure: more so thanever. I want you to pray! Don’t talk muchabout this business. But I wanted you toknow. You had a right to know!” They didnot understand how the Work could contin-ue without the founder. Only he had receivedthe full message of Opus Dei from God.

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Overwhelmed and crushed, they kept silent,

not saying a word even to one another.9

Around the same time in 1948, FatherEscrivá made a strange request of one of hissons who was keen on photography. Heasked him to take a special picture. No facewas to appear. It was to be an image full ofsymbolism: a close-up of Don Alvaro del Por-tillo’s hands, palms outstretched, receivingsome wooden donkeys from Father Escrivá’shand. Father Escrivá considered himself adonkey. Very often, to tell a son in the Workthat he was going to entrust him with a newtask of forming others or a post in gov-ernance, he would say, “My son, I am goingto make you a pack donkey.”

Later this photograph was reproduced ininternal publications of Opus Dei with nocommentary other than the brief caption“Photo graph taken in 1948. Our Father pla-cing some donkeys in Don Alvaro’s hands.”This photo graph was intended to reflect the

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handing over of responsibilities. FatherEscrivá was on the point of leaving his postat the head of the Work, and his successorwas clearly Don Alvaro. Not for nothingFather Escrivá since 1939 had called himsaxum, “rock.”

A few months later in August, inMolinoviejo, Father Escrivá summoned En-carnita and Nisa again. He knew they werehaving a rough time. He took them to see thebuilding alterations. They passed through agallery decorated with painted maps and abas-relief in wood representing the scene ofAchilles being wounded in his heel. Whenthey came to a small grey granite fountainbuilt into the wall in the form of a fish withwater gushing out of its mouth, he pointed tored letters engraved around the fountain andread, “Inter medium montium pertransibuntaquae. Through the mountains the watersshall pass.” Taking up the thread of theirearlier conversation in Rome, he said again,

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“You have to be very peaceful, strong, serene,and assured. This—‘through the mountainsthe waters shall pass’—this is what our Lordhas said to me!”

His tone let his emotion show through.They did not ask any questions, nor did headd anything. But right then both Nisa andEncarnita felt a clear conviction that nothingwould go wrong. Heaven had pledged itsword: “Through the mountains the waters

shall pass.”10

In his notebook, Intimate Notes, there wasan entry for December 13, 1931: “I had lunchwith the Guevaras. While I was there, notwhile I was doing the prayer, I found myselfsaying, as at other times, Inter medium mon-tium pertransibunt aquae (Ps. 103:11). Ithink these days I have had these words onmy lips at other times, for no apparent reas-on, but that doesn’t matter. Yester day I saidthem with such emphasis that I felt forced towrite them down: I understood them: they

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are the promise that the Work of God willovercome the obstacles, the waters of hisapostolate passing through all the difficulties

that might crop up.”11

From that day on, Father Escrivá had car-ried within him the firm conviction that hehad God’s promise, God’s own guarantee.This was what Encarnita and Nisa realizedbeside the fountain at Molinoviejo.

Toward the end of 1949 Father Escriváwas in a room in Villa Tevere filled withbuilders and their noise. With one of hisspiritual sons, an architect, he was studyingplans spread out on a desk before them. Sud-denly, as if unable to contain somethingwhich surged up inside him, he said, “Myson, the Work is well under way, and I’m notnecessary at all.”

Then he explained that he was only wait-ing for the Holy See to publish the decree ofdefinitive approval, to set to work immedi-

ately on a foundation for priests.12 He would

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be back at square one, facing the gossip, thecriticism, and the calumnies all over again!

But the definitive approval which Pope Pi-us XII was to sanction was delayed. Finally,when all the favorable opinions had beenpresented to the Curia, on April 1, 1950 anunexpected postponement arose. During thatspring of enforced waiting, Father Escriváunderstood clearly that there was a place inthe Work for diocesan priests too. Or, moreprecisely, he under stood how to make theHoly See understand what he himself hadunderstood on October 2, 1928, when he sawthe Work, made up of priests and laity.

For married people, the hinge on whichtheir holiness turned was their vocation tomarriage, the duties of their state in life, andtheir work. The same was true of the clergy:the basis for their link with the Work was thefact that they could sanctify themselves byliving their vocation to the priesthood to the

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full and carrying out the ministry itself.There was nothing to invent in the Work.

As for the apparent problem of “doubleobedience,” it also melted away. The dioces-an priests would have only one superior,their bishop. Their dependence on Opus Deiwould be in regard to their spiritual director,who clearly had no governing function: tohelp them to be saints he could advise, butnever give orders.

The mutilated statue

As the building at Villa Tevere pro-gressed, the architectural team kept seekingout places where they had enough light towork and did not disturb anyone else. Onecold December morning in 1952,

Father Escrivá met two of the architects inthe room they were working in at that time.He leaned out of the window and saw be-low—in what had previously been a garden

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and was now a clutter of bricks, iron bars,and tools—some old decorative stones: frag-ments of tablets, brackets, a couple of capit-als, and several bits of pillars. He had recom-mended that they acquire these stonescheaply and keep them until they found agood place for them. Among them he pointedto a statue lying on the ground. It was therobed figure of a Roman nobleman, but thehead, arms, and half of one foot weremissing.

“Father, where did you get that mutilatedgentleman?” asked one of his sons.

“I call him ‘the headless man,’” repliedFather Escrivá. “It’s a fake, one of those imit-ation antiques. We bought it in Jandolo, inMargutta Street, for next to nothing.”

“Ah, a ‘new ruin.’ Where shall we put it?”“That’s up to you. In one of the little court-

yards, perhaps, or to finish off the ‘river ter-race.’ Wherever you think best.”

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During those Rome years, Father Escriváspent many nights awake until the smallhours in the sleeplessness of prayer, study,work, and suffering. One of those nights hegot up and opened a book by St. Bernard ofClairvaux. His attention was drawn to wordswhich he had often read before. Non est virfortis pro Deo laborans, cui non crescit an-imus in ipsa rerum difficultate, etiam si ali-quando corpus dilanietur. “There is nostrong man working for God whose couragedoes not increase when faced with diffi-culties, even though his body is sometimestorn apart.”

He took a piece of paper from his pocketdiary and copied the words in his bold, vigor-ous handwriting. Next day, when he passedby the architects’ studio, he gave the paper toone of his sons saying, “Look at this. Youmight like to have these words engraved onthe pedestal where you put ‘the headlessman,’ the mutilated Roman.”

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A breathless Te Deum

The pontifical approval of Opus Dei waspublished on June 16, 1950, in a decreecalled Primum Inter. From Father Escrivá’sarrival in Rome up to the time of this ap-proval, he had had to cope with the economicdifficulties of procuring Villa Tevere andstarting the building alterations there, and atthe same time endure fiercely hostile criti-cism. This originated in Spain and alwayscame from “good people who spoke ill”; theyset themselves up in Rome, Milan, and an-other Italian city, even achieving easy accessto the Curia. Their efforts, however, were in-effectual: Opus Dei had grown and spread.In 1946 there were 268 people in the Work(239 men and 29 women). By the earlymonths of 1950 this figure had increasedmore than tenfold to 2,954 (2,404 men and550 women). At the beginning of 1946 therehad been only three priests besides Father

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Escrivá; in 1950 there were already 23, andanother 46 laymen were preparing for ordin-ation. The priests in the Work had joined theWork as laymen, had been practicing theirprofessions, and had freely accepted FatherEscrivá’s invitation to be ordained to thepriest hood after obtaining at least a doctor-ate in an ecclesiastical subject. Many alreadyhad a doctorate in a civil subject as well.

When the Work received the pontifical sealof approval, it had already spread to Spain,Portugal, Great Britain, Ireland, France,Mexico, the USA, Chile, and Argentina.People of the Work were packed and ready,so to speak, to go to Colombia, Peru,Guatemala, Ecuador, Germany, Switzerland,and Austria. Just eight years later came thebig leap to Asia, Africa, and Australia. Lifewas moving faster than legal processes.

In the summer of that same year, 1950, theHoly See informed Father Escrivá that hecould publicize the definitive approval.

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Father Escrivá instructed all the centers ofOpus Dei, about 100 by then, to celebrate itwith solemn benediction and to sing or recitethe Te Deum in thanksgiving.

He himself went to Villa delle Rose, a wo-men’s center in Castelgandolfo, to presideover the ceremony with Don Alvaro and Sal-vador Canals, who had by now been or-dained a priest. Later, one of the womenwrote in her notebook: “Just like on Febru-ary 2, 1947 in the flat in Città Leonina, whenwe heard the news of the Pope’s first approv-al of the Work, today the Father looked verycheerful, though very tired: as if every stepthe Work takes in the Church leaves its markon him. When he took the monstrance in hishands to give us benediction with theBlessed Sacrament, his hands trembled. Hewas not agitated. His whole face showeddeep serenity. He was very moved, though.Indeed, on singing the Te Deum his voice

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was less clear and strong than usual, and

seemed on the point of breaking.”13

More like a disguise

Now about to start, or rather intensify,was a struggle to prevent man-made lawfrom stifling a spirituality inspired by God.Either this spirituality was totally secular, orit would be of no use either to God or to man.

It soon became clear that the canonicalframework of a secular institute was not ap-propriate for Opus Dei—not merely a badlyfitting suit but more like a disguise. Opus Deiwas not in reality as it was described in can-on law.

Pius XII had drawn up the papal docu-ment called Provida Mater Ecclesia (Provid-ent Mother Church). No further juridical-pastoral innovation could be hoped for in hispontificate. John XXIII had a huge task inhand: the summoning and setting up of the

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Second Vatican Council. Besides, plans werebeing made to update the Code of CanonLaw. All that could be done was settle downfor a long wait.

Yet people of Opus Dei were persistentlycompared to members of religious orders.This forced Monsignor Escrivá to attempt tohave the canonical status of the Work re-vised. Between March and June 1960, sever-al conversations and unofficial notes wereexchanged between Don Alvaro del Portilloand Monsignor Scapinelli, and betweenMonsignor Escrivá and the secretary of state,Cardinal Tardini. On June 27, at the end ofan audience, Cardinal Tardini made a widegesture with his arms, expressing pessimism,and said to Monsignor Escrivá, “Siamoancora molto lontani…! We still have a longway to go!” Monsignor Escrivá replied,“Well, that’s true. But the seed has been

sown, and it will not fail to bear fruit.”14

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Opus Dei was asking for a canonicalframework which fitted what people in theWork were and how they lived. They werenot interested in a “state of perfection”; whatthey wanted was freedom to seek perfectionwithin their own state in life—their civilstatus and the practice of their profession orjob. However, an application for a revision ofthe Work’s canonical status, made at the sug-gestion of a high-ranking figure in the Ro-man Curia, was destined to gather dust. Car-dinal Tardini told Don Alvaro openly, “Iwon’t even look at it. It would be a waste of

time.”15

They tried again in 1962, because CardinalCiriaci advised them to. This time the applic-ation went officially to Pope John XXIII. Thereply was, “The obstacles are virtually insur-

mountable.”16

Like his predecessor, Pope John XXIIIalso gave audiences to Monsignor Escrivá.On one occasion he said to his secretary,

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Monsignor Loris Capovilla, later to becomebishop of Loreto: “L’Opus Dei è destinato adoperare nella Chiesa su inattesi orizzonti diuniversale apostolato” (Opus Dei is destinedto open up new horizons of universal

apostolate in the Church.)17

In June 1963 Pope John XXIII died. Theconclave elected Giovanni Battista Montinias Pope Paul VI, and Mon signor Escrivá re-opened the negotiations.

A note for the Pope’s own eyesfrom Monsignor Escrivá

Don Alvaro had meetings with severalVatican authorities, informing them that theinstitutional question of Opus Dei was notyet settled. One of them was Cardinal Confa-lonieri; holding the papers in his hand, hesaid in bureaucratic Church Latin: Re-ponatur in archivio — “to be filed.” The

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application for a new status seemed to have

been consigned to oblivion.18

Pope Paul VI himself gave MonsignorEscrivá two very cordial private audiences.At the end of the first, Don Alvaro came in togreet the Pope for a moment. Paul VI re-ceived him with a smile, and held out bothhands to him, delighted to see him again.“Don Alvaro, Don Alvaro! We have knowneach other for such a long time.”

“Twenty years, Holy Father.”“I’ve become old since then.”“Not so, your Holiness: you have become

Peter!”19

Because he had known Opus Dei fortwenty years, Paul VI understood that whatMonsignor Escrivá was fighting for was hispeople’s secularity and freedom. They were“ordinary faithful and ordinary citizens,” ashe said, and needed to function autonom-ously in all the honest activities of civilsociety.

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“I want my children to have the same free-dom as other Catholics in social, political,and economic affairs: neither more nor

less,”20 Monsignor Escrivá would say. Allthese civic activities would be obstructed byhaving to carry the secular institute banner.

On the basis of the faculty granted him bythe Holy See to make changes in the consti-tution, Monsignor Escrivá proposed somemodifications to Pius XII. There were thir-teen in all, all concerning the women in theWork and aiming to strengthen their self-government at the same time as strengthen-ing the unity of the Work. The Holy See hadgiven its assent immediately. The proposalwas made on July 16, 1953 and the go-aheadfrom the Pope took less than a month, arriv-ing on August 12. This point is worth makingbecause it refutes some published misin-formation according to which in 1953Monsignor Escrivá and Don Alvaro used thesmall printing press in Villa Tevere “to alter

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the texts of the constitution without thePope’s knowledge.” Though he could haveused his privilege as founder, MonsignorEscrivá never made changes to the statuteswithout the Pope’s prior knowledge. In 1953he asked Pius XII for his permission, and in

1963 he asked Paul VI.21

On February 14, 1964 Monsignor Escriváwrote an Appunto riservato all’Augusta Per-sona del Santo Padre, a “con science note” tothe Pope. Among other things he proposedsome modifications to the text which hadgoverned the Work since 1950.

The first official reply was “dilata”(delayed). In Vatican diplomacy, this brief,delightfully vague word did not mean no, butnot yet. All the same, Paul VI pointed out toMonsignor Escrivá that the developments ofVatican II might open up new routes to thesolution of the canonical situation of OpusDei.

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This was in fact what happened. The con-ciliar document Presbyterorum Ordinis(1965), and the texts which explained its res-olutions, Ecclesiae Sanctae (1966) and Re-gimini Ecclesiae Universae (1967), con-tained the loom, so to speak, on which thematerial for Opus Dei’s “new suit” could atlast be woven: the canonical institution ofpersonal prelatures. Prelatures, in the plural,because it was not something created exclus-ively for Opus Dei.

When Paul VI’s Motu Proprio, entitled Ec-clesiae Sanctae, was published, MonsignorEscrivá was delighted. He told his sons in theWork, “No sooner had the document comeout, than the secretary of the council sent itto Don Alvaro with his congratulations.Anyone with eyes in his head can see that it

is a suit made to measure for Opus Dei.”22

Father Arrupe’s visits

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On September 12, 1965, MonsignorEscrivá received a visit in Villa Tevere whichhe had looked forward to. It was from FatherArrupe, general of the Society of Jesus.Monsignor Escrivá returned the visit onOctober 10 of the same year, having lunch atthe Jesuits’ mother house in Borgo SantoSpiritu. On that occasion Father Arrupeasked for some photographs to be taken ofboth of them together on the flat roof with apanoramic view over Rome.

There had been numerous incidents ofsubterfuge, hostile attitudes, contemptuouscomments, and malicious gossip on the partof some Jesuits against Opus Dei. Thesewere always people acting in isolation, rep-resenting nobody but themselves. MonsignorEscrivá wished to clear things up. It was ab-surd that the increase of vocations to theWork should provoke jealousy among reli-gious orders. The Work can never invade theterrain of any religious institution, because

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the call to Opus Dei can only arise amongthose who do not feel and have never felt theslightest inclination toward the religiousstate. There was no room for rivalry. Onmany occasions Monsignor Escrivá himselfdirected young men and women who had ap-proached the Work on the way toward find-ing their true vocation in a novitiate or mon-astery. He did not consider that he was los-ing a “candidate.” It was simply that for thatman or woman Opus Dei was not the rightplace. “Everyone in their own place, and Godeverywhere,” was his view.

Father Arrupe came to Villa Tevere again,accompanied by Father Iparraguirre, anoth-er Jesuit. The day before, Monsignor Escriváhad gone to Villa Sacchetti and spoken to thecooks, Begoña Mugica and Maria Urrutia.“Father Arrupe is coming for lunch tomor-row. I don’t need to tell you to put a lot ofcare into it, because you always do. But thistime, if possible, I would like you to put your

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heart and soul into the effort, not just yourskills but also your motherly hearts. I wouldlike this man to feel truly how much we love

him. Let’s see what you come up with!”23

In the little guest dining room in BrunoBuozzi, Monsignor Escrivá told Father Ar-rupe, “Some years ago, some representativesfrom B.A.C., the Catholic publishers inSpain, came to see me. They told me theyhad published the constitution of the Societyof Jesus, and wanted my consent to publishthe ius peculiare, the particular law, of theWork. I replied that I could understand thempublishing your constitution because it hadbeen written 400 years ago, and so it wassomething settled and firmly established.But on the other hand, our particular law isstill very recent. I assured them that, in time,it would also be published. And I added, ‘Ican safely say that we won’t make you wait aslong as the Jesuits did!’”

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Father Iparraguirre confirmed whatMonsignor Escrivá had said. “Exactly. Wehad the first edition of our constitution pub-lished 100 years ago. In other words, it took

us three centuries to show it to the world!”24

The solution—on an epitaph

Monsignor Escrivá, a fiery and impetuousman by nature, had developed a huge capa-city for patience, schooled by life’s hardknocks. He was filled with a sense of ur-gency, but he knew that what was urgentcould wait, and that if the urgent matter wasalso something important, it needed to wait.He said to his children one day in October1966, “I have to tell you that the question ofour canonical path has already been solved.But for the present, we are not going to puton the suit. When the right time comes, wewill put the suit on, both jacket and

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trousers.”25 He was not interested in a re-sounding triumph; he was prudent.

Both in conversations with a few peopleand in large gatherings, he explained that the“motorway” was ready, but that it was up tohim to “decide when it should be opened to

traffic.”26 “We are waiting for the time to beright,” he said. “We want to live Christianlives and commit ourselves with a commit-ment of love, based on our honor. This is

how we have already lived for many years.”27

On another occasion, reaffirming the sameidea which he had always seen clearly in hismind’s eye, he said, “I am longing to be ableto come full circle! We will get back to beingwhat we were at the beginning. No vows atall. We will make a contract, which is what I

always wanted.”28

In the early 1930s, while still living inMadrid, Father Escrivá had noted sometombstones on the floor of the Church of St.Elizabeth’s Foundation, where he was rector.

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One day in 1936, before the outbreak of theSpanish Civil War, he pointed them out tohis spiritual son Pedro Casciaro, and said,“There, that is the future canonical solutionfor the Work.” Casciaro did not understand.He did not know what the two tombstonesmeant. They belonged to two Spanish prel-ates who had both been chaplains to the kingand vicars-general of the army. By virtue oftheir army posts, they had possessed a spe-cial personal jurisdiction, wide in scope andnot based on territory. Here, in outline, wasthe configuration Father Escrivá saw clearlyfor Opus Dei: prelatic in character and uni-versal in scope.

A strange prophetess

At different times, Fernando Valencianoand Rafael Caamaño both heard MonsignorEscrivá relate a curious event. One day in1929 he had received a rather strange letter.

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It was strange because it was written by aSalesian nun, from France, not known tohim, who signed her name Sulanitis. She wasengaged in spreading devotion to the Merci-ful Love as Margaret Mary Alacoque hadpropagated devotion to the Sacred Heart ofJesus. It was also strange, because this nuncould not even have known about the exist-ence of Opus Dei, which at that time wasonly “what God wants,” “what God is askingme,” “God’s affair.” The Work, which FatherEscrivá had seen for the first time a fewmonths earlier, had neither structure norbase, neither name nor address. Strangest ofall, the letter said this: the final solution forthe Work would come, exactly as Godwished, but after much searching.

When Monsignor Escrivá spoke of this, hedid not add any explanations. He only addedthe incontrovertible fact: “The letter is in our

archives.”29

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The day Father Escrivá joinedOpus Dei

Normally it is taken for granted thatMonsignor Escrivá belonged to the Worksimply because he was its founder; or that,precisely as founder, he was exempt fromhaving to join the Work. However, this wasnot so. Monsignor Escrivá hated exemptions,exceptions, or privileges and was very muchin favor of legality. He joined Opus Dei justlike everybody else.

He talked about this one day in September1967, during a short stay in Elorrio, a villagein the province of Vizcaya in northern Spain,speaking to a group of his spiritual sons whowere directors of the Work in Spain. It wasan informal family conversation, punctuatedwith anecdotes and jokes. At a particularpoint, someone inquired how the “special in-tention” was coming along. Father Escrivátalked about the difficulties and risks “when

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you have to leave the side road and comeonto the highway.” And he gave them to un-derstand that Opus Dei, despite so manydelays and canonical problems, “had always

followed a straight track.”30

“In these past few days,” he said, “OurLord has reminded me of something I hadalmost forgotten. When I joined theWork…why, what did you think? That I nev-er actually joined it? Well, I did. I made aformal commitment to the Work in October1943, in front of Bishop Leopoldo Eijo yGaray, who was the bishop of Madrid. Hewas the bishop who gave us our first approv-al. And I did it just like any of you, by recit-ing the formula for the fidelity: Domine Iesu,suscipe me tibi—‘Lord Jesus, accept me foryourself.’ A simple, heartfelt prayer with novows of any kind. Bishop Leopoldo just loved

it, it was so natural.”31

But the delay before “joining the highroad” would last for several years more.

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Monsignor Escrivá guessed this might hap-pen. Perhaps he offered God the sacrifice ofnot seeing the “last stone” of the edifice ofthe Work. He said, “I may leave this lifewithout seeing the Work finished. But OurLord has let me see things he doesn’t usuallylet people see. It’s most unusual for anyonewho has started up an enterprise—and Ididn’t intend to do it, it had never occurredto me to found anything!—to be allowed byGod to see so many of its fruits here on

earth.”32

There had been an abundant harvest of vo-cations on every continent. At that point, in1967, Monsignor Escrivá knew that to speakabout Opus Dei was to speak of tens of thou-sands of people working in about seventycountries. The Work was a field rich withcrops. Psalm 2 had again been fulfilled: “Askof me, and I will give thee the gentiles for thyinheritance, and the utmost parts of theearth for thy possession.”

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A strong man with a mutilatedbody

On one of those delightful Roman even-ings, at sunset, when the slanting sunlightwas striking on the ochre and red dish stuccowalls of Villa Tevere, Monsignor Escrivá waslooking out a window toward the terrace ofthe Fiume building. It was there that his sonsin Opus Dei had placed the statue of thenoble senator, which was headless and arm-less. The stony folds of the tunic, fallingsmoothly and harmoniously, gave the figurean air of elegant serenity. Mon signor Escriváread the Latin words engraved on the marblepedestal: “Non est vir fortis pro Deo labor-ans, cui non crescit animus …” He translatedrapidly: “There is no strong man working forGod, whose spirit is not lifted, whose courageis not fortified, even in the midst of diffi-culties, even though now and again his bodyis torn apart.”

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It was as if he were recounting to himselfthe story of his own life. A vigorous, cour-ageous journey, requiring a similar kind offortitude. And a fight without weapons, inwhich he had suffered difficulties with thepatient fortitude needed to endure them.That had been his life: pax in bello, peace inwar.

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7

Hunchbacked

Hunchbacked

In the main sacristy of Villa Tevere is an oldoil painting by Del Arco, a fourth- or fifth-rate Spanish painter who was a contempor-ary of Velazquez. It shows Christ after hisscourging, almost naked, collapsed, and bentdouble. Monsignor Escrivá used to call it“the hunchbacked Christ.” Passing it once hestopped to remark, “Years ago, this paintingseemed exaggerated to me—to see our Lordso bent over with suffering he looked like ahunchback. But now it doesn’t, becausewhen I’m tired, I also feel that my body is

bent over, and I find it hard to stand straight.I’ve often seen myself like this by the end ofthe day—bent double, hunchbacked, tired,exhausted. It consoles me to see JesusChrist—he who is all beauty, strength, andwisdom—broken, crushed, at the limit of his

endurance.”1

Often those living in Villa Tevere watchedMonsignor Escrivá go upstairs very, veryslowly, unaware that he could be seen. Hewould go up one step, then pause. Then an-other step. It was as if he had not thestrength to support his body.

Often too, toward nightfall, he would cometo the laundry room at Villa Sacchetti whereJulia, Dora, Rosalia, and Concha were work-ing. He would sit on a small, low sewingchair and whisper in all confidence, “I’vecome today so you can tell me things….Today the Father is absolutely ‘whacked.’”

This same man early in the morninglooked radiant, dynamic, smiling, and

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vigorous as he walked briskly along a cor-ridor. He did not wear a watch because hisday was a continuous going from one thingstraight to the next, without a minute inbetween.

He displayed an amazing capacity forwork, at a pace difficult to keep up with. Ask-ing some one to do a job he would say, “Do itwhenever you can.” With in an hour hewould dial the two digits of the relevant of-fice and inquire, “My daughter, is it ready?”or “My son, have you finished what I askedyou for?”

Every day was too short for him. When hecame to examine his conscience in the even-ing, he used to feel squeezed dry like a lem-on, bent double. He would say to our Lord, “Ihaven’t had time to think about myselftoday.”

A long, continuous sum set outon one line

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The elements of his life were all lived to-gether. The biographer cannot speak of hisyears of study, years of apostolate, years oftravel, years of prayer, years of suffering. Allcame together every year and every day inMonsignor Escrivá’s life.

There was the task of governing the Work,which was growing day by day, plus the slow,delicate negotiations with the Vatican, andthe exhaustive studies and canonical proced-ures. There were the journeys abroad: rapid,intensive trips to establish Opus Dei in othercountries. There was the un remitting con-struction work, because before one buildingwas finished another had been started; plusthe always unpredictable and precariousquestion of how to pay for them. Then therewere the many and varied visits he receiveddaily, in which he combined speed, affection,and his deliberate desire “to speak only ofGod”; and the guests for lunch, nearly alwaysprelates— bishops, cardinals, or council

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fathers—to whom he explained with untiringpatience, over and over again, what Opus Deiwas and what it was not; or else discussedwith them the thorny question of the needsof the Church.

There was his preaching, plus the constantwork of writing spiritual texts, which he pro-duced faster than the printing departmentcould cope with. Then there were the inform-al gatherings, a constant in his oral teaching,which he used to form the people of theWork, and their friends and relations, in thespirit of Christianity, plus his personalizedattention to each spiritual son and daughterwho needed it, whether nearby or far away.There was his life of piety, prayer, union withGod; in Monsignor Escrivá this had become,from his earliest youth, a way of living withharmonious rhythm of established dailypractices. There was family life, includingappointments, chance meetings, and

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moments spent together, all at the appropri-ate times.

In addition, there was the burden of con-cern Mon signor Escrivá felt for all the manypeople who had turned their backs on God;for a whole civilization becoming de-Christi-anized whose very foundations were crum-bling. He suffered for the Church, which wasgoing through a sort of long tunnel of diffi-culties. During the last ten years of his life heoffered up absolutely everything—evenbreathing or smiling, his most trivial gestureor his most laborious task—so that “the timeof trial should end soon” for the Church. Fin-ally, there was a continuous volley of insinu-ations, calumnies, and complex inaccuraciesfrom all sides. When they were personal theydid not cause him to lose any sleep, but whenthey were aimed at the Work, he found themheartbreaking.

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There was also the fact that MonsignorEscrivá was ill, although to outsiders helooked hale and hearty.

“I once went blind when I had diabetes,”he said years later. “No one knew except DonAlvaro. My body was covered with skin erup-tions, and sometimes I had no choice but totake a little sugar, because I felt a compelling

need.”2 Ordinarily he felt tired, so thirstythat his tongue was cracked like a piece ofold leather, and he was subject to splittingheadaches. But only Don Alvaro and twoother sons in the Work, José Luis Pastor andMiguel Angel Madurga, doctors who caredfor him, knew anything about it. He was nev-er heard to complain. When cured of his dia-betes, he said in surprise, on discovering analmost unknown well-being, “I’d got used to

it … but now I feel as if I’ve come out of jail!”3

And, to the physical pain and mental andspiritual sufferings he already had, he addeda generous amount of voluntary

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mortifications: small ones like not leaningback in an armchair, not crossing his legs,not looking wherever he felt like looking, notdrinking water when he was thirsty, goingwithout salt, sugar, wine, or sweets, andmuch bigger ones like using cilices, sleepingon the floor, beating himself with a scourgeor leather whip, “to tame the savage,” as heput it.

“If I didn’t have a heart, I wouldsleep like a log”

But what gave life to everything else wasthe fact that he had an enormous heart,which passionately loved God, mankind, theworld, and all creation. Because his heartloved a lot, it suffered a lot. By sunset, hisvery heart felt hunchbacked.

One morning Monsignor Escrivá met JoséLuis Pastor in a corridor in Villa Vecchia. Hetook him affectionately by the arm and asked

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him, “Son, will you join me in saying aMemorare to the Madonna?”

“Of course, Father!” replied José Luis.Then, speaking as a doctor, he asked, “Howdid you sleep last night, Father? Were youable to rest?”

Monsignor Escrivá did not answer as a pa-tient. “Look, because I love you all so verymuch, I always have one or other of you tothink about. I love you with the heart of afather, a mother—and a grandmother! Some-times I get all confused inside between whata father ought to demand, what a mother hasto understand and what a grandmother canindulge. And occasionally I miss little things:the odd letter, some detail of affection frommy children.”

He paused, then went on. “I have prayedabout all this. And I have seen that parentsare for their children, and not children fortheir parents. This is what I tell other peopleso often, and I have to apply it to myself first

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and foremost. If, like the prophet Ezekiel, Iwere to ask our Lord to change my heart, Iwouldn’t ask him to change my heart ofstone into one of flesh. Maybe the opposite:that instead of this heart of flesh he wouldgrant me one of stone. And then, my son,

then I would sleep like a log every night!”4

The Work has no coat of arms

Looked at from every angle, Mon signorEscrivá’s life was sealed with the sign of thecross. He understood that it had to be likethat on February 14, 1943 in a house in JorgeManrique Street, Madrid. He was celebratingMass in the oratory his daughters had there,when he saw with utter clarity the badge orseal of the Work—“seal, because the Work

has no coat of arms,” as he said later.5 It was

“the cross in the very center of the world.”6

As he saw it, the cross was always a sign ofcontradiction, scandal to some, madness to

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others; a paradox in a world that had cometo identify good with pleasure and evil withpain.

A drawing made from dictation

There and then, he asked for pen and pa-per and drew a circle on the page they gavehim. Within it he drew a cross with the hori-zontal beam placed very high. Later, when hegot home to Diego de Leon Street, he drew itagain on a page in his diary.

One day in 1963, in Rome, MonsignorEscrivá called two of the directors of the gen-eral council, Juan Cox and Fernando Valen-ciano. Don Alvaro del Portillo was also there.Monsignor Escrivá, with obvious delight,showed them “what they’ve just sent fromSpain:” the diary. He opened at the page forFebruary 14, 1943. The seal of the Work wasthere, drawn in his own hand. His heartmissed a beat. He had before him the witness

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to something he had never considered anidea of his own, but a drawing dictated to

him.7

“What’s up between us, Lord?”

The Cross marked his life. He took as hisdaily motto, “Nulla dies sine cruce: no daywithout the cross.” A touchstone whose truthhad been proved by experience. But hebrightened it up by adding two words infront: in laetitia, in joy, which denoted a dis-position, a grace, for his way of living. Hispersonal aspiration was thus “In joy, no daywithout the cross.” If ever a day passedwithout some note of adversity, MonsignorEscrivá would go to the tabernacle and ask,“What’s up between us, Lord? Don’t you loveme anymore?” Not that he liked pain. But hewas convinced that the cross was the royalseal of the works of God. “To me, a daywithout the cross is like a day without God,”

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he used to say;8 he did not want there to be asingle day without it as a stamp ofauthenticity.

“I can be won over with asardine bone”

He was not a sad, sorrowful, long-suffer-ing man. By nature he was a lover of life, ex-ultant and joyous. He had a tremendous ca-pacity for enjoying the wonders of the world.To someone who lives on grace, everythingin life is an unexpected gift.

Monsignor Escrivá often used to say,“Teresa of Avila could be won over with asardine; I can be won over with a sardinebone.” A simple donkey, which a son of hishad made out of silver paper, was a presentprized so highly that he felt it deserved to beput on display in a showcase—which he did.

The psychology of a happy man

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He enjoyed everything that was good, nomatter how in significant: a song, a sunset, apoem, a friendly joke, a letter from an oldfriend, a chat, the concentration of an athletebefore the pole vault, or the sheer beauty of aCapitoline Venus.

When the attacks on the Work increased,his cheerfulness was even more noticeable. Itwas real joy. In case any of his childrenshould feel discouraged, he said to his spir-itual daughters, “What if they knock ourheads off? Why then, we’ll carry them in ourhands. We’ve been carrying them on ourshoulders for long enough. And what does it

matter in the end? Nothing at all!”9

Monsignor Escrivá only spoke about him-self in order to pass on to his children newdiscoveries in his interior life which couldhelp them in their own relationship withGod. He was not keen on psychological in-trospection. Begoña Alvarez, surprised tohear Monsignor Escrivá talking on a

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personal level, took particular note of a com-ment he made one day with reference to adifficulty that had cropped up: “Not throughmy own merit but through a light from God,I have had and still have the psychology ofnever feeling alone. Never. Neither from ahuman nor from a supernatural point ofview. I’ve never felt that I was alone! Andthis has helped me to keep silent on manyoccasions. I’ve preferred to be silent, for thesake of other people. That is one of the reas-ons why I’ve been cheerful all the time, des-pite having suffered so much. Always cheer-ful! Although it may seem to be a paradox. Ican tell you that I’ve only had reasons for be-ing very happy. They’ve never made me feel

misfortunate, still less a victim!”10 He waswell aware—having learned it from the cruci-fix—who the only Victim was.

“I never went to get certificates”

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He was ruled by God’s point of view,which dominated his outlook completely andgave him an indestructible sense of security.One day Itziar and Tere Zumalde told himabout the difficulties they had encounteredin the places where they were working—onein Abruzzi, Italy, the other in Santiago, Chile.In the light of his own experience, he advisedthem to disregard the difficulties.

“I’m going to tell you something. In theearly years of the foundation of the Work,when lots of people thought I was crazy, Ididn’t go and get a doctor to give me a certi-ficate saying I was sane. No, I kept on doingwhat God wanted of me, ignoring the gossip,not caring a whit what they thought of me.Some people said I was a heretic. But when Iwas being slandered like that, I didn’t set outto get theologians—and I did have someamong my friends—to certify that what I wasteaching was not heretical. I continued work-ing for God, in the absolute assurance that

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what I was doing was the Work which Godhad asked me to do. My daughters, you haveto act according to God’s viewpoint, and then

you’ll see the results!”11

The Way thrown on the fire

He was familiar with the pattern ofslander, side long glances of envy, the stolidincomprehension of those who did not un-derstand because they did not want to, thecowardly whisperers who never showed theirfaces but sowed confusion from the shadows.

He was also aware of the substance of theworst slanders. They started in Spain. Theywere led by certain heads of lay, confessionalmovements, “official Catholics”; by certainreligious who were very active and influentialjust before and after the Civil War; and bygroups and individual members of theFalange and the National Movement,Franco’s political party and the only one he

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permitted to exist. They were the ones whostarted things, and then spread the diseaseamong other good but misguided people. InBarcelona, reviving the old practices of theInquisition, they even held a public “auto-de-fé,” with all the ceremony of liturgicalanathemas and a fire, condemning and thenburning copies of The Way.

From the time when Opus Dei opened itsfirst student center in Luchana Street inMadrid, the people of the Work always put awooden cross on the wall in their centers,without a figure of Christ—a plain, unvar-nished black cross. Point 178 of The Way re-ferred to this: “Whenever you see a poorwooden Cross, alone, uncared-for, of novalue … and without its Crucified, don’t for-get that that Cross is your Cross: the Cross ofeach day, the hidden Cross, without splendoror consolation … the Cross which is waitingfor the Crucified it lacks: and that Crucifiedmust be you.”

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This foreshadowed the idea he wouldpreach in 1974 in his catechetical gatheringsin Central and South America: “For some,there are too many crosses … whereas for

me, I need more Christs!”12

Soon after the end of the Spanish CivilWar, a center for university students was setup in Balmes Street in Barcelona. The peopleof the Work put up a wooden cross, a verybig one. Some unscrupulous people spreadthe rumor that “blood rites” and “human sac-rifices” were carried out there. They believed,or wanted to make others believe, that thecross was an instrument of torture. The ru-mor was noised about on an alarming scale,especially among the families of some youngmen of Opus Dei, Rafael and Jaime Termesand Rafael Escola. When Rafael Termes, thedirector of the center, told Father Escrivá ofthese rumors, he was also able to give himthe good news that his sons were facing up tothis difficulty “very peacefully and without

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offending against charity toward anything or

anybody.”13 Father Escrivá immediately sug-gested the cross should be replaced by an-other one, “so small that not even a newbornbaby could fit on it, so that they will realizewhat lies they are telling. Then they won’t beable to say that we are crucifying ourselves,

because we simply wouldn’t fit on it!”14

Father Escrivá was particularly pleasedafter his first audience with Pius XII in 1946to find that in the brief Cum Societatis, thePope granted the privilege of a partial indul-gence to anyone who kissed or said an aspir-ation before the wooden cross in Opus Dei’s

oratories.15

Cabalistic signs?

It was also in the aftermath of the Span-ish Civil War that certain people tried to in-terpret liturgical and Eucharistic motifs dec-orating a frieze as “cabalistic signs” for

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Masonic rites. This frieze was in the oratoryof the residence hall in Jenner Street, Mad-rid. It bore the following texts: Congregavitnos in unum Christi amor (“the love ofChrist has joined us together in one”), takenfrom the well-known Eucharistic hymn UbiCaritas traditional in the church since an-cient times, and the phrase Erant autemperseverantes in doctrina Apostolorum, incommunicatione fractionis panis, et ora-tionibus (“And they were persevering in thedoctrine of the Apostles, and in the commu-nication of the breaking of bread, and inprayers”) from the Acts of the Apostles (Acts2:42). Ears of wheat, the vine, the light ofChrist, the dove of peace—symbols commonin Church usage—separated one text fromanother. These were the “dangerous cabalist-ic signs” and “cryptic hieroglyphs.”

The Abbot-Coadjutor of Montserrat (animportant center of religious influence inCatalonia), Dom Aurelio M. Escarré, wrote to

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the bishop of Madrid requesting reliable in-formation about Opus Dei. The reply was adetailed, authoritative, and conclusive letterfrom Bishop Eijo y Garay, which settled thegossip for a while and relieved the worriesfelt by families of people of the Work.

The calumny-makers’ bag oftricks

This may be a good place to examine theprocess of creating a defamatory lie. A slan-derous rumor nearly always starts fromsomething real, in itself innocent, but delib-erately misrepresented—the wooden cross,the point in The Way, the words and sym-bols on the frieze, and so on. It is then easyto create a scandalous story, a suspicioustheory, a culpable conjecture. MonsignorEscrivá was subjected to each of these modesof attack.

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Half-truths and distorted facts

One method is simply to take a text out ofcontext. That was the case with the liturgicalsymbols. It was also the case with misrepres-entations from highlighting point 28 of TheWay, “marriage is for the rank and file, notfor the officers of Christ’s army,” while ignor-ing other points (e.g., point 26, “Matrimonyis a holy Sacrament….” and point 27, “Do youlaugh when I tell you that you have a voca-tion to marriage? Well, you have just that: avocation”).

Cracked copper with rivets

Or again, people accused Mon signorEscrivá of telling his children, boastfully andarrogantly, “You will have to render an ac-count to God for having known me, becausethere have been and will be plenty of Popes,cardinals, and bishops, but there is only one

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founder of Opus Dei.” These people distortedhis phrase and took it out of its context.Monsignor Escrivá was calling his children’sattention to their historic responsibility as“co-founders,” and their present and futureobligation to transmit the spirit of Opus Deiwholly and without alteration as they had re-ceived it from its source. He was very con-scious of the unique importance of a founda-tional charism, something unrepeatable,nontransferable, and in alien able. Neverthe-less, he was reluctant to be treated as “thefounder.” He argued that he was “a founderwithout a foundation,” saying, “I didn’t wantto found anything. I’ve never been anythingbut a nuisance.” He even said, “The onlygood founder I know comes bottled,” refer-ring to a brandy called El Fundador.

In a meditation he gave on September 11,1960, he said: “My children, I have to makeyou consider something that when I wasyoung, I did not dare either to think or to

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express; but now I feel I ought to tell you. Inmy lifetime, I have known several Popes, lotsof cardinals, and a host of bishops. On theother hand, there is only one founder ofOpus Dei, even though it’s a poor sinner likeme—I am quite convinced that our Lordchose the worst thing he could find, so that itcould be seen more clearly that the Work ishis doing alone. But God will ask you torender an account for having been close tome, because he has entrusted me with thespirit of Opus Dei, and I have passed it on toyou. He will ask you to give an account forhaving known that poor priest who was withyou, and who loved you so very much—evenmore than your own mothers did! I will passaway, and the people who come to the Worklater on will look on you with envy, as if youwere relics: not because of me, because I am,I insist, a poor man, a sinner who loves JesusChrist madly; but for having learned the

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spirit of the Work from the lips of its

founder.”16

There is no need to look far in the thingshe said or wrote to find references to the factthat he was made of clay, “common clay thatis easily broken”; or to his being poor metal,or “a clumsy, deaf instrument.” But he al-ways distinguished between the man and themission, between his own weak nature andthe divine greatness of his message. So, in1973, he said, “I’ve never deceived you. I’mnot gold and I’ve never said I was. I’m notsilver, and I’ve never said I was. I’m not cop-per and I’ve never said I was. Maybe crackedcopper with rivets. But what I say to you … is

pure gold!”17

Another method of falsifying truth is byusing half-truths. In this way gossipers talkabout “capturing young people,” alleging thatthe apostolate by people of Opus Dei amongthe young takes advantage of boys’ and girls’immaturity and inexperience, proposing to

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them an ideal of self-giving to God when theyare too young to make free decisions. Suchpeople either do not know or else conceal thefact that even if a boy or girl wishes to jointhe Work at the age of fourteen or fifteen,and even if they are already practicing thehabits and customs of the Work, they cannotlegally join until they are eighteen. At eight-een people have sufficient discernment tovote, choose a career, buy and sell, go to war,marry, get divorced, be elected deputy, coun-cillor, senator, lord mayor, even become sov-ereign. Moreover, the contract made bysomeone who joins Opus Dei can be freelycanceled.

Loud speakers notmicrophones?

Another tool used by fabricators is thedistorted fact. It has been said and writtenthat there are “concealed microphones” in

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Villa Tevere. Those who say it know it is nottrue. There are loudspeakers, not micro-phones, which are not concealed but clearlyvisible, installed, not in small rooms or of-fices but in big sitting rooms, the laundry,and one or two oratories. They can be seenby anybody. Their purpose was to enableMonsignor Escrivá to lead a get-together orgive a meditation with big groups of his sonsor daughters in the Work. They were usedtwo or three times on family occasions or cel-ebrations to send Christmas wishes, to askwhat presents they had had for Christmas, orto have them hear some songs.

The trip to Greece

The interpretation of the journeyMonsignor Escrivá made to Greece with DonAlvaro del Portillo and Father Javier Eche-varria in 1966 was a sensational example ofmisrepresentation. The purpose of the

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trip—like so many others he made to coun-tries of Central Europe—was to explorefirsthand the possibilities of setting up theWork there. Monsignor Escrivá traveled withthe knowledge and express consent of theHoly See. He consulted the Vatican severaltimes, through Monsignor Dell’Acqua, De-puty Secretary of State. It was no secret jour-ney, and he sent several postcards fromAthens and Corinth that have all been kept.

Before he left, people in the Roman Curiatold him starting Opus Dei in Greece wouldnot be easy as “there is a very close linkbetween the Orthodox Church and the gov-ernment of the country, so much so that thelife of Greeks who are not members of theOrthodox Church, at least nominally, is veryhard.”

Many years later, Father Javier Echevarriaretained a very vivid impression of the cold-ness, even hostility, they encountered. “Fromthe time of our arrival at the port of Piraeus,”

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he said, “we noticed an atmosphere of dis-trust; you could say a physical rejection ofthe Catholic Church. The fact that we werewearing clerical clothes led the Customs of-ficers to hold us up for over an hour and ahalf, making a detailed examination of ourvisas and passports and subjecting us to acompletely unnecessary third-degree inter-rogation…. We realized we were going to bein an atmosphere suspicious of Catholi-cism…. When we got to Athens, the Fatherdecided to go to the cathedral to do the after-noon prayer. We spent some time in thecathedral, feeling a certain sense of desola-tion because it was empty, and not a singleperson came in to greet our Lord in hischurch…. We also had a sensation of empti-ness along the streets of Athens, Corinth,and Marathon: people looked at priests dis-trustingly. In some places they drew aside aswe passed, making it clear that we were out-siders…. On our return to Rome, the Father

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relayed to the Holy See his view that it wouldbe better to wait until there were Greekpeople in Opus Dei. These views were totallyshared by the office of the secretary of

state.”18

Monsignor Escrivá brought back two smallicons for his daughters and sons in theWork: one of Our Lady and another of St.Paul embracing St. Peter, symbolizing theunity and oneness of the Roman, Catholic,apostolic Church. He also brought back twoof better quality that he presented to PopePaul VI and Monsignor Dell’Acqua.

On returning he told his children he hadsensed a certain clericalism, a sort of reli-gious nationalism among the Greek Ortho-dox, which would make conversions difficult.“The switch by these Christians to obedienceto the Roman Pontiff needs to be encouragedamong Greeks living abroad.” Because ofthis, Monsignor Escrivá returned fromGreece convinced that setting up apostolates

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of Opus Dei in that country would be muchslower and more problematic than he hadthought. “Religion and the nationalistic con-science are so intertwined that changingfrom Greek Orthodox to Roman Catholicismis seen almost as a betrayal of their country.”Dr. Marlies Kücking heard him make thissort of comment on his return from his

Greek trip.19

Where does the story that MonsignorEscrivá wanted to “convert” to the OrthodoxChurch come from? There is only one pos-sible explanation. The trip was madebetween February 26 and March 14, 1966.Among the twenty-four men of the Workwho were to be ordained priests in the sum-mer of that year was one called Jalil Badui,son of a Lebanese couple who had emigratedto Mexico. There were also other profession-al men in Opus Dei who were Catholics ofArab origin (Lebanese, Palestinian, and Syri-an). At one point, it was thought that

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because of their race and culture, thesepeople could begin the Work in the MiddleEast, bearing in mind the only requirementwould be the authorization of the Holy See tochange from the Latin Rite to the MaroniteRite in the liturgy, and such an authorizationwould be easy to obtain if the obvious guar-

antees were given.20 To confuse a fairly nor-mal procedure like change of rite with abreak from Rome has to be the result of crassignorance or evil intent.

Some glasses of Malmsey wine

In addition to distortion of a fact, anotherfraudulent method often used consists in at-tributing to a real scene some spuriousphrase or false episode. The detailed descrip-tion of a room, a piece of furniture, or evenof real people lends credibility to the ficti-tious event narrated. This procedure hasbeen used a lot against Monsignor Escrivá by

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people who, having lived in centers of theWork, later left Opus Dei. Thus in the sittingroom of Villa Vecchia, for instance, they rep-resent Monsignor Escrivá furiously scoldingsome young women of Opus Dei for creatinga cloud of dust while cleaning. They beginwith facts: Some women did a major clean-ing job when the work on Villa Vecchia wasfinished; by not taking the precaution ofsprinkling water on the floor before sweep-ing, they lifted a huge amount of plasterdust; Father Escrivá was passing throughand called their attention to this in no uncer-tain terms.

Up to here everything is true. But the truthis falsified by omitting what exactlyMonsignor Escrivá pointed out: that thecleaners had dirtied a large, intricate chan-delier, already hung, that would now needspecial cleaning. What was more, the dustwas sticking to the vaulted ceiling, which hadbeen painted and was still wet. But Father

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Escrivá, right there and then, became theirguide to the building, explaining the mean-ing of the eight scenes represented in themedallions of the ceiling: some depicting thestory of Joseph, and others, scenes from theBook of Tobias. He joked with them aboutthe fish carried by young Tobias, whom hereferred to as “Tobias Junior.” That samenight there appeared some glasses and abottle of malmsey, a wine made from sweet,fragrant grapes, with a note in FatherEscrivá’s handwriting: “For my daughters,

who have swallowed so much dust.”21

Everyone who knew Monsignor Escriváagreed that he had a strong character, alively temper, and dynamic fortitude whencorrecting people. But without exceptionthey also agree in underlining his cordiality,approach ability, friendliness, and the tenderaffection that never left anyone feeling hurt,slighted, or simply upset after a reprimand.His normal way of settling such episodes was

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to send his daughters a packet of sweets orgive his sons a kiss on both cheeks.

Julia Bustillo was a housekeeper, one ofthe oldest in the Work. Someone asked her,“Julia, tell us about some of the mistakes youmade, when the Father told you off.” Juliareplied, “The Father didn’t ‘tell us off.’ TheFather corrected us, and showed us how todo things well. And he did it with a lot of pa-tience, because at first we didn’t get a singlething right!”

One afternoon Monsignor Escrivá invitedtwo or three of his sons to go for a walk inRome with him and finish by “havingsomething in a trattoria.” As they set off,Monsignor Escrivá inquired, “Do you knowwhy we are going?”

Turning to one of them with a gesture verymuch his own—it consisted of sticking histongue out a tiny bit through closed lips, as ifbiting it—he said mischievously, “Because I

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told you off this morning.”22 So much forMonsignor Escrivá’s “scoldings.”

Another method of spreading calumny isto add a few words that were never said tosome which were real. For instance,Monsignor Escrivá had given strict instruc-tions, written and oral, to avoid even thesemblance of social contact between menand women in centers of the Work. To en-sure that priests—the only men of Opus Deiwho go to the women’s centers, to carry outtheir ministry—never stayed longer than ab-solutely necessary, he said on several occa-sions, positing two equally undesirable al-ternatives, “I would prefer a daughter ofmine to die without the last rites than for mysons, the priests, to stay in a women’s center

unnecessarily.”23

This sentence has been revised as “I wouldprefer a daughter of mine to die without con-fession, than for her to confess to a Jesuit.”The manipulation and false addition are

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obvious—but only if you have the originaltext.

Another deceitful method is to take a partfor the whole. People conclude that if abanker is in Opus Dei, Opus Dei “ownsbanks;” or because four or five people of theWork once held high posts under a particularpolitical regime, they project this onto tensof thousands of other people living in eightydifferent countries and affirm that Opus Dei“is a political force.”

When it is pointed out that in Spain underFranco people of the Work were both in thegovernment and in the opposition, someholding public office and others in exile, theyanswer: “Ah, this shows the fine Machiavel-lian spirit of the Opus; it is a strategic ambi-valence which enables them to have a foot inboth camps.”

A clever reply for a television debate. But itwould not stand up to analysis in Germany,where there are people of the Work who vote

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and/or work for the Liberal, ChristianDemocrat, Social Democrat, or Greenparties; or in the United States, where thereare people of the Work among the Re public-ans and Democrats; or in Mexico wheresome people of the Work are lifelong sup-porters of the Partido Revolucionario In-stitucional, and others are lifelong support-ers of the opposing party. This is completelybeyond the scope of old clichés always tryingto explain history by conspiracy theories,hidden alliances between the cross and thesword, the altar and the throne, the Vaticanand the White House.

Another tool in the lie-makers’ kit consistsof saying one thing, then the oppos-ite—“white” today and “black” tomorrow.Some people spent years calling MonsignorEscrivá a heretic, an innovator, and an ultra-progressive, for preaching that the laity werecalled to be saints without needing to leavethe world. After a while, without any change

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in Monsignor Escrivá’s message, those samepeople accused him of being traditionalist,reactionary, and ultra-conservative.

There were also those who, seeing the dis-creet way people of the Work acted, said“You can’t hear them, you don’t notice them:therefore they must be a secret society.”These same people, when they later saw thepresence of the apostolates of Opus Dei, didnot hesitate to assert, “They are Pope Wo-jtyla’s new crusaders, advancing, invading,and destroying!”

Gossipers who recently accusedMonsignor Escrivá of sympathy towards theNazis and of anti-Semitism forget that yearsago they or their fellow-travelers called him aJewish Mason and accused Opus Dei of be-ing “the Jewish branch” of a Masonic lodge.

While on this point, it may be asked whatMonsignor Escrivá actually thought of Hitlerand Nazism. Francesco Angelicchio, one ofthe first Italians to join Opus Dei, wrote, “I

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always heard him express very clear, severecondemnation of totalitarian, tyrannical re-gimes which killed freedom, no matter what

color they were.”24

Mario Lantini said, “Per lui non era con-cepibile il partito único…. Era quindi contraogni totalitarismo, razzismo, nazionalismo,ecc. For him a single-party system was in-conceivable…. He was completely against all

totalitarianism, racism, Nazism, etc.”25

Pedro Casciaro said, “With regard to Fas-cism and Nazism there were no cases of con-frontation, as Opus Dei began its stableactivity in Italy and Germany when those re-gimes were no longer in power. On one occa-sion I heard him [Monsignor Escrivá] speakadmiringly of Cardinal Faulhaber, who dur-ing the Nazi period had had the courage topublish some Advent lectures given in Mu-

nich cathedral.”26 (The lectures warnedagainst the dangers of the Nazi system andshowed its anti-Christian roots.)

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José Orlandis recalls that on September15, 1939, the day after he had asked for ad-mission to the Work, during a spiritual re-treat in the Burjasot residence hall in Valen-cia, “I was alone with the Father in his officeand without my asking him anything, heconfided to me, ‘This morning I offered Massfor Poland, a Catholic country, which is suf-fering terribly under the Nazi invasion.’ Icould see that this intention—the fate of Po-land—was close to his heart and he was verydistressed in those days, when Polish resist-ance was collapsing everywhere in the face of

the invaders’ superior strength.”27

Domingo Diaz-Ambrona has left writtenevidence of a chance meeting withMonsignor Escrivá on a train between Mad-rid and Avila in August 1941. “I had just re-turned from a trip to Germany, where I hadsensed that Catholics were afraid to showtheir religious convictions. This made mesuspicious of Nazism; but, like many

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Spaniards, I couldn’t really see the negativeaspects of the Nazi system and the philo-sophy behind it, because I was blinded byGerman propaganda, which presented itselfas the force which would annihilate Com-munism. I wanted to know his opinion. I wasvery surprised by the priest’s uncomprom-ising reply. He had accurate informationabout the state of the Church and Catholicsunder Hitler’s regime. Monsignor Escriváspoke to me in strong terms against this anti-Christian regime, with a forcefulness born ofhis great love for freedom. In Spain at thattime, when the Nazis’ many crimes were notyet known about, it was uncommon to findpeople who condemned the Nazi system so

roundly.”28

Amadeo de Fuenmayor describedMonsignor Escrivá’s attitude— “his condem-nation of Nazism was decisive”—and gave along list of “expressions referring to Hitlerand his racist system which we heard him

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say on many occasions.” The following weresome of them:

“I abominate all totalitarian regimes.Nazism is a heresy, as well as being a politic-al aberration. I was delighted when theChurch condemned it: all Catholics had beenthinking the same thing about it in theirhearts. Every kind of racism is contrary toGod’s law, the natural law. I know there havebeen many victims of Nazism, and it hurtsme. Even one person made a victim for hisfaith or race would have been enough tomake me condemn the system. I have alwaysthought Hitler was an obsessive, miserable

man. A tyrant.”29

How did Monsignor Escrivá react? Fromthe time he was called mad, unscrupulous, aheretic, or a Mason, to the time people star-ted telephoning Villa Tevere in the smallhours and asking whether it was true thatMonsignor Escrivá was dead, he practiced,and taught his children in Opus Dei to

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practice, a reaction he summarized in fivesteps: “pray, keep silent, understand, forgive… and smile.”

Enemies who are reallybenefactors

Mercedes Morado and Begoña Alvarez,who were among those who worked withMonsignor Escrivá for years, wrote that hisspirit of forgiving and understanding towardthose who slandered him grew progressively,to the point where he could say in all simpli-city, “I don’t feel any resentment towardthem. I pray for them every day, just as hardas I pray for my children. And by praying forthem so much, I’ve come to love them withthe same heart and the same intensity as I

love my children.”30

He was putting onto paper something ofhis own personal experience when he wrote,“Think about the good that has been done to

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you throughout your lifetime by those whohave injured or attempted to injure you. Oth-ers call such people their enemies…. You arenothing so special that you should have en-emies; so call them ‘benefactors.’ Pray to Godfor them: as a result, you will come to like

them.”31

On another occasion, Encarnita Ortegawitnessed how he reacted when told thatFather Carrillo de Albornoz had left the Soci-ety of Jesus, later apostatizing from theCatholic faith. Monsignor Escrivá was visiblymoved and deeply sorry. He buried his headin his hands and fell silent, withdrawing intohimself, praying. Salvador Canals re mind edhim that this same man had once organizeda very serious campaign of slander againstthe Work. Monsignor Escrivá interruptedhim bluntly, “But he is a soul, my son, a

soul!”32

While he recommended this disposition ofgenuine understanding— “we have to

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understand even those who do not under-

stand us,” he said33—he encouraged his chil-dren “not to remain silent where defendingthe Work is concerned, because the Work isGod’s, and we have to stand up for it.” Oneday in Rome in January 1967, while chattingwith César Ortiz-Echagüe, who had justcome from Madrid, he criticized the lack ofpolitical liberty in Spain at the time. He ad-ded, “I’ve written a strongly worded letter toMinister Solis. I don’t expect him to reply,but if he does, I have even more things to sayto him! And as for you, you cannot permitstate newspapers, which are government-controlled and therefore paid for by all ofyou as citizens, to insult the Work gratuit-

ously.”34

On the other hand, when the abuse waspersonal, he did not hesitate to recommendpeaceful silence and forgiveness. In 1962,Rafael Calvo Serer went to see him in Rome.He unburdened his heart and told him about

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the calumnies and persecutions he was beingsubjected to by petty officials of the Francoregime. Monsignor Escrivá listened and thensaid, “My son, it is hard, but you have tolearn how to forgive.”

He was silent for a little and then, as ifthinking aloud, he added, “I didn’t need tolearn how to forgive, because God has taught

me how to love.”35

He made a clear distinction between per-sonal attacks and attacks on Opus Dei. Hesaid on occasions, “And if they never understand, the day will come when they die—andthen all their resistance will be over. God willjudge their actions! We should never

judge.”36

Telephone calls in the earlyhours of the morning

In 1972 Monsignor Escrivá was on agrueling apostolic trip around Europe and

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America. The people living at Villa Teverestarted getting strange telephone calls askingif he had died, or inquiring about “his gravestate of health.” When he heard about this,his response was simply, “They are the samepeople who wanted to throw me out of theWork in 1951. If they had succeeded, theywould have killed me. Now they still want tokill me off, by spreading rumors of imaginaryillnesses. I don’t know what they’re going togain by that, because when I really do die Ihope that with the help of your prayers, theLord will receive me in his mercy. And fromheaven, I’ll be able to help you much

more!”37

As this disturbing tactic of phoning in theearly hours of the morning continued, hetold his spiritual daughters in La Montagnolaabout it, in case any calls came during theday and they were to pick up the phone. Hiscomment was brief. “It’s what some peoplewant—and what would suit the devil.”

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Turning to another subject, he went on

working.38

“The usual people”

So as not to give rise to resentment,Monsignor Escrivá always drew a veil of an-onymity over the identity of people who at-tacked Opus Dei. He would talk in generalterms about “opposition by good people” andin very specific cases he would simply referto “the usual people.” He knew who theywere. Moreover, he wrote down, and hadothers write down, all the more significantattacks against Opus Dei and had them prin-ted by the printing press at Villa Tevere, con-scious that they were a very important partof the history of the Work. He did this on thestrict understanding that the story of theseevents would not see the light until yearsafter his death, and after the death of thepeople involved. His judgement of these

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events appears in point 804 of The Forge:“Opposition from good people? It’s the dev-il’s doing.”

They wanted to expelMonsignor Escrivá

This opposition from good people be-came very bitter between 1951 and 1952, justafter the Holy See had granted full approvalto the Work. It was more than pieces of gos-sip or calumnies. A full-scale campaign hadbeen set in motion. Its organizers had com-piled an inflammatory collection of falsedossiers. There were serious accusations, in-cluding one alleging promiscuity between themen and women of Opus Dei.

These people knew where to strike a mor-tal blow at the unity of the Work, which was,and has always been, the great “secret” ofOpus Dei’s effectiveness: a juridical, spiritu-al, and ascetic unity, together with total

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separation of life, regime, government, andapostolates. It was not enough to amputate amember or cut off a branch: the conclusiveway was to decapitate the Work. All theschemes were aimed directly at MonsignorEscrivá and his expulsion from Opus Dei.With him out of the way, the men and wo-men of the Work would scatter. It would beas in the Gospel passage: “I will strike theshepherd, and the sheep will be scattered”(Matt 26:31).

Don Alvaro del Portillo, who measured hiswords carefully, would say years later: “Itwas a very well-prepared trap, poised like adagger exactly over the heart. With just aslight application of pressure, the heart

would be pierced.”39

A blind man flailing the air withhis stick

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Monsignor Escrivá could guess thatsomething serious was afoot, but he had noidea what it was. For weeks and months hewas anxious and restless, full of foreboding.He prayed, without knowing what to prayfor. Now and again, well into the summer, hewould go down to the garden of Villa Vecchiato take a little exercise, have a breath of freshair, say the Rosary or chat with one of hissons. He said at the time, “I feel tamquamleo rugiens, like a roaring lion, on watch, onguard. I feel like a blind man who is being at-tacked but can only flail the air with his stick,because I don’t know what’s happening, but

something is going on.”40

He said the same thing more than once toDon Alvaro, his favorite son, confidante,confessor, “guardian,” and strong rock.“Alvaro, I don’t know what’s going on, butsome thing is happening.”

Don Alvaro was silent. His eyes would fillwith tears, but he could not help. Monsignor

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Escrivá said to himself, “Alvaro knowssomething. He isn’t telling me what it is be-cause he isn’t allowed to.” Through his workin the Vatican, Don Alvaro may have hadknowledge of ill-natured comments; but hewas unaware that a strange operation wasbeing planned that would affect the

founder.41

One day in August 1951, not knowingwhom else to turn to, he turned to the onlysource of help available to him. He said toDon Alvaro, “Alvaro, I have always used su-pernatural means—prayer and mortification.So I am driving to Loreto on the fourteenth. Iwant to be there on the fifteenth to consec-rate the Work to Our Lady. Being the middleof August, it’s very hot; the roads will be ter-rible. No matter. That way we’ll do some real

mortification.”42

Don Alvaro went with him. Putting upwith the terrific heat of mid-summer, theydrove to the province of Ancona. There, in

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the shrine of Loreto, after celebrating Mass,Monsignor Escrivá consecrated Opus Dei tothe Most Sweet Heart of Mary. The essenceof his prayer was short and to the point: Iterpara tutum! “Prepare us a safe path!”

The answer was not long in coming. InSeptember, Juan Udaondo, one of the peoplein Opus Dei living in Milan, informedMonsignor Escrivá of “some thing vague butvery disquieting” which Cardinal Schusterhad just told him. Cardinal Schuster, a Bene-dictine monk and Archbishop of Milan, avery important person, had told him certainthings that were being said about the Work,adding, “I don’t believe them at all myself. Iam very happy for Opus Dei to be working in

my diocese.”43

Months later, in January 1952, in conver-sation with Juan Udaondo and Juan Masia,Cardinal Schuster inquired, “How is yourfounder?”

They answered simply, “He’s very well!”

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The cardinal insisted, “How is he carryinghis cross? Doesn’t he have a big problem, aheavy cross?”

“Well, you see, if that is so, he’ll be veryhappy,” one said, “because he’s alwaystaught us that if we’re very close to the cross,we’re very close to Jesus.”

“No, no!” exclaimed Cardinal Schuster.“Tell him to be careful. Tell him to rememberhis fellow countryman, St. Joseph of Calas-anz, and also St. Alphonsus Liguori. And to

get moving!”44

The two holy founders named had sufferedfierce attacks at the hands of men of theChurch. One of them, St. Joseph of Calasanzfrom Aragon, was expelled from the congreg-ation he had founded by its own members.Cruelly wronged and viciously slandered, hehad to undergo a lawsuit and a public trialbefore a tribunal of the Inquisition. St.Alphonsus Liguori, a lawyer from Naples andfounder of the Redemptorists, drank the

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bitter cup of misunderstanding, critic ism,and persecution. Udaondo wrote toMonsignor Escrivá at once, telling him ofCardinal Schuster’s warning. He was cryingas he wrote. The letter is in the archives ofthe Work and it can be seen how in one ortwo paragraphs the ink ran where his tearshad fallen.

As well as writing, Udaondo himselftraveled from Milan to Rome. On March 12he was in the oratory of Via Orsini, a centerof Opus Dei, when Monsignor Escrivá camein and knelt down beside him. He whisperedto him, without taking his eyes off the taber-nacle, “My son, how often have you heard mesay, quite truthfully, that I would like not tobe in the Work, so that I could ask for admis-sion straight away and be the last one of all,and be the first to obey—obey everybody!God our Lord knows I did not want to be thefounder of anything. But that was what Godwanted. My son, have you seen how they

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wish to destroy the Work and how they areattacking me? It’s the same story over again,‘Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will bescattered.’ I tell you, here in front of the tab-ernacle, that if they throw me out of the

Work, they’ll kill me!”45

Monsignor Escrivá’s voice broke. He hidhis face in his hands. He was utterly dis-traught, a man of sorrows.

Since receiving Udaondo’s letter,Monsignor Escrivá had gone to ask for ex-planations from the highest authorities inthe Holy See. He talked with Cardinals Te-deschini, Larraona, Piazza, Tardini, Ferretto,and Baggio. He protested, “If you expel mefrom Opus Dei, you are criminals. The Workis my life, and if you separate me from it,you’ll kill me. You’ll murder me!”

They replied evasively, “But Monsignor …there is nothing, there is nobody …”

Monsignor Escrivá did something unusualin the court protocol of the Roman Curia of

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that time. Taking as intermediary CardinalTedeschini who on February 24 had been ap-

pointed Protector of Opus Dei,46 he handedhim a letter, filial and respectful but crystalclear, in which, rather than defending therights of the Work or his own rights, hewarned of the “grave sin of injustice which isgoing to be committed” if the plot wentahead. Although the letter was addressed toCardinal Tedeschini, it was really for the eyesof a higher recipient: the Pope.

Cardinal Tedeschini promised to read theletter to Pius XII personally at the first op-portunity. On March 18, 1952, the opportun-ity presented itself. Pius XII reacted quickly.Despite the fact that things were at an ad-vanced stage of planning and the scheme wasjust on the point of overthrowing the founderof Opus Dei, it all stopped dead.

Monsignor Escrivá wrote on one of thepages of his pocket diary, “Without wantingto, persecutors sanctify…. But alas for these

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‘sanctifiers’!”47 He was well aware who hisadversaries were. He did not name them orpoint them out. But he could not help think-ing of them when twenty years later, in 1972,people in Villa Tevere starting getting those

sinister telephone calls.48

A witness in stone in the CortileVecchio

On one of those days of uncertainty andanxiety, when conspirators against the Workand against himself were breathing down hisneck, he had come out into one of the littlecourtyards of Villa Tevere, to meditate alonefor a while. Leaning on the railing of the Arcodei Venti, he wrote a brief text that he wouldlater have engraved on a simple marble slab.“While these buildings were being raised forthe service of the Church by dint of dailygreater self-denial, God our Lord permittedsevere, hidden opposition to arise externally,

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while Opus Dei, consecrated to the MostSweet Heart of Mary on 15th August 1951and to the Sacred Heart of Jesus on 26thOctober 1952, strong, compact and sure, wasstrengthened and expanded. Laus Deo(Praise God).”

The slab was placed in one of the galleriesaround the Cortile Vecchio, but it wascovered with a metal plaque hung on hinges,like a small door. For some years the littlebronze door stayed shut. At that time theturbulence of the storm, which had justfailed to break, was still in the air, so thatsome prelates advised Monsignor Escrivá “tokeep a low profile,” to “give up all externalactivity,” and “not even to breathe toodeeply.” A high-ranking member of the Curiatold him, “On occasion it is expedient to pre-tend to be dead, so as not to be killed.”

A foreigner in Rome

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Monsignor Escrivá became a voluntaryrecluse in Villa Tevere, something whichwent against the grain for someone of hisoutgoing, sociable character, and even moregiven his impatient zeal for souls. These wereyears of very active enclosure, devoted toforming the people of the Work, writinghomilies and doctrinal letters, and vigor-ously encouraging the apostolate. He was notseen out and about in Rome, but he traveledall over Europe, making tiring journeys bycar. He felt the sting of loneliness in Rome.He who had once said to Francesco Angelic-

chio, “I’m more Roman than you are,”49 now

came to feel like “a foreigner in my Rome.”50

One day he prayed about Psalm 68: “Morein number than the hairs of my head arethose who hate me without cause…. For it isfor thy sake that I have borne reproach, thatshame has covered my face. I have become astranger to my brothers, an alien to mymother’s sons.”

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He took a pencil and scribbled notes, fullof bitter sorrow. He did this, not to unburdenhimself, but so that some day others couldlearn what he had learned, without sufferingso much. “Plots, wretched misinterpretationscut to the measure of the base hearts thatfabricate them, cowardly insinuations…. It isa picture that, sadly, we see over and overagain, in different fields. They neither workthem selves, nor let others work. Meditateslowly on these verses of the Psalm: ‘My God,I have become a stranger to my brothers, analien to my mother’s sons. Because zeal forthy house has consumed me, and the insultsof those who insult thee have fallen upon

me.’ And keep on working.”51

On a cold day in November 1959, during aget-together with students of the Roman Col-lege, one, hoping to draw him out on a sub-ject close to his heart, asked him, “Father,tell us what happened in 1951 and 1952 whenthey wanted to divide the Work into two

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branches and expel you. Who was behindthat persecution?”

Monsignor Escrivá pointed with his chinin the direction of the stone slab. “Look, myson, out there in the Cortile Vecchio there isa tablet you can read, which is quite clear. Itis written in plain Spanish. I wrote it myself,sitting on a pile of stones, while all of thatpart was still being built. My heart was full ofsadness—but at the same time I was veryhappy! Not even then did I lose my joy.Alvaro and I put a stop to it. But you’re say-ing to me, ‘Father, tell us who was behind it.’And I have to tell you that you will discovermany things in heaven. Not on earth. Better

not.”52

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8

The Communicator

A strange slide

One evening in February 1960, MonsignorEscrivá and several women of the Work werein Villa Tevere looking at some slides fromKenya. There were landscapes, sunsets,people wearing exotic clothes, wild animals,and exuberant vegetation. Suddenly astrange image was projected onto the screen.It was hard to make out what the dark,cracked mass might be. A large rock? Thebark of a tree trunk? An animal’s head?While the projectionist was trying to get theslide into sharper focus, Monsignor Escrivá

wondered aloud, “But what is it? A plant? Ananimal? A person?”

Several voices joined in the conjecturing.As it came into focus, a very black andrugged human figure could be seen. But wasit a man or a woman? Then MonsignorEscrivá’s voice rang out. “Whether it’s a manor a woman, it is a soul! A soul that’s worthall the blood of Christ! It would be worth-while our going to Kenya for that one soul

only!”1

For Monsignor Escrivá the value of everyhuman being, the reason for their over-whelming dignity, was that each had an im-mortal soul. “To save one soul,” he said, “Iwould go to the very gates of hell.” Thesewere not mere words. At a time when he wasthe focal point of all kinds of gossip, he hadnot held back from going to a brothel to hearthe confession of the owner’s dying brother,and administer the Sacrament of the Anoint-ing of the Sick. As a precaution, he took an

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eminently respectable elderly man with him,since he was a young priest in his twenties.He had also exacted a promise that for thatwhole day there would not be an “appoint-ment” there.

A hug for a Mason

Nor did he mind opening the doors of hishouse in Rome to an illustrious Mason,riddled with cancer, who secretly wanted tobe reconciled with the Church. This manbegan by calling him “Sir” and ended up call-ing him “Father.” When Monsignor Escriváenveloped him in a big hug, he felt that hisevil past had disappeared in an instant intothe ocean of understanding of a God whoforgives.

Approaching each soul on one’sknees

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Monsignor Escrivá was driven by twopassions, both anchored in one love: a pas-sion for God and a passion for souls. Theheart of his “business” was bringing souls toGod. Since God is always near human be-ings, what was necessary was that each per-son decide to listen to God and his or herconscience. His task as an apostle was tobring about silence in souls so that Godcould make himself heard.

When Monsignor Escrivá said he was in-terested in a hundred souls out of a hundred,he was not thinking of crowds so he added,“one by one”—“handling each soul like aunique pearl,” entering consciences “on one’sknees,” always conscious of treading on sac-red ground.

From A to Z

One day in 1967 in Pozoalbero, Seville, hewas told that the stones in the beautifully

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cobbled courtyard had been set by a gypsycalled Ignacio and his gang. He said, “Well,I’d really like to meet him! See if you can findthis artist in paving, and tell him that if hecan come, I’d be very happy to spend sometime with him!”

Diego, the guard at Pozoalbero, found him,a bit tipsy, at the horse fair in Jerez.

“Monsignor?” said Ignacio when he heardthe news. “Monsignor wants to meet me?Well, right now I’ve had one or two drinkstoo many, but I’ll go straight home to have alittle snooze and sweat it off. I’ll get washed,put on my Sunday best, and be ready to meetMonsignor…. Hey, Diego, can I bring myfamily with me?”

When Ignacio and his family turned up,dressed to the nines, they immediatelydropped the “Monsignor”: it was “Father”this and “Father” that the whole time. Sud-denly, the gypsy asked point-blank, “Father,do you love us a lot?”

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“Yes, my son. I do,” replied MonsignorEscrivá. “Look, I’m talking to you here in ex-actly the same way as I talked to the Dukeand Duchess of Alba. I’m saying the samethings to you as I said to them. Because I ama priest who only knows how to talk aboutGod. I have only one cooking pot for all. Iwould love to come back and spend moretime here, and organize meetings and get-to-gethers for you and your mates in which wecould all talk: you would ask me things and Iwould talk, not preach! And we could do it ina very friendly way, over a few drinks. Well,you could have the drinks, I’d have coffee.Besides … you’re very shrewd! When youwant to work, you do it very well, putting lotsof art and beauty into it. And when you don’twant to work … what can I say? You do thatvery well too! No one can get cross with

you!”2

The lament of Cayetana de Alba

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The comparison with the Duke andDuchess of Alba, Luis Martinez de Irujo andCayetana, was no exaggeration. MonsignorEscrivá had just received Martinez de Irujoin Rome. Three years later, spending a fewdays in Madrid, he returned the visit in theLiria Palace. When Cayetana lamented overthe problems the Church was going throughat the time, Monsignor Escrivá, having “onlyone cooking pot,” said what he said to every-one else. “What you are telling me is the sadtruth. But you and I have the obligation tokeep silent and pray hard. And sometimeswe will have to behave like Noah’s good sons,who covered up their drunken father’s na-

kedness.”3

“Anyone would think I was theEmperorof Abyssinia!”

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He put the same zeal and commitmentinto listening and talking to the cardinal ofSão Paulo as into making an opportunity tospend time with one of the construction en-gineers at Torreciudad. This was on a rainyday in April 1970. Mon signor Escrivá was ona rapid visit to Torreciudad, the shrine ofOur Lady in northern Spain, to make a pil-grimage to Our Lady and see the construc-tion work. As he was greeting the caretakersof the old hermitage, Miguel Manceras andhis wife Antonia, a car pulled up with asqueal of brakes. It was Jose Manzanos, theconstruction engineer, still wearing his sitehelmet. Monsignor Escrivá gave him a bighug. Later, being driven to another part ofthe building site, he asked about this youngman. “He’s a magnificent worker,” was theanswer, “but lately he’s been out of sorts ashe fell out with his fiancée when they werejust about to get married.” MonsignorEscrivá made no comment.

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They arrived at a huge excavated areawhere the future buildings were to be. Itbegan to rain, and they put on raincoats andhats. At the construction hut the architects,Heliodoro Dols and César Ortiz-Echagüe,started to explain the details of the founda-tions being laid. “The crypts for the confes-sionals will be down there….” MonsignorEscrivá looked around, as if seekingsomeone. Then he saw Jose Manzanosstanding a little apart from the group andchatting to Teofilo Marco. MonsignorEscrivá slipped away from the architects andwent to join the other two. He took them bythe arm, one on the right and one on the left,and joking together in the friendliest fashionthey began to walk slowly along, paying notthe slightest attention to the rain. Ortiz-Echagüe came up behind them with an um-brella and tried to hold it over MonsignorEscrivá. He turned round quickly and said,“For goodness’ sake, César…! You and your

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umbrella! Anyone would think I was the Em-peror of Abyssinia!”

Monsignor Escrivá kept on walking alongwith Jose and Teofilo, amid all the site activ-ity—the deafening noise from the excavators,the muddy ground, the pouring rain. Whatdid they talk about? None of the three eversaid. The fact is that that conversationcalmed Manzanos down, he made up withhis fiancée, and they soon married. But notbefore he had written a moving letter toMonsignor Escrivá in Rome thanking him“for all that you said to me that rainy day in

Torreciudad.”4

Walt Disney looking at The Way

One day he called for Maria Luisa Cab-rera and Helena Serrano, who were respons-ible for photographs in the Villa Tevere printroom. He showed them a photograph of twomen looking at a copy of The Way.

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Monsignor Escrivá pointed to one of themand said, “I bet you don’t know who that is!”

The face looked familiar, and so did thesmile, but they could not quite put a name tohim.

“It’s Walt Disney!” said MonsignorEscrivá. “And the other person is a son ofmine who works in show business. He tellsme Walt Disney is delighted with The Way.”

“Your colleague wastes notime!”

In the summer of 1966 MonsignorEscrivá, Father Alvaro del Portillo, and Fath-er Javier Echevarria went to Florence. Therethey went to a big wholesale store, wherethey managed to persuade the shopkeeper tosell them three pairs of trousers at a verycheap price. While Don Alvaro and FatherEchevarria were trying them on, waiting forthem to be wrapped, and paying, Monsignor

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Escrivá took one of the shop assistants aside.They talked together about the young man’swork and leisure, his family, his Christianlife. The shop assistant did not know withwhom he had been speaking, but he wasmoved and encouraged that a priest was con-cerned about his life and his soul. When theysaid good-bye, he remarked to Don Alvaroand Father Echevarria, with a friendly wink,“Il vostro compagno non perde il tempo, eh,ma lo fà molto bene” (Your colleague wastes

no time, does he? But he does it very well).5

The friend

Monsignor Escrivá had an amazing fac-ulty for making friends. Father PedroCantero Cuadrado, later archbishop of Sara-gossa, was one from the time of their firstchance meeting in 1930 in the big old build-ing in San Bernardo Street which housed theCentral University of Madrid. It was on a

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September day, during the frenzy of exams,when the two young priests met. FatherCantero recalled, “A bond of mutual trustwas established between us at once. We ex-changed addresses. Thus began a friendshipwhich was to last a lifetime…. It was a strong,close friendship. Josemaría entered my soul,little by little, doing a true priest-to-priest

apostolate.”6

On the afternoon of August 14, 1931 FatherEscrivá turned up unexpectedly at his housein Madrid. It was very hot, and the smoke ofchurches and convents which had been at-tacked and burned still hung in the air. Fath-er Cantero had decided to work on his doc-toral thesis. When Father Escrivá entered theroom, he found him absorbed in his books.Father Cantero told him his plan, and FatherEscrivá listened. Then he said, “Look, Pedro,you’ve become selfish! You’re thinking ofnothing but yourself and your studies. Youonly have to open your eyes to see what sort

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of state the Church in Spain is in today—andwhat state Spain itself is in. These are diffi-cult moments, and you and I should bethinking of the personal service we can andought to offer the Church. Your thesis? Yourbooks? Let me tell you that what we have todo right now is to busy ourselves with other,far more important things.”

At the end of that summer Father Canterodecided to leave aside his academic career.He went to see Angel Herrera Oria and toldhim that he was at his disposal to work forthe recently created Propagation of the Faithassociation. “Josemaría’s words urged meon. When I saw him again and told himabout my decision he was delighted. Ourfriendship deepened. He encouraged me to

work incessantly.”7

Summoned before the HolyOffice

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Monsignor Juan Hervas, Bishop of Ma-jorca and Ciudad Real, who had a doctoratein law and was promoter of the ShortCourses on Christianity, had been a friend ofFather Josemaría Escrivá since the 1930s.When Monsignor Escrivá died, Bishop Her-vas wrote: “I had never stopped to think towhat extent my friend Josemaría was reallyso much mine; so close to me, that his disap-pearance has left me feeling stricken with anenormous sense of bereavement. I had al-ways been able to count on him when Ineeded him.”

On many occasions Monsignor Hervas hadstayed with Father Escrivá in Diego de LeonStreet in Madrid where he was treated as oneof the family. Without belonging to OpusDei, he saw and lived the life of the Workfrom the inside. When he went to Rome, healways found the doors of 73 Bruno BuozziStreet open to him.

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Bishop Hervas remembered particularlywell one of the “Roman conversations” hehad with Father Escrivá. He called it “theconversation of the dark night of my soul.”Misunderstandings had been whipped upagainst the Short Courses on Christianityand their promoter. The author of the cam-paign turned out to be Father Carrillo de Al-bornoz, the same person who had attackedOpus Dei in 1941–42. On this occasion, heplaced dreadful allegations before the HolyOffice. Bishop Hervas came to Rome to facethese accusations. He was heartbroken. Hethought it was too much to expect FatherEscrivá to console him for the same sort ofattack as he himself had suffered, caused bythe same hand, too. Nevertheless, he came toVilla Tevere.

Father Escrivá enveloped him in a bearhug, then sat down and listened attentively,and priest opened his heart to priest.Monsignor Hervas did not need to go into

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details. Father Escrivá saw the problem and,without wasting time, showed the truesolution.

“Don’t worry, Juan. They aren’t enemiesbut benefactors, because they help to purifyus, to sanctify us. We have to pray for them,and love them! I’ve been through the samething. I can talk to you as one brother to an-other about something I’ve been throughmyself, which you’re now going through inyour turn. Don’t let resentment or bitternesslodge in your heart. Don’t fear anything fromyour Mother the Church. Only good thingscan come to you from her! Keep calm, onlylisten to the voice of the Church, and turn adeaf ear to street gossip.”

Father Escrivá did not limit himself to en-couraging words. He came out in his defense,interceded and argued on his behalf. Hervastestified, “Only God knows in what measureJosemaría Escrivá contributed to straighten-

ing the paths of Providence.”8

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A Christmastime present

Along with opening his heart, FatherEscrivá also opened his wallet—as far as hecould—and gave generously to a friend inneed. Nor did he wait to be asked. Particu-larly impressive is a letter he wrote oneChristmas to his good friends, Brother Josede Lopera and the community of monks of ElParral, Segovia. Dated December 26, 1943, itsaid,

My dear brother: You cannot ima-gine how grateful I was for your goodwishes for the nihil obstat. May God re-ward your kindness and your affection.We will always remember you with joy.Particularly during this holy season, wehave often been speaking about you andyour community.

The Three Kings9* called here and left500 pesetas for some Christmas sweets

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for the monks of El Parral, which I amsending you today.

A big hug for you all. Help us besaints.

Another hug for you yourself fromthis sinner, who begs for your prayers.

Josemaría.10

In those days, 500 pesetas was the equi-valent of a captain’s pay for a month. FatherEscrivá was burdened with debt and had todo juggling acts with his finances to restartthe students’ residence lost during the CivilWar. Yet friendship led him to turn his pock-ets inside out.

Cardinals have feelings too

Friendship was not reserved for big occa-sions. One New Year’s Day he asked some ofhis daughters to give Cardinal IldebrandoAntoniutti a surprise—a present of little

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material value, but one which the old cardin-al would enjoy.

Look: although today’s a holiday, thesweet shops will be open. Prepare a nicebox with pretty Christmas wrapping, areally attractive package with a whole lotof sweets. But mind, they have to be aspecific kind: MU toffees. They’re notexpensive, but Cardinal Antoniutti lovesthem. See if you’re lucky enough to findthem! You have to realize that at his agethe people who knew his likes and dis-likes are no longer with him. Cardinalsare children at heart, too, and can bemoved by a few simple sweets. Writehim a nice friendly card to go with it and

sign it yourselves. He’ll be bowled over.11

Cardinal Dell’Acqua’s sister, Rita, now anold lady, had been mentally deficient sincebirth. Monsignor Escrivá wished to alleviateCardinal Dell’Acqua’s sorrow in some way.

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He decided to ask two of his daughters to dosomething to help.

“The cardinal’s a friend whom I love verydearly,” he explained. “And I am going to askyou to do something for him that I can’t, al-though I’d like to. His sister, poor lady, ismentally retarded. Although she looks old,she’s really like a good little ten-year-old girl.She’s called Rita Dell’Acqua, and she lives inthe cardinal’s house in the Lateran Palace.Sister Scolastica Pavanel looks after her full-time, because people who are mentally re-tarded need a lot of loving care. I’ll give youSister Scolastica’s telephone number so youcan contact her. Sister Scolastica herselfcould also do with a break and a little affec-tion. You can invite them home one after-noon for tea, when ever it suits them. Butdon’t do it because you have to: it’s a favor Iask of you, as if I were doing it myself for thecardinal, who’s a friend of mine. Let themcome and go as they like here, have a good

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time, and enjoy themselves. Then anotherday, you go and visit them, and take themsome sweets or a homemade cake. Put yourhearts into it—give them the love I wouldgive them myself.” From then on he wouldoften remind them to go or telephone. It wasnot a task he handed on and then forgot

about.12

The theology of coincidence

One morning in November 1965 Mon si-gnor Escrivá entered in the print room inVilla Tevere with an old gentleman. He intro-duced him by his full name to the peopleworking there, adding, “an English publish-er.” In one particular area he saw they werebinding a collection of letters from people ofthe Work—laborers, farm workers, andmanual workers—to the Pope. MonsignorEscrivá said in amusement, “These sons ofmine are simple, noble fellows. They write

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without a trace of protocol: ‘Dear Pope …’ or‘Yours sincerely.’ But the Pope is going tolove them. He has too many things that makehim suffer!”

He came closer to see how Maria JoseRodriguez, known as “Puchi,” was gilding thepontifical seal of Paul VI on the cover. Thenthe publisher exclaimed, “This is wonderful!Tomorrow I’ve got a private audience withHis Holiness. I’m taking him some leather-bound books. I’ve searched all over Rome fora gilder who had a die of the papal arms, butno one had one—and now I see you have onehere!”

“Well, when you want something thatshows affection for the Pope, you don’t haveto scour Rome: look for it in a center of OpusDei. Come on, where are those books?”

“In the car, Father.”“Well, bring them in, and these daughters

of mine will put the shield on them in amoment!”

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The visitor, delighted, hurried out to hiscar. Meanwhile Monsignor Escrivá sat down,visibly tired, crippled with fatigue. In a littlewhile the publisher came back with hisbooks. Monsignor Escrivá stood up with thesame vitality as before. Puchi and Helenabusied themselves with engraving and gild-ing the shields onto the books. MeanwhileMonsignor Escrivá and his British friendwere chatting.

“Father,” said the man, “I think someoneought to write a ‘theology of coincidence.’Listen to what happened to me …”

“Not a theology of coincidence,” interrup-ted Monsignor Escrivá, “but a theology ofprovidence. And it’s already been written.”

“All right. But let me tell you whathappened to me yesterday. I wanted to inter-view a particular African bishop, and Icouldn’t find him anywhere in Rome. I’vebeen going to the Vatican every day, whenthey were coming out of the council, but

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there was no sign of him! I’d given up hope.Yesterday I was in the center of the city whensuddenly it started to rain, so I stopped ataxi. Just as I was getting in, an Africanpriest appeared. He told me, in English, thathe was in a terrible hurry and asked me to lethim have the taxi. You know, Father, howdifficult it is to find a taxi in Rome, in therain. I said to him: ‘Look here, I’ll take youwherever you want to go, but I won’t give youthe taxi because I need it too.’ So we got intogether. The ‘coincidence’ or ‘providence’was that he turned out to be the very Africanbishop I’d been looking for! As I didn’t knowhe was a bishop, I’d been calling him ‘Father’all the time.”

“Don’t let that worry you. If he’s a goodbishop, he has to be a father before anythingelse.”

Puchi had stamped the papal shield on thebooks, but the impression on one was a bitfaint. The publisher thought it was “perfect,

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great!” Monsignor Escrivá, however, turnedto Puchi and said, “Would you mind doing itagain, please? In the Work,” he added to thepublisher, “we try to finish all our jobs withthe greatest possible perfection. It isn’t anobsession, it is the essence of the love of God.Besides, these books are going to end up inthe hands of the Vicar of Christ.”

As the Englishman was leaving, he re-marked, “Tomorrow the Pope will hear aboutthe love Opus Dei has for him. I’m going totell him myself. Father, how will I be able torepay you for all this? And your kindness tome all morning?”

“What do you mean, repay? In my countrythere is a very wise saying: ‘Love is repaidwith love.’ You’ve done many good things forthe Work, as I don’t need to remind you. AndI’m trying to respond to all of that a little,with the only thing I have: my prayer and af-

fection.”13

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An honest marketing strategy

Monsignor Escrivá carried out hisfriendly apostolate with every kind of person,from agriculturists to zoologists. He spoke toeach in his own language, without adulterat-ing the message. In private conversation andpublic preaching, in the dark of the confes-sional and under stage lights, he reachedpeople’s hearts. But he set no value on hisleadership qualities. All that interested himwas how to bring people to God.

What marketing strategy did this awaken-er of consciences employ? His ‘technique’was to tell the truth, with a gift of tongues.“It’s not a question of ‘simplifying the mes-sage to get through to the masses,’ but ofspeaking words of wisdom in clear Christian

speech that all can understand.”14

The poet in wine

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Without adulterating the word of God, he‘materialized’ the doctrine he taught bydrawing examples from real life.

When someone said that in putting theirheart into work they lost all track of time,Monsignor Escrivá said enthusiastically,“The very same thing happens to me, when Iam doing the ‘work’ of the Mass! I lose allnotion of time, and I think that while I am

there, at the altar, all clocks should stop.”15

He taught Fernando Carrasco, a wine pro-ducer, to put “the same care, the same art,the same loving attention” into his periods ofprayer as into his wine-making, “because you

are a poet in wine.”16

Domecq’s steed

He spoke to a friend, Alvaro Domecq,about the final leap to pass from this life toheaven, “leaping over purgatory regardless.”He said he envied him his Arab stallion: “A

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horse like yours, Alvaro, is just what I needto make that final leap! I need the steed of

God’s love to leap clean over purgatory.”17

A gift for Olinda

On another occasion he was going to talkwith Olinda, an old servant of the Sartos, St.Pius X’s family. Monsignor Escrivá had re-ceived her several times before, and was veryfond of her. Carmen Ramos askedMonsignor Escrivá if she should prepare alittle present for her, such as some sweets ora rosary.

“No, don’t worry. Don’t prepare anything.I have something for her.”

When Olinda arrived, Monsignor Escrivácame into the room carrying a small packet.After the visit was over, Monsignor Escriváexplained to Carmen, “You see, I was won-dering what she would like most. A rosary?No, because she has one already. She must

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have heaps of them! I myself have given herseveral on other occasions. Some chocolates?No, she’s diabetic. Then, as I was thinkingabout her, I remembered a picture of the Vir-gin Mary as a child which we have here inthis house, given to us by St. Pius X’s neph-ews. It occurred to me that Olinda would liketo have a copy, because it’s a family souvenir,and she must often have prayed in front ofthis picture when she was young and work-ing for the Sarto family. Her face lit up when

she saw it, so I think we got it right.”18

Destroyer of stereotypes

He had the gift of knowing how to thinkfrom the other person’s point of view. In1941, when he was thirty-nine, preaching aretreat in Alacuas, a small town near Valen-cia, he already knew how to talk to that par-ticular group, finding their natural strengthsin order to build supernatural virtues on

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them. He always preferred to stress what wasgood rather than what was bad. EncarnitaOrtega was in Alacuas for the retreat, andshe was surprised at how Monsignor Escriváturned stereotypes inside out.

“People say that Valencians act on the spurof the moment, that with them it’s all sheerimprovisation and lack of continuity,” hebegan. “I’ve found that that’s not true. Farm-ers here make good use of the land on thebanks of the River Turia to plant crops.When the river floods, the crops are ruined.But do you think they’re put off? They startplanting all over again! That’s not improvisa-tion: it’s continuity, effort, and perseverance.Well, in your interior life, you have to do the

same.”19

Issuing challenges

All good educators try to bring out thebest in people, and this is what Monsignor

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Escrivá did. He possessed an undeniable“gift of tongues,” not only because he couldsay the same things in different ways de-pending on his listeners, but because withouteither scandalizing or wounding people, hemanaged to bring a demanding messagehome to them.

He encouraged some Irish women to “takerevenge” for the ill-treatment they had re-ceived from the English “by sending them aheavy downpour of prayers,” while at thesame time telling them not to consent to feel-ings of victimization, still less vindictiveness.

He made clear the solidarity and affectionhe felt for the first Germans who came tostudy with him in Rome soon after the Se-cond World War, “because you have sufferedunder the yoke of a tyrant, a genocidal cur.”But some years later he warned them andother Germans that their passion for workcould lead them to turn their lives into

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selfish preserves shut to anything not mater-ially profitable.

He made people from the United Statesthink about the implications of their eco-nomic power and world leadership, and seethese as a challenge to responsibility towardothers.

When he came in, the room litup

He could also make himself understoodby people who did not speak his language.Marlies Kücking, who could speak many lan-guages, recalled her experience as a translat-or for foreign visitors who came to see Monsignor Escrivá at the end of his morning’swork in Villa Tevere.

When the visitors had arrived and werewaiting for Monsignor Escrivá, there was of-ten a feeling of uncertainty, especially if theyhad come to see him for the first time. They

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would ask things like, “Will he speak or dowe speak? What can we talk to him about?How are we going to understand each other?How do we greet him? Will he mind if wetake some photos?”

When Monsignor Escrivá came into thesitting room, he was smiling. He called themby their nicknames, his arms outstretchedtoward them, as if he had come to meet eachof them individually. In a moment thestrained politeness of a formal visit had van-ished. Everyone felt at ease and the atmo-sphere was one of cordiality, understanding,and trust. The translator hardly had to doanything, while Monsignor Escrivá took thelead, talking, asking questions, joking, andmoved to pity when a piece of bad newscame out. Afterwards, putting it all into theirown language, they were amazed that theyhad covered so many subjects, intensely and

in such depth, in such a short time.20

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Monsignor Escrivá’s gift for people wenthand-in-hand with a total incapacity fortreating visitors with conventional polite-ness, pronouncing a few set phrases to getthe visit over with. He went to the heart ofpeople’s concerns, and never treated them astrivial. For him, such times were unrepeat-able moments, and he applied all his talentsand put his heart into them.

Dictionaries were not needed

But the real reason for the lasting effectof even the shortest visits lay elsewhere.Monsignor Escrivá never talked to his visit-ors from his position as president general ofthe Work, Monsignor, or founder. At everymoment he was totally a priest—someonewho had been set there to make contactbetween men and God.

One spring morning in 1970 he receivednine or ten Japanese women, not all of

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whom were Catholic. Loretta Lorenz, anAmerican woman in Opus Dei who was liv-ing in Osaka, was one of the group.

In their conversation, Monsignor Escrivápraised the good things of Japan, the delic-acy of their customs, their tenacity and dili-gence in cultivating their tiny bonsai gar-dens, and their skill in the world of electronictechnology. Then he went on to talk to themas a priest.

“In a few minutes I am going to celebrateHoly Mass,” he told them. “Those of you whoare not Christian won’t be able to understandits importance, but it is of infinite worth. Iam going to offer it up today for everyone inJapan. And now I will give you my blessing.”He stood up and raised both arms as thoughlaying his hands on them. The women alsogot up. Some remained standing and bowedtheir heads. Those who were Catholics kneltdown.

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“The blessing of a priest is a good thing,like the blessing of a father, which can onlybring good. May the Lord be in your heartsand on your lips …”

At this point, Monsignor Escrivá placedhis left hand on his chest while he made thesign of the cross in the air slowly and clearlywith his right.

“… In the name of the Father and of theSon and of the Holy Spirit. Now, I want toask you for something. Pray—you who areCatholics, to Jesus Christ, and the others tothe Supreme Being in whom you be-lieve—pray, all of you, each in your own fash-

ion, for me to be good and faithful!”21

As a farewell gesture he made a profoundoriental-style reverence, bowing from thewaist and placing his hands on his knees.

This was another characteristic of the wayhe always acted: with an indestructible cer-tainty that he had found the truth in thesmall number of matters which are the core

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of the faith. For these questions and no oth-ers, he used the words “I believe.” In mattersleft to opinion, he was always ready to givein, but he would not compromise, as he said,“even out of good manners!”

“I have touched God”

The times he lived in were times of “ad-aptation,” even “barter,” for priests wholacked the courage of their convictions. Fa-cile labels were invented and applied whichpigeon-holed people and destroyed the free-dom of consciences to make a stand on mat-ters of faith or morals. Monsignor Escriváturned them around and showed how void ofreal meaning they were. He did this quitenaturally before massive audiences made upof people he did not know so that he couldnot tell how they might react. As he himselfacknowledged, “You could tell me: ‘Go home,priest!’ “

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Monsignor Escrivá had too much respectfor God to give way to human respect. Hecould not care less whether he was popularor unpopular or having a good or bad press.He told the truth plainly to anyone whowanted to hear it. He proclaimed openly, “Iam a Thomist, a paternalist, and a tri-umphalist. Of course I am! I want to triumphwith Christ on the Cross. People do not wantto triumph, because the glory of Christ wasthe Cross, sufferings, and the worst possibletorments. I love the throne where Christ tri-umphed: the Cross of Calvary…. Now that somany people go around broadcasting theiropinions against St. Thomas Aquinas, I loveand admire him and I’m grateful to him. Iam a Thomist. And when they speak badly ofpaternalism, I get cross. Paternalism canonly upset those who don’t know who theirown father is! I knew and loved my father, asa good son. And we all know that God is ourFather, and we love him…. A providentialist?

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I’m not a miracle-monger; I believe in God’sprovidence. And as I have actually touched itwith my hands, I can truthfully say that Ihardly need faith—and sometimes you canleave out the ‘hardly,’ because I have touched

God.”22

He also spoke out against the oversimpli-fication which split humanity into tradition-alists and progressives in every field. This di-chotomy was both false and deceptive. Thosewho maintained it dictated in advance thedirection which progress, according to them,was obliged to take.

Monsignor Escrivá did not beat about thebush. “ ‘Traditionalists’ are like Egyptianmummies. ‘Progressives’ are like badlybrought up children who smash everythingthey touch. But above all these two words arecriminal: the effect they have is that manypeople don’t dare say what they really think,for fear of being labeled as one or the other

of them.”23

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He went on, “I am neither traditionalistnor progressive, just a priest of God and alover of truth. I possess the freedom of God’schildren, which Christ won for us on theCross. I feel as free as a bird that looks forgood food wherever it can be found. We lovesound doctrine, and we leave people utterlyfree in matters of opinion. So if anyone callsus traditionalists or progressives, it isn’ttrue! We are children of Christ’s Church. Wefeed on sound doctrine, and no one can take

that freedom away from us!”24

Confronting impostors in thepulpit

In the last years of his life, from 1972 to1975, Mon signor Escrivá changed his habits.He had turned seventy. Before he had almostalways kept his preaching for small groups,preferring to do a one-to-one apostolate.Now he set out on marathon tours to teach

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as much sound Christian doctrine as hecould to huge audiences in Europe and SouthAmerica. He spent long, exhausting daystraveling or preaching. But even though hemight be speaking to more than 5,000people in a big theater, the occasion was ma-gically converted into a family gathering.Monsignor Escrivá invited people togetherfor dialogue, and the initiative lay with theaudience. “Ask me questions,” he would say.“I haven’t come here to preach to you! I’mhere to talk about whatever you choose.”

Why did he do all this? Because the teach-ings of the Second Vatican Council had beenbadly explained and poorly assimilated.There were too many closed mouths, toomany geniuses who had lost their brilliance,too many imposters in the pulpits, too manydisused confessionals, too many catechismsgrowing moldy in attics, too many emptyseminaries, too many divided parishes, toomany of the faithful losing their way. Mon

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sign or Escrivá decided to jump defenselessinto the arena and take on the bulls.

“Too aggressive”

He put all he had into the task. He said,firmly and categorically, that Christiandogma and morals remained unaltered, thatthe truths of the faith were what they alwayshad been, the commandments were thesame, the sacraments had not changed, theChurch was the same Church, and God wasthe same as he always had been.

For these events Monsignor Escrivá drewupon all the resources of his “gift of tongues”and his “gift for people,” with expressivenessin words and gestures, light-hearted banterand a seriousness that drove home the doc-trinal message. To whom? A mother fromCaracas, a diplomat from Quito, a kiosk-holder from Rio de Janeiro, a university stu-dent from Bogota, an invalid from Barcelona,

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a gypsy patriarch from the Triana district ofSeville, a businessman from Santiago deChile, an ice cream seller from Maracaibo, apost man from Vallecas in Madrid, an Indianpeasant from Morelos in Mexico, an armyman from Buenos Aires. He dipped hisspoon into the “one same cooking pot” foreach. After each event he did not ask, “Howwas I?” but “Have any of them decided to goto confession?”

A beginner of eighty-three

During one of these get-togethers in Ar-gentina, an eminent scientist was sitting inthe stalls, lost in the crowd. He was eighty-three and notorious for disbelief in religion.While listening to Monsignor Escrivá, he felthis agnosticism crumble away. He lookedaround and found a priest of Opus Deinearby. Quite suddenly, he asked if he couldspeak to him in the confessional. There he

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announced, “I want … I would like to makemy First Communion.”

The priest, not wanting to rush things,said, “Steady on! First of all we have to findout if you are baptized.” It turned out that hewas not. He started preparing for it, includ-ing learning the penny catechism. Soon af-terward, having been reborn by Baptism, hewas going around with the innocence of a be-

ginner.25

At home one day with a few of his sons,Monsignor Escrivá was leafing through abook, Dos meses de catequesis (“Twomonths of catechesis”), which reproducedpart of the preaching he had given. He read abit here and a bit there. Then, looking at theothers and laughing, he said, “All this isGod’s providence, God’s will. It did not hap-pen by chance, nor was it something willedby you or me; Our Lord took the initiative.And I thank him for having given me such

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sound doctrine … and so little embarrass-

ment at explaining it in public!”26

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9

When God Takes a Hand

Which is more important or worth more to aholy man: what he does for God or what Goddoes for him? What the man does for God in-vites us to imitate it; inside the saint there isalways a hero fighting battles, and we feeldrawn to watch the drama. What God doesfor the man belongs to the unfathomablemystery of grace. We admire it, envy it, evenfear it; but we can easily imagine it is notmeant for everyone, but given to some byGod’s free choice. However, this is not true.God gives every single person the favors ofhis grace. Why does he give more to thesaints? Doubtless because they ask more

insistently. Holiness is built up and nour-ished by constantly begging from our Lordand constantly receiving his graces.

A saint?

Saints are misers who fill themselves withGod. And God lets himself be pillaged by hissaints. In the end, sanctity is a matter oftrust: what a person is prepared to let Goddo in him or her. Saints neither love, believe,or hope on their own: they always count onthe Other. Monsignor Escrivá was one ofthose who trusted in God. In October 1950he wrote, “God’s wisdom has been leadingme, as if playing with me, from the darknessof the first ink lings, to the clarity with which

I now see every detail of the Work.”1

“I did not want to checkmate”

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In a letter dated January 1961, he againreferred to this “divine game” in which Godtook the initiative and he let himself be ledwith willing docility. “God led me by thehand quietly, little by little, until his ‘castle’was built. ‘Take that step,’ he seemed to say.‘Now put this here. Take that away from infront and put it over there.’ That’s how ourLord built his Work, with firm strokes andfine outlines, a work both old and new, as theword of Christ is. The divine game I am talk-ing to you about appears very clearly in thehistory of our canonical path within the lifeof the Church. I have not had to calculatethings in advance, as if I were playing chess;among other things, because I have nevertried to work out the other person’s moves soas to be able to check mate him later. What I

have had to do is to let myself be led.”2

For forty years Don Alvaro del Portillo wasa privileged witness of Monsignor Escrivá’slife of prayer: of his efforts, his searching, his

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periods of darkness and drought. Don Alvarowas also a witness to Monsignor Escrivá’sunexpected discoveries, surprise meetings,and the big and small gifts or new lights,with which God rewarded his tenaciousstruggle. Monsignor Escrivá described suchgifts as “being given a fingerful of honey tosuck.” He never forgot them, but savoredthem continuously and passed them on tohis children so that they too could benefitfrom these insights. But he never boasted ofhaving been so favored. “It is only human,and indeed supernatural, to conceal God’s

favors!” he said.3

God speaks quietly

On October 2, 1968 he celebrated the for-tieth anniversary of the founding of Opus Deiat the Pozoalbero Conference Center, nearSeville and was bombarded with questionsby his sons. He explained, “I purposely

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haven’t wanted to tell you about it. I’ve beentrying to avoid it. But I’d be lying if I saidthat our Lord hadn’t given me extra ordinaryfavors. He has always done so when it wasnecessary for the Work. Those happeningsare something I would not wish on anybody,because although they fill the soul withpeace, they are also enormously demanding.But, especially on a day like today, I don’twant to tell you anything about this becauseI want you to understand clearly that ourway lies in ordinary things: sanctifying ourordinary everyday actions, making our daily

prose into heroic verse.”4

“Let me read!”

Often Don Alvaro saw how, after theyshared the morning paper between themover breakfast, Monsignor Escrivá hadhardly begun to read when he became lost inGod. Resting his forehead on the palm of his

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hand, he would put the paper aside and startto pray.

After Monsignor Escrivá’s death, DonAlvaro was putting his writings in order.Reading the Intimate Notes, he was struckby the discovery that this facility for lettinghimself be flooded by God was somethingMonsignor Escrivá had from his youth. Inone notebook this short note appears: “Pray-er: even though I don’t give it to you, youmake me feel prayer at the wrong time, andsometimes, reading the newspaper, I have

had to say to you: ‘Let me read!’ “5

I heard the word “gloriae”

At times it was as though there were animperious knocking in his heart. MonsignorEscrivá was having a few days’ break withDon Alvaro and Father Javier Echevarria inCaglio, a small town in the north of Italy. OnAugust 23, 1971, while having breakfast after

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Mass, Monsignor Escrivá was again readingthe news paper when he was deeply struck byan inner locution from God in these exactwords: Adeamus cum fiducia ad thronumgloriae ut misericordiam consequamur!—“Let us go therefore with confidence to thethrone of glory: that we may obtain mercy.”Immediately Monsignor Escrivá told DonAlvaro and Father Echevarria what hadhappened. He pointed out that the phrase hehad “heard” was not identical to the one inthe Epistle to the Hebrews (4:16). The scrip-tural text says ad thronum gratiae, to thethrone of grace, but what Mon signor Escriváheard was ad thronum gloriae. His eyesshining with joy, he explained that thronumgloriae should be taken as referring to OurLady, the Throne of God, in the same sensein which she is called Sedes Sapientiae, Seat

of Wisdom.6

Theologians and market stalls

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From 1965 on Monsignor Escrivá prayed,and got everyone in the Work to pray, forChrist’s Church, which was being shaken bythe postconciliar agitation of those whocalled themselves progressives but who werein fact old-fashioned and regressive. Theolo-gians, liturgists, and moralists were bringingout centuries-old errors and heresies. Theonly novelty was that in the pulpit or at thealtar they sported ties or sweaters instead ofcassocks.

Monsignor Escrivá offered his life “for anend to the time of trial” in the Church andasked his children, “Join with me in theMass, in your prayer, and throughout theday. I am constantly centered on God: I am

more outside the earth than on it.”7

On May 8, 1970 he heard another clear in-ternal locution: Si Deus nobiscum, quis con-tra nos?—“If God is with us, who is againstus?” (Romans 8:31). He traveled to Mexicothat same month to pray and do penance at

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the shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Hewent to the shrine on nine successive daysand spent hours kneeling in front of the pic-ture of Our Lady, urging her, “Show us you

are a mother” and “you can’t fail to hear us!”8

Prior to this, he had been to many of the ma-jor shrines of Our Lady in Western Europe,praying for the Church and the Work:Lourdes and Notre Dame in France, Son-soles, Our Lady of the Pillar, and Our Lady ofRansom in Spain, Fatima in Portugal, Loretoand St. Mary Major in Italy, Einsiedeln inSwitzerland, and Maria Pötsch in Austria.

August 6 of the same year brought an in-vitation to beg relentlessly until he got whathe was asking for: clama, ne cesses!—“cryaloud, spare not!” (Isaiah 58:1). Keep onpraying, he understood it to mean; turn yourlife into a clamor of prayer. MonsignorEscrivá transmitted God’s wish to his chil-dren numbering thousands upon thousandsall over the world.

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“I love you more than these”

From his early days Monsignor Escriváhad taken the path of prayer that involvedlistening with the heart. He felt an affection-ate inner reproach on February 16, 1932.Distributing Communion to some nuns inthe church of St. Elizabeth in Madrid he hadbeen saying mentally, “I love you more thanthis one … or this one … or this one….” Thenhe “heard” the words, “Love means deeds,

not sweet words.”9 Forty years later, talkingto his spiritual daughters in Rome, he toldthe story in the third person: “I know a poorpriest who was once giving Communion tosome enclosed nuns….” At the end he stated,

“I can vouch for the truth of this case.”10

The 1930s were difficult for young FatherEscrivá, urged on by God to be a founderwithout material means and surrounded bymisunderstanding and loneliness. A verysmall number of people understood him.

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Others liked the ideal, but when the timecame to put their shoulder to the wheel theybacked off, disappearing without sayinggood-bye.

Father Escrivá also came up againstbelligerent anti-clericalism, normal in theSpain of those years. He felt dismayed andpowerless. He had neither strength nor re-sources nor a “middle way” he could take,and the whole Work was still to be accom-plished. Once again, however, God was goingto take a hand.

The young priest was on a streetcar inMadrid in 1931. Suddenly he experiencedwith extraordinary force the categorical cer-tainty of being a child of God. He had neverfelt it like that before. The words were frag-ments from Psalm 2, “Thou art my Son, thisday I have begotten thee…. You are myChrist.” He found that he had gotten off thestreetcar and was wandering through thestreets, as if delirious, drunk with joy,

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repeating another word the Holy Spirit hadpoured into his heart, the affectionate nameJewish children used for their father: Abba,abba! “Dad, Daddy!”

From that moment on, divine sonship wasstamped on the spirituality of Opus Dei like agenetic pattern determining an attitude oftrust, unselfishness, security, and joy, plus acertain legitimate pride.

From his apostolate during those monthsand years came an experience noted in TheWay. “ ‘Father,’ said that big fellow, a goodstudent at the Central University (I wonderwhat has become of him?), ‘I was thinking ofwhat you told me—that I’m a son of God!—and I found myself walking along the street,head up, chin out, and a proud feeling inside… a son of God!’ With a sure conscience I ad-

vised him to encourage that ‘pride.’ “11

On August 7, 1931, while celebrating Mass,Father Escrivá heard God speaking wordsthat defined another major feature of the

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Work: to put Christ in triumph at the sum-mit of all human activities. This time thelocution was a fragment from the Gospel ofSt. John: Et ego, si exaltatus fuero a terra,omnia traham ad meipsum. “And I, if I amlifted up from the earth, will draw all things

to myself.”12 He understood that “it will bemen and women of God who will set theCross, with the teachings of Christ, at the

summit of all human activity.”13

In his Intimate Notes that day, after nar-rating what had happened, he wrotesomething that sheds light on his personalreaction to this type of spiritual experience.“Normally, in the presence of supernaturalevents, I am afraid. Afterwards comes the Netimeas! (Luke 1:30) ‘Do not be afraid: it is I.’

“14

At this time he was vigorously pursuing apersonal apostolate in the districts of Madridwhere pain and poverty were most abundant,looking after those suffering from infectious

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and incurable diseases, the destitute, chil-dren with runny noses, confirmed homeless.

He covered the whole city, walking fromone end to the other in old, worn-out shoesthat had been used when he acquired them.He fasted and mortified himself. He spentnights in vigil. He lived a life of utter dedica-tion and gave himself to prayer whether hefelt like it or not. All this was what the mangave. And God repaid him by giving himself.

Here is another passage from his personaldiary of 1931: “Yesterday afternoon at three Iwent to the chancel of the Church of St. El-izabeth to do a little prayer in front of theBlessed Sacrament. I had no desire at all topray. But I stayed there like a puppet. Attimes, I would come to my senses and think,‘You can see, my good Jesus, that if I amhere, it is for you, to please you.’ I couldn’tmanage anything else. My imagination wasoff on its own, far from my body or will; justas a faithful dog, dozing at his master’s feet,

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dreams about racing and hunting and friends(other dogs like himself), and gets excitedand barks in his sleep, but never leaves hismaster. There I was, just like a little dog,when I realized I was repeating some Latinwords, without meaning to; words I had nev-er noticed and had no reason to keep in mymemory. Even now, to recall them, I willneed to read them from the piece of paper Ialways carry in my pocket to write downwhat God wants. (Instinctively, out of habit,I wrote the phrase down on this piece of pa-per, right there in the chancel, without givingit another thought). The words of Scripturethat I found on my lips were et fui tecum inomnibus ubicumque ambulasti, firmansregnum tuum in aeternum—‘I have beenwith you wherever you went, confirmingyour reign forever.’ I applied my mind to themeaning of the phrase, repeating it slowly.Then, later, yesterday afternoon, and againtoday, when I re-read those words I

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understood clearly that Jesus Christ wantedme to comprehend, for our consolation, thatthe Work of God will be with Him every-where, affirming Christ’s Kingdom

forever.”15

When the clocks explode

The phrase “You are my Son, you are myChrist” overwhelmed him with joy in 1931.Monsignor Escrivá was still discovering newdepths when he went over the same words in1963. He explained, “All I could answer was‘Abba Pater! Abba, Pater! Abba! Abba!Abba!’ And now I see it all in a new light, likea new discovery, as with the passage of theyears one sees the hand of God, divine Wis-dom, divine power. You, Lord, have helpedme understand that having the Cross meansfinding happiness and joy. And the reason,which I now see more clearly than ever, isthis: having the Cross means being identified

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with Christ, being Christ, and therefore be-

ing a son or daughter of God.”16

“London is just too much”

In August 1958—the second week, mostlikely—Monsignor Escrivá was strolling inLondon. He felt overwhelmed by that cosmo-politan crossroads of the world— buildingsladen with history, incessant traffic, peopleof all races and languages hurrying throughthe streets, not looking at each other,wrapped in their own selfish worlds. He wasamazed and disconcerted. No trace of Godanywhere, everything waiting to be done. Hefelt discouragement and turn ed to God inthe depth of his heart. “This has slippedthrough your hands. London is just toomuch. I can’t, Lord, I can’t!”

“You can’t,” came the response, “but Ican.”

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Back in Rome, still deeply moved and im-pressed, Mon signor Escrivá related whathad happened. “Just over a month ago I wasin a country I love very much. Sects and her-esies are common there, and there is greatreligious indifference. As I viewed the wholepanorama I suddenly felt disconcerted, incompetent, and powerless. ‘Josemaría,’ Ithought, ‘you can’t do anything here.’ Thatwas quite true, because without God Icouldn’t even pluck a blade of grass from theground. My whole miserable weakness wasso obvious that I almost grew sad—and thatis a bad thing. Why should a son of God besad? He can be weary, because he is pulling acart like a faithful donkey. But sad? Never!Sadness is evil. Suddenly, in the middle ofthe street, where people from all corners ofthe world were crossing paths, I felt withinme, in the depth of my heart, the strength ofGod’s power. I felt him reassuring me: ‘Youcan do nothing, but I can do everything. You

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are weakness, but I am almighty. I shall bewith you, and that will have an effect. Weshall lead souls to happiness, to unity, to theway of salvation. Here, too, we shall sow

peace and happiness in abundance!’”17

“I was dead”

Another example of God’s extraordinaryintervention occurred in Rome on April 27,1954. Mon signor Escrivá, who was sufferingfrom diabetes, went into an anaphylacticshock caused by slow-acting insulin, and wasclinically dead for fifteen minutes. DonAlvaro gave him absolution in articulo mor-tis. Monsignor Escrivá was lying uncon-scious, sprawled across the table in the din-ing room of Villa Vecchia, as rigid as acorpse. First red, then purple, his face nowtook on a muddy bluish tinge; his wholebody seemed to shrink. He said later that hiswhole life flashed before him in an instant,

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he saw the interplay between his human clayand divine grace, and realized he had died. “Iwas dead,” he declared simply, when he re-ferred to this strange occurrence some timelater. The most surprising and scientificallyinexplicable thing was not that he survivedsuch a serious shock without brain damage,though that was surprising enough, but thathe emerged from this near-fatal episodecompletely cured of diabetes.

It was a certified medical fact, diagnosedand treated, that Monsignor Escrivá had haddiabetes since 1944. As yet there was no curefor diabetes. It is also a fact, documented,and verified by several specialists—amongthem Dr. Carlo Faelli, who had MonsignorEscrivá down as his most seriously ill pa-tient—that on a specific day at a specific timethe diabetes disappeared suddenly andpermanently.

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From then on Monsignor Escrivá wouldsay that he felt liberated, “as if he had comeout of jail,” but above all he felt indebted.

Two months later, on June 27, talking withhis daughters at the Los Rosales ConferenceCenter in Spain, he assured them, “The his-tory of the Work ought to be written kneelingdown, because it is the history of God’s mer-

cies.”18

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10

Faith with Blood in Its Veins

Life and prayer were never inconflict

In trying to discover what MonsignorEscrivá’s interior life was like, we must treadwith cautious, respectful steps. From anearly age until his last hour, he lived accord-ing to his prayer, and prayed according to hislife. He did both intensely. For him, prayerwas not a thing apart, separated from theworking day. It was the breath of life, thedriving force, of all his actions. His was a

contemplatively active way of being in theworld.

Dreaming while he prayed andprayingwhile he dreamed

He managed to charge every instant withprayer, even in his sleep. Waking during thenight he realized that he had been praying inhis sleep, a special grace.

Monsignor Escrivá was totally natural inthe way he worked, ate, thought, studied,went for walks, laughed, and sang, while al-ways conscious of living in God’s presence.One day in April 1971, trying without successto strike a match to light a candle in front ofthe stained glass window in the Galleria dellaMadonna, his instinctive reaction at the thirdattempt was to say, “This is just like us, whenwe resist grace, when we find it hard to giveof ourselves, and we have to say Ure igne

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Sancti Spiritus—burn us, Lord with the fireof the Holy Spirit. It only takes a little bit of

good will, and it works!”1

From cognac to the Trinity

Once he saw a bottle of Spanish brandy,and noting the name “103” on the label, said,“These numbers can be used as a reminder,to help us be united to the Holy Trinity. OneGod; three Persons in God; and I myself am

the zero.”2

At the beginning of the news on television,when a logo of the globe appeared, he usedto pray to Our Lady, Regina Pacis, Queen ofPeace, for peace in the world.

On one occasion some of his daughterssang a Mexican song to a guitar accompani-ment: “I don’t know what my life is worth,but here I come to give it to you …”Monsignor Escrivá listened, enjoying it, andmurmured, “I do know what my life is

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worth—all the blood of Christ!” Aloud, hesaid, “Carry on. Carry on singing, my daugh-ters: you have given me a topic for my prayer

this afternoon.”3

A snake at Gagliano Aterno

This continuous consciousness of God’spresence did not send him into ecstasies orisolate him. It brought him closer to otherpeople.

During the summer of 1967 he spent threeweeks with Don Alvaro and Father JavierEchevarria in a big old house in GaglianoAterno, in Abruzzi, resting by having achange of work and scenery. On the last day,when they were ready to leave, Father Eche-varria took a last look around the room theyhad been working in to make sure they hadnot left anything behind. As he was leavingthe room, he saw a snake. He took a shovelfrom the old fireplace, struck it a crushing

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blow on the head, and left it on the floor,dead. He walked to the car where MonsignorEscrivá and Don Alvaro were waiting, andsaid proudly, “I’ve just killed a viper,heroically!”

“Are you sure you killed it?”“Certain, Father! I gave it a heavy blow

which left it completely lifeless. It wasn’t dif-ficult, because the snake was slithering onthe tiled floor and couldn’t get out of theway.”

Monsignor Escrivá immediately thoughtabout his spiritual daughters, who were stay-ing behind in Gagliano Aterno, tidying upand closing the house.

“Have you warned your sisters?”“No, Father.”“Well, could you warn them, please?

Otherwise, can you imagine the fright they’llget if they go in and find the creature on thefloor! And tell them to be careful in casethere’s another—don’t forget how many

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scorpions we’ve killed inside the house these

past few weeks.”4

God the spectator, God theguest

He used to speak about the “right kind ofdivinization.” Whether experienced gently orforcefully, the driving pass ion of his life wasthe living experience of God. For MonsignorEscrivá, God was so near, so accessible, sointimate that he was both his spectator andhis guest.

God was his spectator. Monsignor Escriváoften used to talk about people who may befeeling tired, arid, and cold, and must pray asif acting a farce. “A farce? What an excellentthing, my child! Act out that farce! The Lordis your audience. The Blessed Trinity is con-templating us in those moments when we are‘acting out a farce.’ To be God’s juggler! How

marvelous it is to play one’s part for love!”5

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Monsignor Escrivá felt he was not merelyseen and heard, but paid attention to andhelped. He went about with a carefree heart,knowing he was watched over lovingly by hisGod.

God was also the guest of his soul.Monsignor Escrivá’s inner life had somestages of dark night, interior loneliness, orspiritual dryness. But those who lived withhim realized that he was always involved inconversation with the guest of his soul ingrace, and this conversation came naturallyto him. He believed and lived in the reality ofthe indwelling of the Blessed Trinity.

His powerful allies

There was also the company provided bythe Communion of Saints. He had a livelyfriendship with the angels and saints. Amongthe saints he found his most effective patrons

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and intercessors, and among the angels andarchangels his most powerful allies.

When Monsignor Escrivá spoke about St.Joseph, the apostles St. Peter, St. Paul, andSt. John, St. Nicholas of Bari, St. ThomasMore, St. Pius X, St. Catherine of Siena, theCuré of Ars, or the Archangels Raphael, Gab-riel, and Michael, he spoke as a friend oftheirs. He had a special, personal relation-ship with every single one of them. He knewtheir particular strengths, what sort of thingsto pray to each of them for, what favors hecould ask of them.

He did not remember them only in emer-gencies, but always admired St. Jean-MarieVianney’s priestly zeal, St. Catherine of Si-ena’s ardent love for the Church, St. ThomasMore’s heroic courage. When he passed by,he stopped to visit Ars, Siena, and Canter-bury. Once, in Coimbra, he went to the tombof St. Elizabeth, Infanta of Aragon andQueen of Portugal, to pay his respects.

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Tapping on her tomb, he said bluntly: “Hey!Aragonese lady, I’m from your part of theworld. Let’s see how you treat your fellow

countrymen!”6

St. Pius X’s nephews and nieces presentedhim with articles from the saint’s wardrobeas well as some pieces of furniture. Amongthem was a simple kneeler, which MonsignorEscrivá used, and a skull cap. When he re-ceived the skull cap on January 6, 1971, hekissed it and put it on his head for a fewseconds.

“Just putting it on inspires me,” he said,“and I ask St. Pius X to give me fortitude: the

fortitude of a rock, because I need it.”7

“That’s how my angel used towake me”

He had a very special relationship withthe guardian angels. He asked his own angelfor endless favors, from helping him to find a

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paper he had mislaid, to waking him in themorning. For years he used to call him “mywatch-mender,” since he did not have a reli-able watch but relied on his angel to wakehim on time. One day in Rome, he was read-ing in the Acts of the Apostles the scenewhere Peter is in jail and his angel appears tohim and wakes him by striking him on theside. Later, Monsignor Escrivá remarked toDon Alvaro and Father Echevarria, “Just likethat—with a good prod in the side—that’show my guardian angel used to wake me inthe morning, when it was time to get up.”

He would often say to one of his daugh-ters, “I saw you in the distance, when youwere out yesterday, and I prayed for you toyour guardian angel, as I always do when Isee one of you.”

One day in Villa Tevere he had a visit fromthe retired Archbishop of Valencia, Mar-celino Olaechea, accompanied by a canon,his secretary. They had been good friends for

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a long time and greeted each other warmly.Monsignor Escrivá inquired playfully, “Mar-celino, see if you can guess—whom did Igreet first?”

“First? That would be me, I’m sure.”“No, I greeted the dignitary first.”“Come on, Josemaría, explain yourself.”“When a dignitary comes accompanied by

someone else, you have to greet the dignitaryfirst, right?”

“And today I’ve come with my secretary.”“No. You’ve come with your guardian an-

gel. He’s the dignitary! For a long time,maybe forty years, I haven’t greeted anyonewithout greeting their angel first. It helps me

so much to live in God’s presence!”8

“Training” in God’s affairs

Monsignor Escrivá’s interior life was nota catalog of devotions or a collection of piouspractices. There was nothing pietistic about

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him. The boldness of his spiritual life con-sisted of ‘getting inside’ the scenes of theGospel to take part in them like someone atthe scene, ‘getting inside’ the mysteries of theRosary like a daring child, ‘getting inside’ thewounds of Christ crucified—in short, ‘gettinginside’ a relationship of love with the threeDivine Persons. In time, he discovered ashort cut to the Trinity—a personal, familyrelationship with the ‘trinity on earth,’ as hecalled it, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“I feel very much at ease with the ‘trinityon earth.’ Sometimes I get upset with myselfand say, ‘Josemaría, you have a formula youdon’t know how to use. You go from the ‘trin-ity on earth’ to the Trinity in heaven withyour lips alone. Why don’t you go with yourheart, all day long, and make yourself a heav-en on earth, in the midst of so many dis-

agreeable things?’ “9

The self-reproach was unjustified. He keptGod company continuously in his heart and

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mind. Mercedes Morado recalled workingwith him one morning in a conference roomwhen suddenly, between one item of busi-ness and another, the Father remarked, “Mydaughters, during the time I’ve been herewith you I’ve turned to our Lord lots of timesin my heart, to ask him for grace, light,help…and also to say sorry. I do it out ofhabit. I would like to keep our Lord companyphysically by spending more time in theoratory. But I can’t stay there as long as I’dlike to, because I have to work. However,from Don Alvaro’s room, where I mostlywork, I go to the tabernacle again and againin my imagination, and there I greet our

Lord and keep him company in spirit.”10

At “go again and again,” he touched hisforehead with his index finger and traced aline in the air as if showing the path his mindtook.

Marlies Kücking heard him say somethingsimilar during another working session of

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the governing body of the Work in the sameconference room. “Right now I am not alonehere with Don Javier and you. I’m praying.I’m in God’s presence. And that is no greateffort for me: it is like a heartbeat. But in thesame way as when the heart stops, death oc-curs, if I were to lose this contemplative vis-ion for a minute, I would collapse. Therefore,although there are sometimes reasons forlosing my calm, I never do so for more than

two minutes; it comes back in a jiffy!”11

Although Monsignor Escrivá was a tre-mendously active man, this habitual state ofprayer became second nature to him. It wasnot a matter of unsought lights or fits of fer-vor. He worked at keeping up a continuousinner dialogue with God, using simple vocalprayers, aspirations, verses from the psalms,spiritual communions, and acts of love.Every day he adopted one as a “password”that he repeated mentally while working andaround the house. Often, encountering

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someone, he would stop for a moment andmurmur, “My son, how many spiritual com-munions have you made today?” or, “Howmany aspirations have you said to our Lordso far? I’ve said thousands!”

Normally he did not wait for an answer.The question was enough. And he asked itearly, at the start of the day.

Over the abyss, in Verona

He lived in God’s atmosphere. As a result,he did not lose his calm even in tense situ-ations or times of danger. On February 4,1963, at the time of the Vatican Council, heand Father Echevarria were traveling toVenice with Don Alvaro, who had matters todiscuss with Cardinal Urbani, the Patriarchof Venice. The road had patches of black ice,but Javier Cotelo, an architect, who was driv-ing, had not realized the danger. Just pastRovigo, four kilometers from Monselicer, the

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car suddenly started to slip backwards. Therewas no way to stop it; it was an old car, andthe tires had lost their grip on the road sur-face. After sliding back a long way, it spunaround several times and skidded at highspeed until it crashed into the stone barrier,at the edge of a precipice. There it hung, halfon the road and half in thin air.

Don Alvaro, sitting in the back besideMonsignor Escrivá, saw that he was verycalm, showing no sign of fear or anxiety.From the first moment he had begun sayingaspirations and making acts of contritionand love. “I saw him so absorbed in God,with such peaceful trust, that I did the same

as him: prayed intensely,”12 he saidafterward.

Squeezing God’s hand

Monsignor Escrivá’s piety was not mech-anical. Not satisfied with formulas and

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clichés, he made the words of prayers hisown, personalized them, and unearthed newdepths of meanings in them. He never tiredof meditating on texts of the Bible, some-times retranslating them in a living way.

“Ut iumentum factus sum apud te, I’m likea little donkey before you, et ego sempertecum, but you are always with me. That’sthe presence of God. Tenuisti manum dex-teram meam. I usually say to him, ‘you’vetaken me by the halter,’ et in voluntate tuadeduxisti me, and you’ve made me fulfillyour will; that is to say, you’ve made mefaithful to my vocation. Et cum gloria sus-cepisti me, and afterwards you’ll give me a

great big hug.”13

Other times it was the words of Isaiah, “Ihave redeemed you and called you by your

name: you are mine,”14 which he said “tastedof honey and honeycomb.” He never readScripture as if reading words from remote

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times. He saw here a summons by God in thepresent, whispered in the ear of the soul.

One day he was in the dining room in VillaVecchia, talking about some aspects of in-stallation and decoration with two of hisdaughters, Helena Serrano and MontseAmat. There was a lamp on the table with alampshade of parchment, originally a page inan old choirbook. He started to turn thelamp around slowly, trying to decipher theLatin. Suddenly his face lit up.

“What a lovely thing! Shall I read it to you?‘Jesus, wonderful music to the ear thatlistens to you, sweetest honey on the lips thatname you, delight of the heart that loves

you.’ What a great truth that is!”15

Monsignor Escrivá’s radicalism

He called these “reverse distractions,”16

meaning these homely things should lead usto remember God even more. But this was

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spiritual escapism. “Materialize the spirituallife,” he used to say. “There is somethingholy, something divine hidden in the mostordinary situations, and it is up to each one

of you to discover it.”17

One day in the royal hall, yousmiled at me

He was moved when a daughter of his,Teresa Tourne, an opera singer, told himhow she had vividly experienced God’s pres-ence on stage while playing a slave in Puc-cini’s Turandot and singing perchè un dìnella reggia mi hai sorriso (“because oneday in the royal hall, you smiled at me”). Shedid not lose the thread of what she was do-ing; her singing was inspired by a highersensitivity and emotion.

Faith with blood in its veins

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Monsignor Escrivá’s inner life had love atits heart. He was moved when shown apainted terracotta figure of the Baby Jesusmade by Palmira Laguens, a sculptor and adaughter of his. Chus de Meer, Paquita Med-ina, Cuqui Quiroga, and Mercedes Morado,among others, were in the sitting room of LaMontagnola on Christmas Day 1969, and sawMonsignor Escrivá come to the crèche, lookat the Baby, smile, pick it up, and lift it highin the air as if playing with a real child. Hemade a fuss of it and kissed it, saying tenderwords. “Beauty! My darling! My Baby! I’m

going to keep him!”18

Where did they chuck you outfrom?

He did not hide his emotion the day theyshowed him a beautiful statue of Our Ladydiscarded by a Swiss church and picked up atan auction. It was a fine carving, life size, in

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gilded wood, but in need of restoration. Ithad been temporarily placed in a lectureroom in Villa Tevere. Monsignor Escriváwished to see the statue at once “to welcomeher.” While still at a distance, he was alreadybreaking into compliments and praises: “MyMother … our Mother! What have they doneto you! You are so beautiful!” Coming closer,he looked at the statue’s face. He kissed itshands, and continued to talk to Our Lady.

“Maybe you were in a cathedral or in a bigchurch and thousands of souls used to ap-peal to you in prayer. I have come to wel-come you. Welcome to our house, my Moth-er, our Mother! You’ll be treated very wellhere. We’ll try and make up for what peoplehave done to you. My Mother, you know youare Queen of Opus Dei. Yes, you are ourMother, our Queen, our passion, and you

know that already!”19

From then on there were always freshflowers at the foot of that particular statue.

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The pulse of petition

Monsignor Escrivá did not want his chil-dren to copy him. He told them time andagain that the only model, the prototype, wasJesus Christ. But he made one exception. “Ifthere is one thing I want you to imitate inme, it is my love for Our Lady.” He loved anypicture or statue of Mary. In 1924, four yearsbefore the foundation of Opus Dei, at a timeof great need, he was wandering uncertainly,feeling God was asking him to do somethingbut not knowing what. One of his most fer-vent prayers was carved with a nail on thebase of a column of a tiny statue of Our Ladyof the Pillar; a cheap, massproduced plasterfigure. Thirty -six years later, in 1960,through Pily Albas, a relative of his on hismother’s side, this statue was located in Sar-agossa. When Encarnita Ortega and Mer-cedes Morado showed it to him in Villa

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Vecchia, Monsignor Escrivá did not recog-nize it. “What an ugly little statue!” he said.

“It used to be yours, Father,” they toldhim.

“Mine? It can’t be! I don’t remember everhaving bought a statue like that.”

“Yes, look at it. You wrote something onit.” Mercedes turned the little statue upsidedown. The carved words were in his unmis-takeable writing: “Domina, ut sit! 24/5/1924.”

This had been his urgent prayer at thattime. He used to address Jesus Christ in thewords of blind Bartimeus: “Lord, that I maysee! Domine, ut videam!” He prayed in asimilar vein to Our Lady, “Lady, may it be!Domina, ut sit!” The date, May 24, 1924,made that cheap plaster statue evidence ofhow Opus Dei had ‘happened’ to FatherEscrivá, who had been praying since 1918that something he did not know would come

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to be. “Let it be! What has to be, let it be!” Itwas a prayer made with his eyes closed.

He contemplated the statue in silence;then, turning to Don Alvaro, said to him,“That it should turn up now is like a caressfrom God—an other testimony, a patent

proof of my prayer for many years.”20

Monsignor Escrivá always stated emphat-ically that “Our Lady has been our great pro-tector, our refuge, from that October 2, 1928,

and even before then.”21 “Like Jesus, we havealways kept close to his Mother, Mary, theMother of God, who has been the Mother ofOpus Dei, the Queen of Opus Dei, our

beauty….”22

He was stating historical fact when hesaid, “Our Opus Dei was born and has de-veloped under Our Lady’s mantle. She hasbeen a good Mother to us, consoling us, smil-ing at us and encouraging us in all the tryingmoments of our blessed struggle to bring

forth this army of apostles in the world.”23

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The seal of the Work is a cross within acircle that symbolizes the world. It is usuallyrepresented with a rose in relief underneath.This is the rose of Rialp—an old, excitingstory, told elsewhere, which showed OurLady’s care for Opus Dei.

The camera never lies

Helena Serrano, an expert photographerwho lived in Villa Tevere for more thantwenty years, took many photographs ofMonsignor Escrivá. He rarely posed and onlygave in when Don Alvaro suggest ed. Oftenhe would say to Helena, “My daughter, don’ttake more photos of me—pray for me.” Or,“Go on, Helena, be good! Take photos ofyour sisters and leave me alone!”

For years at Mass he allowed pictures to betaken only before the consecration or aftercommunion, but “Never while our Lord is onthe altar.” But starting in 1967, when under

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the pretext of liturgical change the Eucharistwas being treated without proper respect inmany places, he decided that pictures couldbe also taken at the elevation of the Host orof the chalice, or when the celebrant genu-flected or kissed the altar. This was to under-line and honor the presence of the Body andBlood of Christ. The pictures were taken toillustrate the internal publications of OpusDei, Noticias and Cronica. Even so,Monsignor Escrivá did not enjoy the pres-ence of the camera or the flash, which coulddistract from the concentration with whichhe tried to ‘live’ his Mass.

On the feast of Corpus Christi in 1968 hecelebrated Mass in the Pentecost Oratory inVilla Tevere. Ana Lorente and Helena Ser-rano took a series of pictures, then camenearer the altar to get some close-ups.Monsignor Escrivá whispered earnestly toFather Echevarria, who was serving theMass, “Not so close! It would be better if they

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went away. It’s one thing to take photos, andquite another to distract me during the Mass.By no means!”

On another occasion, January 6, 1972, thefeast of the Epiphany, Helena wanted to cap-ture the moment when he stopped to kiss alittle image of Our Lady of Loreto on thelanding in La Montagnola. MonsignorEscrivá normally did this whenever he cameto spend time there with his daughters.When he saw her with her camera, he asked,“Helena, what are you doing here?”

“I’d like to take a picture of you kissingOur Lady,” she replied.

“And so you want me to be a hypocrite,acting out a kiss, so you can take a picture?”

He hesitated, then went on, “I’m not goingto be a hypocrite, because I’m going to giveher a real kiss!”

Helena Serrano wrote, “We have loads ofphotos of the Father: celebrating Mass, say-ing the Angelus or the Rosary, kissing the

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wooden cross or an image of Our Lady, giv-ing Benediction or making a genuflectionwhen passing in front of the Tabernacle. Heis not distracted in a single one of them! Thecold, mechanical, inexorable camera doesnot forgive wrinkles, sneers, or ungraceful,disappointed, inattentive expressions, or badposture, or being overweight. Even if therewere no other witnesses, you would onlyhave to go to the photograph archives to seethe Father’s piety in his face. The camera

‘saw’ it, and the camera never lies.”24

Living continuously in God’s presence wasnot something he improvised. He had a dailyplan, doing things at fixed times and not de-pending on any inclination or reluctance. Heobserved the norms of Opus Dei spreadthrough the day. He had the same daily planas any son or daughter of his in the Work,from the serviam, “I will serve,” said kissingthe floor on getting up in the morning to the

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last thought at night, always dedicated toGod.

His norms included two half-hours ofmental prayer, Mass, thanksgiving afterCommunion, reading of the Gospel and somespiritual book, the Rosary, the Angelus orRegina Coeli at midday, a visit to the BlessedSacrament, reciting the Preces or Prayers ofthe Work, and an intense examination of conscience, focused more on building strengthfor the struggle than on self-criticism. All ofthis was accompanied by acts of love, spiritu-al communions, acts of thanksgiving, shortincisive aspirations, acts of atonement, andfrequent consideration of the reality of beinga child of God. Monsignor Escrivá added tothese norms the reading of the breviary as apriest, and, as president general of Opus Dei,the penitential psalm Miserere, recited pros-trate on the floor before going to bed. In bed,before falling asleep, he turned to God in anunconditional act of acceptance of death:

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“Lord, whenever you want it, as you want it,

and wherever you want it.”25

There was a different perspective everyday. Monday was specially dedicated to theHoly Souls in purgatory. On Tuesday, theguardian angels. On Wednesdays, St.Joseph, patron of the universal Church, pat-ron of the Work, and teacher of the relation-ship with God. On Thursdays, the Eucharist.Fridays meant an intimate search for Jesusin his Passion and death. Saturdays meantdevotion to Our Lady the Virgin. Sundayswere a golden feast day in honor of theBlessed Trinity: the Lord’s Day was God’s re-creation, God’s glory, God’s rest.

Having pondered and thought it throughin prayer, Monsignor Escrivá, as founder ofOpus Dei, dared to say he guaranteed eternalhappiness to whoever fulfilled these normsof piety every day. “That son or daughter ofmine has their perseverance assured: I guar-antee heaven for them.” This was not dull

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routine. He lived by these norms and showedhow to live by them as joyful “meetings withGod our Lord.”

One day he was talking with two of hisdaughters, Colombian and German. Speak-ing of the norms, he explained they shouldbe “like a firm handshake.” To give weight tohis words, he shook hands with the priestwho was with him. “I can greet him like this,correctly, coldly, out of pure formality, be-cause it is the done thing … or I can greethim like this—warmly, affectionately,

strongly, with all my heart!”26

“The street is our cell”

This inner life allowed him to experiencethe divine everywhere: the dentist’s waitingroom, traveling around the city on publictransport, enjoying a get-together. He some-times said in Italian, nel bel mezzo dellastrada—in the middle of the street. “The

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street is our cell.” One day in 1960, when thealterations in Villa Tevere were finished, Sal-vador Suanzes, nicknamed Pile, asked,“Father, which of the oratories in this housedo you like best?”

“The street!”Pile looked astonished. Monsignor Escrivá

smiled. “I love all the oratories in this house.But I prefer the street. ‘Our cell is the street’is not just a nice phrase. And you, Pile, myson, and so many sons and daughters ofmine, will often have to make your prayer inthe street. And it can be done really wellthere too! Although, whenever we can, we doit in a church or in an oratory, before ourLord who is really present in the taber-

nacle.”27

A balcony overlooking theinfinite

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In real unity of life, work and prayer forma working synergy. This could be seen fromMonsignor Escrivá’s office in Villa Vecchia.

The headquarters of this dynamic mobiliz-ation of sanctity and apostolate was a small,narrow room, barely three meters square,with an arched ceiling; light came from alittle window on an inner courtyard. Onedoor had an inscription on the lintel: “Ohhow little is the here and now; Oh how vast iseternity.” The walls were covered with well-thumbed books. There was a crucifix, somedrawings of donkeys, and photographs of sixof the first people in Opus Dei: Alvaro delPortillo, Jose María Hernandez de Garnica,José Luis Muzquiz, Pedro Casciaro, RicardoFernandez-Vallespin, and Francisco Botella.Other decorations were some fishing tackle,a miner’s lamp, and a green glass insulatorfrom a telegraph pole, to remind MonsignorEscrivá that he should always be the trans-mitter of a message. There was also a

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memento of the Spanish Civil War: the iden-tity disc of a soldier, “E 333171.” It hung onan old piece of string with ten small, tightknots, enough to count the Hail Marys whilesaying the Rosary in the trenches or in com-bat. There was no filing cabinet, tape record-er, or typewriter.

But this tiny workroom had an outlet. Tothe left of the table was a panelled door thatlooked like a built-in cupboard but thatopened into a kind of small balcony over-looking an oratory. The tiny balcony had justenough room for a kneeler and one chair.Straight ahead and below was a beautiful al-tar dedicated to the Blessed Trinity. Herewas where Monsignor Escrivá got theapostolic energy demanded of him every day.He did not separate prayer and work.

Monsignor Escrivá was totally consistent,fully a priest of Jesus Christ. He felt he was aman chosen to do what many others couldnot do, no matter how wise, powerful, or

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wealthy they were: celebrate Mass. His lifewas centered on the Mass. It was the essenceof his existence. He divided the twenty-fourhours of the day: half to prepare for theMass, the other half to give thanks for it.

He was ever more demanding to discover“any small speck of sin which could have of-fended you, my God.” He would ask DonAlvaro to hear his confession once, twice, oreven several times in a week. This was tokeep his spiritual faculties and bodily sensesin perfect order. He sought to be Christ him-self, ipse Christus, as worthily as he possiblycould when celebrating Mass.

One evening, at the end of a get-togetherwith his sons, Monsignor Escrivá rose andthe time of silence, the “night period,” began.One of them, Emilio Muñoz, wishing to keepthe Father with them a little longer, objectedamicably. Already on his way out, MonsignorEscrivá said, “My son, how little you knowme—or how little you love me! Don’t you

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realize that at this time of night I am dying to

be alone with my Lord, my God?”28

If he did not have to travel or go out,Monsignor Escrivá celebrated Mass at mid-day, after half a day’s intense work thatbegan early in the morning. Someone wouldtell him when there were fifteen minutes left,so that he could prepare by praying alone inthe oratory.

“Love me always as you didtoday”

Once the work he was doing was morecomplicated and lasted longer than foreseen.Since he did not wear a watch, he was sur-prised when Father Echevarria said, “Father,we’ve run out of time, it’s time for yourMass.” He was irritated at having to hurry,and in this frame of mind he began to vest.

When Mass was over, he spent tenminutes in thanks giving, as was his custom.

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Then he called Father Echevarria and FatherErnesto Julia. Both had seen him earlier looking serious, and they were surprised to seehim now sparkling with joy. He told them, “Iwas irritated when I arrived, and when Ibegan to put on the vestments. I was in sucha bad temper! But already, on kissing theamice and saying the prayer Impone Dom-ine, capiti meo galeam salutis—Place, Lord,upon my head the helm of salvation—I real-ized that the prayers were coming out reallywell! And then the whole Mass was wonder-ful, as if I had been preparing for hours andhours. In the thanksgiving I said to OurLord: ‘I want you to love me always as youdid today. Love me always as you’ve loved

me today!’”29

He was constantly discovering new, moreprofound meanings in the prayers of theMass, the rubrics, and even the most appar-ently insignificant gestures. One day it mightbe the powerful awareness of God’s strength,

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on saying so often, “Our help is in the nameof the Lord,” adiutorium nostrum in nomineDomini. Another day, joyful conviction thatthe love of God is eternally young, when atthe beginning of Mass he recited, “I shall goto the altar of God, the God who gives joy tomy youth.” His excited comment was, “I cannever grow old while I have this love!” Hewas past seventy then.

Discoveries

Another time he was amazed by unexpec-ted insights into the Mass as an action of theBlessed Trinity. “I had not appreciated theseliturgical endings in all their beauty untiltoday. They are not mere additions, butpraise to the three Persons of the BlessedTrinity: ‘Through our Lord Jesus Christ yourSon’—see how confidently we address Godthe Father!—‘who lives and reigns with you,in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God,

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forever and ever.’ More and more strongly, Ifeel the need to relate to the three DivinePersons one by one, singling each of them

out, without separating them.”30

A cosmic encounter: the Mass

Preaching shortly before celebratingMass, he once said, “In a few minutes I amgoing to celebrate the Holy Mass; to have avery personal encounter with the love of mysoul…. I will kiss the altar, with kisses oflove. And I will take the Body of my God andthe chalice of his Blood and lift them aboveall things on earth, saying, Per Ipsum et cumIpso et in Ipso, through my Love, with my

Love, in my Love!”31

Other times he recalled that the Mass is anencounter outside space, with the one sacri-fice of Christ. “Join in with the prayer of allChristians who have ever prayed in the past,those praying now, and those who will pray

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in the centuries to come. More especiallywith your brothers and sisters; those who arealready in heaven, those being purified inpurgatory and those spread out over theearth— bravely fighting the big and smallbattles of peace in their inner lives. In thisway, when I celebrate the Holy Mass, as wellas being Christ and knowing myself to besurrounded by angels, I will also be surroun-ded by the clamor of my children’s prayerand I will have the strength to demand of ourLord: Exaudi orationem meam, et clamormeus ad te veniat, Hear my prayer, and let

my cry come unto you!”32

Although he did not usually refer to theSacrifice of the Altar as “an assembly,” hisexperience of the Mass as a great family re-union was very strong. In the Mass he metthe Church triumphant, the Church suffer-ing, being purged and purified, and theChurch still fighting here on earth. In it hemet his own big family, the Work. He

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reflected silently, “Here we are gathered to-gether on the paten beside the Host, and inthe chalice with the Blood of my Lord Jesus

Christ!”33

One day in January 1973, at the end of anafternoon get-together, Monsignor Escrivábeckoned to Rafael Caamaño, in Rome on ashort visit. Strolling through the Galleria delTorrione, they talked. He suddenly re-membered something which had happenedto him that very morning, and he toldRaphael about it casually.

“I really wanted to celebrate the Holy Masswithout any distractions. When I was goingdown to the oratory, a lad from Bilbao whowas with me asked: ‘Father, what do youwant me to pray for?’ And I answered, ‘Wellnow, pray that I may celebrate Mass verywell.’ I began the Mass, and after a bit, a sillything happened; I don’t know why, but mynose began to bleed. And being anxious not

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to get blood on the altar, I could not concen-trate as much as I wanted to.”

He pulled a piece of cotton out of his pock-et and showed it to Caamaño. “I have it incase my nose starts to bleed again.”

Then he added, grinning, “But I was not sodistracted as to forget to put all of you on thepaten … especially the ones who are ill orthink they are ill, those who are sufferingsome problem or think they are … there areall kinds among my children!”

Next day he arrived at the Galleria delFumo, smiling and full of joy, for the usualafter-lunch conversation. As soon as he satdown he told them, “I’m so happy. Yesterdaysomething silly happened, something whichdistracted me during Mass. I was afraid thesame thing would happen again today, so Iasked our Lord to let me celebrate Mass withtotal concentration. I asked him for that withall my heart, and I did it! That is why I am so

happy!”34

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Before vesting for Mass, if he saw one ofhis spiritual sons praying in the oratory, itwas not unusual for him to whisper gently inhis ear, “My son, will you ask our Lord toshow me how to say the Holy Mass better

every day?”35

To the end of his life he would say, “I amconstantly learning how to say the Holy Mass

better.”36

His fingers trembled

Those who saw him celebrate Mass weretouched by his concentration, by his obviousand immediate sincerity. There was noroutine here. He was obviously concentrat-ing on each genuflection, each kiss bestowedon the altar, each striking of the breast onsaying, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maximaculpa. On reciting the Creed, his voice wasvibrant with faith. At the mementos of theliving and the dead, the urgency and

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outreach of his priestly prayers were plain tosee. Clearly he was intensely moved duringthe Consecration of the bread and wine. Hewould sometimes say he wished to “keepalive the emotion he had felt the first time”when, as a deacon in 1924, he had taken theHost in his hands to give Benediction withthe Blessed Sacrament. His fingers had

trembled.37

Forty years later, celebrating Mass onemorning in 1964, he went to the right side ofthe altar for the washing of the hands. Thealtar server saw that suddenly his handsbegan to tremble. He looked at his face. Itwas very serene; he was concentratingtotally, deep in prayer. Later, MonsignorEscrivá confided to Don Alvaro, “I recalledthat first time, and I said silently, in myheart, ‘Lord, don’t ever let me take you for

granted!’”38

After consecrating the bread and wine, hewould say in his heart, Dominus meus et

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Deus meus! “My Lord and my God!” Then,Adauge nobis fidem, spem et caritatem! “Increase our faith, hope, and charity!” He con-tinued with, “Holy Father, through the Im-maculate Heart of Mary, I offer you your be-loved Son Jesus, and I offer myself throughhim with him and in him for all your inten-tions on behalf of all mankind.” Then hemade yet another plea, “Lord, give all of usholy purity and gaudium cum pace, joy andpeace.” As he genuflected in adoration, hesaid a line from St. Thomas Aquinas’ hymn,Adoro te devote, latens Deitas, “I adore youdevoutly, hidden Godhead.” His genuflectionwas profound, slow, and deliberate. Kneelingbefore his God, Monsignor Escrivá wishedtime would stand still.

Conscious that he took on “the person ofChrist” during the sacrifice of the Mass, hewas as if enraptured at relating so closelywith the Trinity and knowing himself sur-rounded by all the angels and saints,

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“because then,” he said, “the altar is a heav-en.” In the first twenty years of his priest-hood he had to make a tremendous effort notto spend longer than he should, out of con-sideration for the people attending Mass.“The priest is there to serve the faithful,” hesaid, “and should not prolong the Mass for

more than half an hour.”39

The splendor God loves

He had read the Old Testament books ofLeviticus and Deuteronomy, where God ex-plains with precise details how he wants manto worship him. Mon signor Escrivá knewGod loves splendor if it is accompanied bytrue love, not ostentation. He wanted orator-ies, sacred vessels, vestments, andeverything directly related to God to be thebest possible. “For God, every thing is verylittle,” he said countless times. It might besimply putting a few drops of scent in the

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water where the priest would wash his handsbefore touching the Eucharistic species; orplacing fresh flowers on the altar and leavingthem beside the tabernacle in their naturalstate without water to make them last longer.“Because,” he explained, “they’re not a dec-oration but an offering; and we have to dothe same with our lives: give every thing for

our Lord!”40

Monsignor Escrivá also tried to procurethe finest quality bread and wine for theEucharistic species. Speaking about this to agroup of women of the Work in 1967, he toldthem, “I have always had a yearning which isa refinement of love: that my daughtersshould, as soon as possible, not only preparethe hosts and wine for the sacrifice of theMass, but even grow the wheat and vinesthemselves, ut nobis Corpus et Sanguis fiatdilectissimi Filii tui Domini nostri IesuChristi, to become for us the Body and Blood

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of your beloved Son, our Lord Jesus

Christ.”41

He was delighted when a packet contain-ing wine and flour arrived in Villa Tevere in1975. A daughter of his from Sicily hadgrown, harvested, and prepared it all herself,and offered it to him for the Mass on thegolden jubilee of his ordination. Moved, hesaid, “This is all about cherishing God who is‘born’ in our hands, by preparing the breadand wine with loving care for when he comes

down to them.”42

He often advised his sons who were aboutto be ordained priests, “In a liturgical cere-mony, you need to do everything respectfullyand solemnly. And if you make a mistake,don’t hurry, don’t put it right hastily or ab-ruptly, but solemnly. The mistake is part of

the ceremony too.”43

“Brass”

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When the liturgy of the Mass was re-formed after the Second Vatican Council, thewomen who operated the printing press inVilla Tevere printed a special copy of the newtexts to make it easier for Monsignor Escriváto celebrate the Eucharist with all thechanges in prayers and rubrics. He was verygrateful. A few days later, he said to HelenaSerrano, “My daughter, I would like to askyou a favor. Make me a small card with thewords of the consecration on it in big clearletters. Try to make it dignified, as I want tohave it in front of me on the altar while I amcelebrating. It pains me to take my eyes offthe host and the chalice during the consecra-tion, in order to look at the missal! Thetrouble is that after all these years of sayingthe old formula, I can’t get the new one byheart … and I don’t want to make a mistake!”

He started to go, but then added, smiling,“And, please, will you make another one for

Don Alvaro while you’re at it?”44

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He wanted the finest materials to be usedfor divine worship: gold, silver, enamels, pre-cious stones. “Let’s never be mean or miserly

towards our Lord!” he would say.45 On biganniversaries or feast days, the people of theWork knew they could make him very happyby presenting him with a set of beautifullyembroidered vestments or sacred vessels ofwell-worked silver or gold encrusted withvaluable gems. Everything seemed to himtoo little for God. Behind those gifts there laya huge number of small, spontaneous giftsfrom families and friends.

Normally, however, he celebrated dailyMass with a poor chalice of gilded brass. In aletter dated 1964, he told his spiritual chil-dren in Spain, “I was deeply touched by a let-ter written to me by a miner, which says‘Father, we love you a lot’, and adds ‘don’tget upset, don’t worry.’ And it reminds me ofthe poor metal chalice which I normally useto celebrate Mass. It has a fine classic shape

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and wonderful gilding. So much so that Can-dida Granda (may she rest in peace) once as-sured me that it was gold. But then she un-screwed it and we saw that on one of the lar-ger pieces was stamped the word ‘brass.’

“Between God, his Blessed Mother andyou, my children, I am made to cut a fine fig-ure, as they say in Italy: good shape, finegilding … but made of brass: that is what Iam. And I thank God for making me see it so

clearly.”46

The toil of the altar

He celebrated Mass with the heart of “aman who knows how to love,” as he calledhimself. Monsignor Escrivá gave of his bestin the work of the Mass. God had let him seethat the Mass was “God’s work,” operatioDei, Opus Dei. On October 24, 1966 he ex-plained, “In my sixty-fifth year, I have madea wonderful discovery. I love to celebrate the

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Holy Mass, but yesterday, I found it reallyhard work. What an effort it cost me! And Irealized that the Mass really is Opus Dei,work, toil, as was Jesus Christ’s first Mass:the Cross. I understand that the task of apriest, the celebration of the Holy Mass, isthe toil of making the Eucharist; that you ex-perience sorrow, joy, and tiredness. I felt inmy own body the exhaustion of a divine

work.”47

Some time later, in Pozoalbero, Jerez, dur-ing his 1972 catechesis in Portugal andSpain, an Andalusian asked him, “How doesthe Father live the holy sacrifice of the al-tar?” After joking about the man’s inquisit-iveness, Monsignor Escrivá replied, “MyMass is never the same from one day to thenext. Every day I linger, in a different way,on this prayer or that offering or that otherpetition. The Mass, which for me is OpusDei, wears me out; it exhausts me! I thankGod that this is so. It is a wonderful, divine

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burden, because it is not I but he, God, whocarries it. All priests, be we sinners like me,or saints as some are, are never ourselves: itis Christ who renews his sacrifice of Calvaryon the altar. I don’t ‘preside over’ anything. Iam Christ at the altar! I consecrate in per-sona Christi, in the person of Christ, becauseI give him my body, my voice, and my poorheart which has so often been stained butwhich I want him to purify.”

Intense silence reigned. The Father soughtto locate his questioner in the crowd. At lasthe found him, and in a strong Aragonese ac-cent he said, “Hey, now you know almost asmuch as I do!” He stretched out his righthand, palm like a beggar pleading for alms,and added, “Won’t you help me to say theMass, even when I’m not here? Can you un-

derstand how it exhausts me?”48

A wholehearted priest

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Monsignor Escrivá made everything cen-ter on this “work” that was his and God’s. Hemaintained that the Mass was the “centerand root of the interior life.” In the eveningget-together, at the first stroke of ten, hewould jump up and retire in silence. He hadin mind the invitation in the words of theprophet: Praeparare in occursum Dei tui, Is-rael, “Prepare, O Israel, to go out to meetyour God” (Amos 4:12). He spent the wholenight like that, praying even while he slept,and approached the altar steps with intensedesire. “I shall go to the altar of God, the Godwho gives joy to my youth.” For this priest,saying Mass was his raison d’être.

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11

He Was the Father

A visiting card for eternity

Monsignor Escrivá devised his own epitaph.He did not aim to compose an epitaph bywhich people would remember him, butchose a bare, truthful statement of how hewas known to God.

It was October 4, 1957, the feast of St.Francis of Assisi, a day when he had thehabit of meditating on the virtue of poverty.He saw poverty as a welcome companionthat enabled him to travel light, preparedeven to do without basic needs. Going fur-ther, he delved into the poverty of his own

being. And setting aside all gifts and graceshe had received, he saw himself as “a poorsinner, who loves Jesus Christ madly.”

Later that day, Monsignor Escrivá and Je-sus Alvarez, an architect who lived andworked in Villa Tevere, were consideringplans for the crypt beneath the oratory ofOur Lady of Peace. Quite naturally, he sug-gested that Alvarez note down a short text hewould dictate “for when you come to buryme,” adding, “But when the time comes, youare free to do whatever you think fit.”

It was the inscription for his gravestone.After his Christian name and two surnames,a Latin word: Peccator (sinner). On the nextline, a plea: Orate pro eo (pray for him).That was all. Seeing surprise and regret onAlvarez’s face, Monsignor Escrivá added witha smile, “If you like, you can add a few morewords, Genuit filios et filias (he begot sonsand daughters).”

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When he died, Don Alvaro del Portillo, inagreement with the general council and thecentral advisory of the Work, decided not tofollow the suggestion. It was the first timeDon Alvaro had ignored an indication of his,and he did it out of devotion and sense ofjustice. He was reluctant to put the word“sinner” on the tomb of such a holy man.And even the expression “he begot sons anddaughters” did not express how much of afather Monsignor Escrivá was.

Don Alvaro, “expressing everyone’s wish,”as he said at the time, had just two wordsplaced on the green marble slab that coveredthe grave: El Padre (The Father). These werethe most loving and accurate words to de-scribe the man buried there. “The Father”was what people had spontaneously calledhim, and that was how he would always beremembered.

He was “the Father”

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From the moment God planted the seedof the Work in his soul when he was justtwenty-six years old, Josemaría Escrivá real-ized that he was for all his children.

He was their Father. In family life with hissons, he treated them with affectionate trust.He knew their comings and goings, how theystudied, sang, prayed, played football, andenjoyed themselves. He could tease them,adjust their ties, clean their glasses, tell themjokes, sit with them at breakfast, spread jamon a slice of bread and encourage them to eatit, or go up to their bedrooms with a hotdrink when they had a cold.

Toward his daughters, he always main-tained the formality, gravity, and distance hehad adopted toward all women from the mo-ment he was ordained. But he treated themwith still more exquisite courtesy and gentlermanners, and put his heart into details ofcaring for them. He showed a carefully re-strained admiration for them, a sort of half-

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concealed delight, born of the conviction thatthey were in Opus Dei without his havingcalled, invited, or looked for them. They hadcome to it, in fact, against his own will andby God’s express desire. This “moral andphysical” certainty gave a supernatural toneto nearly all his meetings with his daughters.Often he exclaimed, “Thank God, thank Godthat you’re here!” or “When I see you, I canhardly believe it!”

Their steadfastness and self-denial amazedhim. When he had to ask for prayers forsome particularly difficult matter, he calledon them before anyone else. He entrustedthem with any jobs that needed more specialcare, skill, and patience.

In the 1950s, the artists who were design-ing a big stained-glass window for the Pente-cost Oratory in Villa Tevere prepared asketch showing the Holy Spirit descendingon Our Lady and the disciples. MonsignorEscrivá made them alter the sketch. “You’ve

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shown all the disciples as men. I want you tochange some of these into women—do youimagine there weren’t any women there?”

To the women in Opus Dei, MonsignorEscrivá extended the same love, the same de-mands, the same spirituality, the same life-style as to the men. The Work of God wasone and the same and had to be done by all.He put it in very homely terms: “As in allhealthy families, I have just one cooking pot;each can take from it what he or she needs.”

Sounding the alarm

In times of extraordinary doctrinal confu-sion and moral collapse, he told his childrento be on guard, with precautions they shouldtake against losing their faith, becomingslack morally, letting love of God grow cool,

becoming cowardly in the apostolate.1

He wrote: “It hurts me deeply to write this,but we have had to endure a stream of

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impostors who have tried unsuccessfully tomask their heresy by claiming to be prophetsof a new age. They are not merely hereticsbut fanatics; lustful, resentful, and proud.My children, it hurts, but by sounding thealarm in this way, I aim to stir up your con-sciences so that this tide of hypocrisy doesnot catch you unawares…. We have to re-spond to this barefaced corruption by beingmore demanding in our own behavior, andsowing sound doctrine boldly.

“My children, don’t be lulled into a life ofroutine. Feel the urgency of doing good, be-cause time is short. Never be afraid to standup for Jesus Christ…. The supreme remedy ispiety…. Having prayed a lot for a long timeand encouraged others to pray, I have givenyou the directives I deemed prudent in con-science, so that you always have clearguidelines … in this time of almost total mor-al abandonment…. Besides, in this way, wewill make sure nobody joins the Work in

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order to cause us harm, because any suchperson would be unable to keep up thehumble self-surrender, struggle, and mature

renunciation which we fight to practice.”2

This Father could enjoy whatever his chil-dren liked and found amusing. One day hehad to make a real effort not to laugh whenhe met Olive Mulcahy in Villa Tevere. Shehad recently arrived from Ireland and ad-dressed him in broken Spanish. “Father, youpaint a duck for me … and I play for you onthe violin … yes?”

“Yes, of course! Let’s all go to the laundryroom; it’s right here, my daughter!”

And then and there, with a few rapidstrokes, he drew a duck for her on a piece ofpaper. His daughters loved ducks becausethey are bold and “learn to swim by swim-ming.” Meanwhile, Olive played a soft Irish

melody on her violin.3 Monsignor Escriváknew that this was time well spent, not

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wasted, because moments like this are thespice of family life.

Two violins

One night in September 1949 he stayedup very late waiting for his son Jesus Cagigal,an architectural student from abroad whowas to spend several years in Rome helpingwith the building of Villa Tevere. When he fi-nally arrived, Monsignor Escrivá kissed himon both cheeks and told him to “havesomething to eat and go to bed, because youmust be very tired.” Next day he invited himto take a walk around the city “so you can getused to the buildings, and see the colors onRoman houses.” At one point he asked,“Have you brought your violin? You haven’t?Well, tell the next person who comes here forany reason to bring it with them.”

Some time later, Monsignor Escriváentered the room called “the architects’

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studio.” He noticed two black violin cases ontop of a cupboard.

“How come you have two violins?” heasked.

Cagigal explained that another person inthe Work, also a music lover, had given himhis instrument. “He’s not going to continuepracticing, and as it’s a very good violin, it’simportant to take care of it and tune it everynow and again.”

“Oh, no; give it back to him immediately!It’s wonderful to develop one’s talents; butwe also have to practice personal poverty,

and you don’t need more than one violin.”4

Monsignor Escrivá wanted all his childrento participate in the decoration of theVilla—“all the enthusiasts, the more the bet-ter! Even if you only do one brushstroke!” Heshowed them how to create a patina on animitation antique carving with talcumpowder and vermilion and how to treat anold chest with turpentine to kill the

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woodworm. He took a close interest in thecareful painting of a paneled ceiling in anoratory and made sure the young men work-ing at it stopped for a coffee break. He en-couraged Palmira Laguens and AnnamariaNotari to work marvels in kiln-fired pottery,as well as papier-mâché. He thought it woulddo Helena Serrano good to have a free handto paint whatever she chose, and as soon ashe saw a suitable bare wall he told her, “It’sall yours! You have a fine space there topaint as you please! What do you think of do-ing a big world map, and marking all theplaces where there’s a center of women inthe Work? There are quite a lot of them

already!”5

An enterprising artist called ManoloCaballero was finishing a picture of Our Ladyas Queen of Opus Dei, done in oils on wood.Monsignor Escrivá wanted it to be a master-piece. He often would visit the painter and,

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sitting on a stool or a large fruit basket, staya while watching him paint.

On one occasion José Luis Pastor, a doc-tor, was with him. When the artist had goneout to get some solvent and some tubes ofpaint, Monsignor Escrivá said, “How wellthis son of mine paints! This is real art!” Afew seconds later, he turned to José Luiswith an affectionate look and said, “Andwhat about you? You give me my injectionswith more skill than a champion dart-throw-

er!”6

Monsignor Escrivá received a constantflow of graces and lights from God, to bepassed on to his children. He carried a smallnotebook in his cassock pocket in which towrite down quickly and carefully what Godgave him. It might be a phrase from hisbreviary, a line from scripture, which struckhim one particular day with new meaning.Convinced that Opus Dei was not his, he ac-ted as a disciple, alert to God’s lessons.

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A great teacher

He had a real flair for teaching and al-ways expressed himself in contemporaryterms. Neither smug nor oratorical, hetaught pupils scattered through five contin-ents; yet his teaching always had a directtone, since he was talking to people in almostevery sense who were very close to him. Hisspiritual children learned the spirit of theWork by seeing how he practiced it. His “les-sons” were given in the comings and goingsaround the house, in get-togethers, on cartrips, meditations, comments on the news, orreferences to something he had read.

Monsignor Escrivá’s notebook

One morning, while reading the Gospelhe was struck by a familiar passage which heunderstood in a new light. Later he commen-ted, “‘Power came forth from him and healed

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them all—Sanabat omnes.’7 It filled me withconsolation to think that among those omnesthere must have been all kinds of people:some who loved him and some who didn’t.But Jesus made no distinction among them,he did not discriminate between people: san-

abat omnes, he cured them all!”8

Another time he reflected aloud on thetheological meaning in two words of the HailMary: ‘Dominus tecum, the Lord is withthee.’ “I don’t know, maybe until now Ihadn’t realized the theological depth of thephrase ‘the Lord is with thee.’ It is the HolySpirit, the whole Trinity. Don’t you find anew richness in these words? The Holy Spirit

is with you, Mother! How wonderful!”9

Other times he used his own inner life toshow them he too was made of clay. One dayin autumn 1968, when someone spoke tohim about “security in the interior life,” heanswered simply, “My son, I feel very envi-ous of those old ladies who pray with sighs of

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devotion in the corner of a church. Forthirty-eight years it has gone against thegrain for me to continue going forward. I’vebeen feeling dry, but doing my prayer by dintof drawing each bucketful of water from the

well by hand.”10

Someone else once asked him how to bemore generous towards God and otherpeople. He said, “We each know about that,we realize it when we examine our con-science at night. Often, I have to say to ourLord, ‘Josemaría is not pleased with Jose-

maría today.’ “11

In answer to a similar question, he said,“You want to know how I did my thanksgiv-ing after Mass today? Well … by making ourLord a present of the sorrow I feel at not be-

ing able to serve him better.” 12

But in spite of his failings and weaknesses,he used to add that he never felt sadness,melancholy, or loneliness. “I never feellonely: with the Holy Trinity in my heart, in

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my soul, how could I? We’re never alone. Wehave no reason to feel lonely or sad or bored,ever! Only those whose lives are empty can

be bored.”13

He made use of the tiniest details. “You seethis little scratch on the wall?” he said oneday. “Please, my son, make a note of it so itcan be given a lick of paint before it gets anyworse. It’s like a venial sin in the soul—oneseems very little on its own, but if after onethere comes another and another, the person

soon becomes a leper!”14

Return to SquarciarelliThe song “Arrivederci Roma!” became

popular in Italy in the spring of 1956. Ayoung Spanish lawyer, Juan Carlos Beas-coechea, was completing a thesis on canonlaw. He told Monsignor Escrivá in a familygathering one day, “Father, I know a newsong. It’s very nice and I think you might likeit. Shall I sing it for you?”

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“Yes, please,” Monsignor Escrivá respon-ded. “Sing it for all of us so we can all enjoyit.”

Juan Carlos started off in a fine baritone.One verse went “Si ritrova a pranzo aSquarciarelli, / Fettuccine e vino dei Cas-telli, / Come ai tempi belli che Pinelli / Im-mortalo … Arrivederci Roma!” (People meetfor lunch at Squarciarelli, / Having fettuc-cine and the white wine of Castelli, / Like thegood old times that Pinelli / Immortalized …good-bye, Rome!)

Monsignor Escrivá listened with a smile,tapping his foot in time to the music. Whenthe song was over, he clapped and said to thesinger, “My son, before you leave Rome, re-mind me to take you to Squarciarelli one day,so you can see how beautifully the Italians dothings.”

Juan Carlos reminded him a couple oftimes, and he answered, “I can’t today, Juan

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Carlos, but I assure you we will go; it’s apromise.”

One day Juan Carlos repeated the propos-al. Monsignor Escrivá said, “Speaking formyself, I can make it today. What do youhave to do this afternoon?”

“Me? Nothing in particular, Father!”“Well, then, be here at five and we’ll go!”A few minutes before five, Monsignor

Escrivá came down the stairs to the Galleriadella Campana with Don Alvaro. They got in-to an old black Lancia, driven by Ramon La-biaga, a chemist from Mexico, who was alsoa student at the Roman College.

Before leaving Rome, they went past St.Peter’s Basilica and said the Creed, as wasMonsignor Escrivá’s custom. As usual, whenhe came to “I believe in one, holy, Catholicand apostolic Church,” he added “in spite ofeverything!” to remind himself to beg for-giveness for his sins and other people’s. Thenthey took the road toward Castelgandolfo,

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passing through Grottaferrata, Rocca diPapa, and Frascati. When they arrived,Monsignor Escrivá pointed to something likea snack-stall, a poor tumbled-down affairwith a thatched porch as a dining area.“That’s the famous Squarciarelli!” he said.

Juan Carlos’ face fell. “Honestly, I hadimagined something quite different.”

“My son,” said Monsignor Escrivá, “thathappens with so many things in life. We in-ject them with poetry in our imaginations,we idealize them, and come to believe theyare the epitome of happiness and beauty. Butthen when we have them in front of us, andsee them just as they are, our hearts sink toour boots.”

They sat at one of the tables, had some re-freshments, and held a lively conversation onall sorts of topics. When Don Alvaro had paidthe bill, Monsignor Escrivá took it and toreoff the elaborate heading“Squarciarelli–Trattoria.” Passing it to Juan

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Carlos, he said with a wink, “Here, keep it.

Maybe some day you will like to look at it.”15

“And just save myself?”

He was their Father. Already in the 1950she had warned his children to be carefulwhat they read on subjects connected withfaith and morals. “I have to look after thespiritual life and apostolic effectiveness ofthousands of people of different languagesand cultures in the Work. And so I have totake precautions. We are ordinary peoplewho belong in the world, so we have to dowhatever is necessary to avoid going off therails, to make sure we save our souls; be-cause otherwise, our Lord will be left with

fewer instruments he can use.”16

In 1972, when much was topsy-turvy in theChurch itself, Monsignor Escrivá, lookingsorrowful but speaking energetically, said,“In these circumstances I can’t just say

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‘Every man for himself!’ and save my ownlife by hanging on to a plank. I have an oblig-ation to save myself and the boat and all mychildren! If you only knew how it weighs me

down!”17

Father Carlos Cardona recalled an incidentthat sheds light on his spirit of freedom. Car-dona was an intellectual who would spendhours immersed in books on philosophy,theology, and the history of ideas. One day,Monsignor Escrivá suggested that he do hisdaily spiritual reading not from the Fathersof the Church or the works of St. Thomas, St.Augustine, or St. Teresa. “Carlitos, howabout using Don Quixote for your spiritualreading for a time? It will help you keep yourfeet on the ground and see things in propor-tion, and above all it will spark your sense of

humor.”18

Like the Good Shepherd in the Gospel,Monsignor Escrivá could say, “I know my

own, and my own know me.”19 One day in

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1964 he reminded the women who were dir-ectors in the central advisory that governingin the Work meant “praying for everyone,worrying about everyone, making oneself un-derstood by every one, caring for everyone,being kind to everyone: each and every oneof them!” This was what he did himself. Ifone of his spiritual children was having a badtime, he either wrote that person or hadsomeone write on his behalf. He saw to itthat the individual was looked after with spe-cial care and did not hesitate to invite peoplein that situation to come to Rome or go else-where to have a break.

Replying to an aggressive letter

“Some time ago,” he once recalled, “a sonof mine wrote me an aggressive letter, areally arrogant one. You could see he was go-ing through a difficult patch. I thought abouthim a lot, and I prayed a lot for him. Then,

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with the heart of a father and a mother, Iwrote him a letter full of kindness, and in it Icalled him simply by his name … by hisnomignolo, by his nickname. And that son ofmine, when he realized how much he wasloved and felt he was being called back with aloving whistle from the shepherd, changedcompletely. He’s out there now, dedicated,

absolutely faithful, and very happy!”20

Respect for souls

God had provided him with the gifts heneeded as founder and father to a huge num-ber of children of his spirit. Among them wasdiscernment of spirits, something that wentfurther and deeper than mere psychologyand enabled him “to know his own” evenwithout having seen them before.

Generally, Monsignor Escrivá did not givepeople advice without due consideration orin public. Often, on being asked for it, he

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gave some general suggestions and then, as ifexcusing himself, explained, “Here, in frontof everyone, I’m not going to say what youought to do. I’d need to talk to you alone, inthe confessional, and ask you a few very dir-ect, specific, personal questions.” But some-times he acted differently, when warned byhis supernatural prudence that it was theright moment, even urgent, to say somethingdirectly to a particular person. One day inVilla delle Rose, during a get-together, a Ger-man daughter of his, a student at the RomanCollege, asked, “Father, while I’m dedicatingmyself in a special way to my own personalformation, how can I help the Work in mycountry from here?”

For a moment he concentrated all his at-tention on her. Then, as if there was no oneelse in the room, he began speaking in con-fidential tones. “My daughter,” he began,“what you have to do is follow the timetableof this center. I imagine that, like all good

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Germans, you always do things on the dot,like clockwork. But above all, follow thetimetable for family gatherings. Family life issomething wonderful! You can also help bygoing out for walks and by going on the out-ings that are organized. Make sure you getthe right amount of sleep. Put your studyingin its place. Use the time spent in class andin study periods very well, so that they don’ttake away from the time you need for otherthings, do you follow me? Of course you do.Take care of all those other things which arejust as important as or even more importantthan studying. Have I explained myself? Iknow you’ve understood!”

As soon as he left, she went to see CarmenRamos, the director of the Roman College.“It’s amazing!” she said. “The Father reallyhit the nail on the head. He used almost thevery same words as I’ve been hearing in myspiritual guidance: to put study in its place,and to spend some of my time sharing with

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the others, enjoying life with the others. ButI’m the only person who knew that. And theFather was able to detect it just as though

he’d known me all my life.”21

Agostino Dona, Roberto Dotta, FirminaFerreira, Rainer Kiawki, Jose Rodriguez, Ge-orge Rossman, Francesco Sagliembene,Anna Vettorelli, Giuseppe Zanniello, CormacBurke, and many others witnessed episodesin which Mon signor Escrivá addressedsomeone with a spiritual considerationwhich left the listener dumbfounded “be-cause what the Father is saying is the preciseanswer to what is worrying me at this mo-ment,” though he or she had not even hinted

at this concern or problem.22

Something like that happened to UmbertoFarri, a young Italian who asked for admis-sion to Opus Dei in March 1949, in Rome. Afew days later, he went to Villa Tevere to talkto Monsignor Escrivá. He was a little con-fused, not knowing how to handle the

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conversation. When he knocked on the doorof the room, he thought, “And now what am Igoing to say to the Father?” He went in, andMonsignor Escrivá got up immediately andcame to meet him, beaming. As though read-ing Umberto’s thoughts, he said, “I want youto realize, my son, that you don’t have to say

anything special to the Father.”23

“I’m calling from London”

When he was in London in the summer of1960 he decided to make two long distancetelephone calls, one to Osaka and another toNairobi. Women of the Work were breakingnew ground in those cities and having a hardtime, without even bare necessities. He knewhe and those with him would have to tightentheir belts and spend less in London to beable to afford the two calls. But it gave thosewomen a much-needed boost to pick up thephone and hear Monsignor Escrivá. “I’m

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calling from London, so we’ll have to usethese minutes very well. I’d like to speak toeach of you in turn. Is that possible?” TheirFather’s warm, cheerful voice raised theirspirits and helped them not to feel so far

away.24

Encarnita Ortega was also staying in thehouse in London that they rented that sum-mer. She heard the conversations and a fewdays later read the letters from Japan andKenya, both saying more or less the same:“The phone call was a totally unexpected sur-prise, but it came at the very moment weneeded it most.”

“What’s wrong?”

Encarnita recalled a scene years before,in 1943, at the beginning of her vocation. Shelived and worked in the domestic adminis-tration of La Moncloa residence hall. One af-ternoon, Monsignor Escrivá came in

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accompanied by a bishop. Apparently he hadjust shown him around the students’ resid-ence hall and now wanted to show him thekitchen, laundry, and other areas where thedomestic staff worked. Encarnita welcomedthem “elegantly,” as she said afterwards,“and with my best smile.” But as he wentpast her the Father asked in a very low voice,almost a whisper, “What’s wrong?” Then hegave her a look of support andencouragement.

“Those few words, ‘What’s wrong?’ and hissupportive look were enough. It was justwhat I needed. At that moment, un known toanyone, I was having serious doubts about

persevering.”25

“I demand of myself, and makedemands on you”

He sometimes confessed, “When I haveto reprimand anyone I feel bad about it

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before, during it, and afterwards; but al-though it upsets me, I make demands on my-

self for your bene fit.”26 He knew it was easyto be soft and let slip an opportunity of lay-ing down criteria. What was difficult was tocorrect, to warn someone drifting off course,and to attend to a host of little things. “I lovemy children more than a mother does,” hesaid, “even when I’ve never seen them. And Ican honestly say that I love each of them as ifthey were the only one. But if I hadn’tshouted at them, the Work wouldn’t exist

now.”27

One warm June morning in 1968Monsignor Escrivá was walking up and downa courtyard in Villa Tevere with Don Alvaro.They had adopted this habit to be out of theway of the domestic staff and make it easierto clean and tidy the rooms of the old part ofthe house, Villa Vecchia, where MonsignorEscrivá lived.

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Maria Portavella and Helena Serrano werevacuuming and dusting the hall. MonsignorEscrivá opened the door and looked in. Hebeckoned to Helena to come out and thenpointed to the windows on the fifth floor ofthe office building. Although the sun wasblazing, all the lights were on.

“Look,” he told her. “Later on, I want youto point out gently to that sister of yours whois cleaning up there that she is wastingelectricity.”

He continued walking with Don Alvaro,saying the Rosary. After about ten minuteshe called Helena again. “My daughter,” hesaid, “not only tell her about it very kindly,but also write a note of experience so thatfrom now on, people will be careful about it.”

A few minutes later, Monsignor Escrivácame back into the hall again. He did notlook cross, but he was concentrating onkeeping patient.

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“Look, Helena, when the time comes doeverything I told you before. But right nowwill you please go up there and tell thatdaughter of mine to turn off the lights? It’s

an absolute waste and we are really poor!”28

The coldness of indifference

He had to keep a keen eye on tiny materi-al details. To him they were not contemptibletrifles, but a test of the love of God. Thismeant being ready to be demanding on oth-ers. He explained, “I’ve never repented ofhaving made demands on people about put-ting the spirit of the Work into practice. Onthe other hand, the odd time (admittedlyfew) that I’ve been soft on them, I have in-

deed been sorry afterwards.”29

Monsignor Escrivá taught his children topractice the affectionate custom of fraternalcorrection that comes from the Gospel itself.He was terrified at the thought that the bitter

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cold of indifference might ever settle onOpus Dei. “Indifference isn’t understanding,”he said; “it’s demanding and judgmental, butit doesn’t correct. On the other hand, affec-tion understands and demands while cor-recting. In the Work we all have a right to be

supported and corrected with love.”30

“I respect your long hair”

One day he noticed that one of the olderpeople in the Work was wearing clothesmore suitable for an adolescent. Calling an-other of his spiritual sons, he said, “You haveto put your heart into God’s affairs, into thethings that concern the Work, and into whatconcerns your brothers. The day you live likestrangers or stop caring about each other,you’ll have destroyed Opus Dei. Find theright moment, speak to that brother of yours,and very kindly and very clearly make him a

fraternal correction about it.”31

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The people of Opus Dei were “normalpeople amongst normal people,” “membersof the general public.” They dressed accord-ing to their age, condition, and social status.During a trip to Madrid in 1969, MonsignorEscrivá was talking to a group of studentsabout freedom. One of them had fashionablylong, tangled hair. He told him, “I have aprofound respect for everything that doesnot offend God. For everything—includinglong hair! Besides, in your case, I think your

hair looks natural, a sign of sincerity.”32

He required himself to be demanding onthem. One day he severely reprimandedsome of his daughters for something quiteserious that they had done badly and care-lessly, and, as he underlined, “without pres-ence of God.” At the door, about to leave, hecould hear the silence behind him. Turningback, he saw them crestfallen, and looking atthem with immense love, he said, “Do youthink that it doesn’t hurt me to say these

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things? My daughters, if I didn’t say them, Iwouldn’t be your Father but your wicked

stepfather!”33

The theft of a document

In 1955 the villa at Castelgandolfo thatPius XII had given to the Work had not yetbeen renovated and transformed into Villadelle Rose. It was being used just as it wasfor retreats and courses of training and de-velopment. Lourdes Toranzo and GabriellaFilippone were asked to go there and con-duct a course for married women in OpusDei.

Before leaving for Castelgandolfo, theywent to Villa Tevere, driving an old grey run-about with a canvas top which belonged toGabriella’s parents. They parked the car inVia di Villa Sacchetti, leaving their suitcasesand a copy of the Catechism of the Work in-side. This book had been printed by the

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monks of Grottaferrata, and the Holy Seehad several copies. It was not, however, onsale in bookshops, as it was for the use ofpeople of the Work, giving a clear, detailedsummary of the spirit of the Work in simpleterms. When Lourdes and Gabriella got backto the car, they found that their suitcases andthe Catechism had been stolen. They imme-diately told the director of the advisory, En-carnita Ortega, and she told MonsignorEscrivá. He said they should go to Castelgan-dolfo and look after the course. “Ask Lourdesto come here when it’s finished, because I’dlike to see her,” he added.

Lourdes, who had been in the Worklonger, naturally took responsibility for whathad happened. When the week-long coursewas over, she and Encarnita went to seeMonsignor Escrivá in the dining room ofVilla Vecchia. Not angrily but sadly he said,“I’ve seen how much you love the Work andyour vocation. Don Alvaro and I have been

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wondering if we should report the robbery tothe police. But the only valuable thing thatwas stolen was the copy of the Catechism.We decided it was better not to make a fussabout an internal document. Do you realizewhat it means to have the Catechism stolenlike that? Who knows what unscrupulouscharacters may have got their hands on it!My daughter, would you like the love story ofyour parents, the things that they hold mostsacred, to be read aloud in the town square,amidst catcalls, laughs, obscenities, andjeering?”

Lourdes left the room in sorrow. What up-set her most was that Monsignor Escrivá didnot speak harshly, but more with disillusion-ment and disappointment than anger or an-noyance. The matter was closed, and nevermentioned again.

Several months later, Lourdes was livingin Villa Sacchetti, next to Villa Tevere, as dir-ector of the Roman College of Our Lady, a

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job she had been appointed to by the Father.One morning, on her way back from giving aclass, the house telephone rang just as shegot to her office. Picking up the receiver, sheheard Monsignor Escrivá’s voice.

“Pax, my daughter. What have you beendoing just now?”

“I’ve just been giving a class.”“Really? What about?”“Well …”“Go on, tell me. What was the class

about?”“It was on the love and care we have to

have for internal documents, such as, for in-stance, the Catechism of the Work.”

“Thank you very much, my daughter, be-cause I know how much love and convictionyou will have put into that class. God bless

you!”34

“I’ve learned to wait”

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He required himself to wait for the righttime to help a son or daughter of his recoverafter something that might have left themfeeling hurt. Encarnita Ortega heard him say,“Souls, like good wine, improve with time.I’ve learned how to wait—which is a high de-

gree of knowledge!”35 A man of strong, im-petuous character, he sometimes did correctpeople on the spot, but never by “puttingthem on the spot.” He always took care toshow the person concerned some extra signof care and affection.

“My home is not a barracks”

One warm August evening in 1953Monsignor Escrivá and Don Alvaro came toCastelgandolfo to spend time with a group ofyoung men of the Work in a course of forma-tion. They set out some benches in thegarden in the shade of a magnolia tree. Theconversation was lively, with Neapolitan and

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Mexican songs, stories of the apostolate, andnews from other countries. Suddenly therewas a silence, the kind that moves somepeople to say, “an angel is passing by.” Monsignor Escrivá said, “Now then, what are yougoing to tell me?”

Among the group was a naval engineeringstudent, Rafael Caamaño, recently arrivedfrom Madrid. He had some funny storiesabout La Moncloa residence hall and thejokes played on a particularly gullible stu-dent there. He began to tell some of these.Everybody laughed except MonsignorEscrivá, who gradually became more andmore serious. From his expression it was ob-vious that he was not enjoying it. Before Ra-fael had finished, Monsignor Escrivá inter-rupted him quite forcefully.

“That’s enough. That is not our spirit.We’ve never played practical jokes on people.Our centers and residences are not army bar-racks: they’re family homes where we try to

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make life pleasant for each other, and don’ttreat them rudely or sarcastically or too fa-miliarly either. We treat everyone with ex-treme tact and courtesy. That’s what we’vedone from the start, and that’s what we’ll al-ways do.”

At the end of the get-together, MonsignorEscrivá went to Rafael, took him by the arm,and walked with him toward the house.“Son, I had to cut you short like that. I wantyou to understand that I have the obligation,often a hard one, of teaching you—makingour spirit and its demands absolutely clear toyou. If I hadn’t interrupted you to set downthe right criteria for living together, every-one, including you yourself, would havethought the Father agreed with all that. You

do understand that, my son, don’t you?”36

On one occasion he was walking throughthe Galleria del Torrione in Villa Tevere withanother priest and noticed that the paint onone wall had been worn away in places,

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obviously by being rubbed with a cloth. Hepointed this out to Mercedes Morado andMaria Portavella, who were engaged incleaning that part of the house. He remindedthem of the importance of “taking great careof little things,” and that “if we neglect thelittle things, this house, which has been setup to last for centuries, could soon end up asa ruin.” Then he said to Mercedes, “Mydaughter, as the director, you are respons-ible. This would not have happened if youhad specified carefully in the notes on thecleaning how this type of distempered sur-face should be dusted. Now, kindly tellHelena to touch up the paintwork before itgets any worse!”

Next morning Monsignor Escrivá metHelena and asked, “Do you know where Mer-cedes is?”

“Right now she should be on the secondfloor.”

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“Well, will you do me a favor? Go upstairsand tell her on my behalf that yesterday Itold her off for something, and I was wrong.I said that something was not specified in thenotes on the cleaning, but in fact it was. Ilooked it up later. So please go and tell herthe Father is very sorry and begs her par-

don!”37

An order: “Please”

“Please” was how he asked for anything,not just out of good manners but because hedetested despotism. He taught that thestrongest command in Opus Dei must alwaysbe “please,” first by practicing it himself. Inthis way he fostered free, intelligent, volun-tary obedience, in which the people con-cerned could identify with what they wereasked to do. Often he said, “The most super-natural reason for obeying is ‘because I wantto!’”

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One day he asked his son Ernesto Julia todo a certain task. Ernesto answered, “I’ll doit right away, Father.”

“Do you really want to do it? Because itshouldn’t be a case of my imposing anythingon you. I don’t want mindless obedience!Where obedience is concerned, I need to beable to depend on you, on your absolutely

free will.”38

His method was to teach as occasion arose,never missing an opportunity to show thespirit of Opus Dei in deeds. This made thelessons he taught unforgettable.

Sitting on the floor

After lunch one day in the autumn of1961, Monsignor Escrivá went to the sittingroom of the Vicolo part of Villa Tevere withthe directors of the general council for a get-together with students of the Roman College.There were not enough seats for everyone, so

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the youngest men gave up their chairs to thedirectors and sat on the floor.

A few days later the same thing happenedagain. This time Monsignor Escrivá took theinitiative and to everyone’s surprise sat onthe floor himself.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said simply. “In the

Work we’re all the same.”39

At this stage his personal struggle tookquite a different direction from before. Previ-ously, when he saw something which wentagainst the spirit of Opus Dei, he reasoned,“I can’t correct this right now because I’mupset about it. I need to say it calmly so asnot to hurt anybody, so that it will be moreeffective and not offend God. In a few days’time, when I’m calmer, I will say what I haveto say.”

However, as he got older, he correctedthings immediately. His reason was, “If Idon’t correct this immediately, I’ll beginthinking about how I am going to upset a son

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or a daughter of mine, and I’ll get soft. Thenthere’s a risk that I might not say what I

ought to.”40

A time for correction, a time forcomfort

It was 1954. Monsignor Escrivá came intothe laundry in Villa Sacchetti, calling for thedirector, Itziar Zumalde. By his tone of voiceand frown it was obvious he was angry. Sud-denly he noticed another of his daughters,Mirufa Zuloaga, sitting there sewing. Hestopped short and his expression changed;he relaxed and smiled. A few days earlierMirufa’s father had died in Spain. When heheard the news, he had shown his sympathyin all sorts of ways. Now, meeting her again,he was as kind to her as he could be, asking ifshe felt more at peace now, if she was lessunhappy, how she was getting over it. For awhile he forgot other concerns and had

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nothing but words of affectionate comfort forthis daughter.

Then, against his will, he faced up to theduty of the moment. “Has anyone gone to tellItziar I’m looking for her? Tell her to comequickly, because I have a few things I need to

say to her.”41

One night during the winter of 1956 he no-ticed that a light had been left on in LaMontagnola. He called Encarnita on thehouse telephone to let her know, adding,“I’ve made a resolution, a permanent morti-fication, not to go to bed without correctingeverything which I see needs to be corrected.You can’t imagine, my daughter, how diffi-

cult it is not to let a single thing slip!”42

“I’ve been cross three times”

One afternoon in February 1964 he wastalking to some of his daughters in the laun-dry of Villa Sacchetti, where so many family

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conversations took place. They talked aboutdifferent things and then, “Just recently, theact of piety I find that I like best of all is theAct of Contrition. And right now, while I’mtalking to you, I’m making one on the inside.Because today I got cross three times! Firstof all, where certain things are concerned Ihave not just the right, but the duty to getcross. And the other two times”—here hestarted to laugh, and had everyone elselaughing with him—“of course I get cross

too! What did you imagine?”43

Easygoing and good humored

But his normal attitude was easygoinggood humor, cheerful, expansive, and gener-ous. His normal expression was a mischiev-ous look with the beginnings of a smile thatlit up his whole face. He enjoyed being withhis children in the Work, and when officework prevented him from spending time

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with them he would call them on the housetelephone, exchange a few words, and sendan affectionate hug.

One afternoon in October 1954, five stu-dents in the Roman College were working ina makeshift study, a bedroom with four bunkbeds. One of them, Santi Salord, was teach-ing Latin. The house phone rang, and one ofthem answered it. “Yes, Father … At the mo-ment? We’re in class.”

He went back to the others and explained,“It was the Father. He asked me what wewere doing, and when I told him we were inclass he said, ‘Oh, well then, that’s that. I wascalling to see if you wanted to come out for awalk into Rome with me.’ “

“Honestly, couldn’t you have told him youhad nothing to do?”

Shortly afterward the phone rang again.Another student answered eagerly, “Nothing,Father, I’ve absolutely nothing to do!”

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“Really? That’s very wrong! Go and tell thedirector, so he can give you some work!Don’t you realize that in the Work we can’t

just sit around like gentlemen of leisure?”44

Later he told them he did things like thatto stir up their sense of humor. “For a son ofGod it’s a serious business to lose one’s goodhumor. Let people who aren’t children ofGod be miserable! Not long ago I was talkingto a certain pessimistic prelate, one of thosepeople who see every thing overcast. Thenext day I wrote him a note. Among otherthings, I said: ‘You did my soul a lot of dam-

age yester day: you made me get sad.’”45

Neither bossy nor imposing, he knew howto create a relaxed, easygoing atmosphere sothat people enjoyed being with him. JoseMaria Sanabria offers three scenes fromamong many he witnessed in Villa Tevere in1959.

“I was hurrying toward the covered walk-way in Villa Tevere. I opened the door

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quickly and it hit the Father, who was com-ing in the opposite direction at that precisemoment. I must have hit him quite hard! Iwas horrified and didn’t know what to do.But immediately the Father opened the doorwide, reached out and set his hands on myshoulders, saying smilingly, ‘My poor son!What a fright the Father gave you hiding be-hind the door like that!’

“There are some big, low chests in the Gal-leria della Campana. Some of us used to siton them while we were waiting to go into thedining room. Then we were told not to usethem as seats so as not to spoil them.

“A few days later, when I came home fromthe university I saw the Father sitting on oneof these chests while talking with a group ofstudents from the Roman College. While hewas talking the Father was swinging his feet,kicking the chest gently with his heels. Itseemed as if he was doing it without think-ing, but then he said, ‘You’ve recently been

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told how it isn’t a good idea to sit on thesechests, haven’t you? There are a lot of ushere, and if we all sat on them we’d ruinthem in no time. We would be lacking thevirtue of poverty. But you know, we don’tpractice poverty just because we’ve made itour way of life. We take care of these detailsfor love of Jesus Christ. But if you feel like itone day, after all, it’s your home, you sit onit, as I’m doing now, and beat on it with yourheels and hands, if that’s what amuses you.We’re not fanatics of poverty, or order, orlittle things, my sons. We do everything forthe love of God!’

“Another time we were in a get-togetherwith the Father in the Vicolo part of VillaTevere. At a given moment he took hold ofthe arm of the person nearest him, JesusMartinez, looked at his watch, and said, ‘Tellme in five minutes, so we can end the get-to-gether.’ Then he said, ‘I have to make suremyself because you’re a set of rogues. I once

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said, ‘I’ll go when that fellow finishes his ci-garette.’ And do you know what your broth-ers did? When I wasn’t looking they replacedthe almost finished cigarette with a new one,and then another….’

“The lively conversation went on. After awhile the Father took Jesus’ arm again tocheck the time: fifteen minutes had passed,not five. Quick as lightning, Jesus said,‘Don’t rely on this watch Father. When itlikes, it goes very fast.’ The Father roaredwith laughter at this cheeky remark, tut-tut-ting and shaking his head, and merely said,

‘These sons…! The same spirit!’ “46

A bed of nails

Having engendered thousands of sonsand daughters of his spirit, he was attentiveto their bodies and their souls, and passed onthis concern to those who had the job of dir-ecting, forming, and caring for the others.

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“My children,” he said, “you have to noticethings, you have to be alert. When someone’sill it shows in their face, in their eyes espe-cially, in the reluctant way they go abouttheir duty, in their weariness, in the effort ittakes them to do things. It would be unpar-donable, and a lack of charity and justice, foryou to pay no heed to the physical health ofyour brothers or sisters who live with you.Well, it would be still more unpardonable ifyou were to leave them spiritually sick untilthey died off. You have to be observant! Youhave to notice when a person is slacking, be-coming cold, and gradually drifting awayfrom God and the things of God! And injustice you have the obligation to be de-manding on them with fortitude, and takedevoted care of them. This means vibrantalertness, in a vigil of love. It isn’t easy. Iknow that very well: I’m always on a bed of

nails!”47

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My heart is on guard

One day in March 1964, on the way out ofthe village of Albano on the way to Ariccia,Monsignor Escrivá discovered a small statueof Our Lady in one of those little shrines setup by popular devotion at the wayside. Henoticed a short Latin inscription beside thestatue and read it aloud: Cor meum vigilat,

“my heart is awake.”48 He repeated it severaltimes. “My heart is awake” stirred him. Soonafterward he said to the women in Villa delleRose, “My heart is awake. That is how wehave to be: with our hearts on guard. Wehave no right to sleep! Like a mother, like analert sentry on the night watch, we have towatch, out of love. Love does not sleep … andwhen you really love, you even watch whileyou’re asleep.”

Then he turned the conversation to thefraternal vigilance that made all in the Work,from the oldest member to the newest, feel

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and act like good shepherds for all the oth-ers. “We have to pray for, and help in everypossible way, those who are going through acrisis or some difficulty. And if one of yoursisters is slack in her struggle or irresolute inher vocation, you have to do all you can tohelp her forward, while at the same time re-specting her freedom. If I wanted to jumpout of the window, would you let me? Ofcourse you wouldn’t!”

He paused. Drawing himself up, he addedin solemn tones, “I don’t excuse of sin, some-times even serious sin, the people who havelived with someone who has lost or thrownoverboard her vocation, if they have not

provided all possible means to help her.”49

Another day, at home in the Galleria dellaCampana, he met a son of his who had justbeen appointed to the general council of theWork.

“Well, you rascal, when are you coming tosleep in Villa Vecchia?”

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Before the man could reply, MonsignorEscrivá corrected himself: “I mean, not to

sleep: to keep vigil!”50

“I am crying”

Someone was looking for him one dayand could not find him. After searching allthrough Villa Vecchia, he looked intoMonsignor Escrivá’s private oratory andfound him there. He was kneeling in front ofthe altar with his head in his hands, sobbingbitterly. When Monsignor Escrivá saw theman, he dried his tears with a handkerchiefand said, “Yes, I’m crying. Because I’m hu-man like everyone else, and I have a heart.For some time now I’ve been advising a sonof mine not to fight the battle on the mainwalls of the fortress. He took no notice, andnow he’s on the point of losing his voca-

tion.”51

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In Stazione Termini railway sta-tion in Rome

He was “the Father.” He heard that aSpanish daughter of his, after a period of in-terior agitation, had reached the point ofdoubting whether to persevere in Opus Dei.Giving way to a momentary impulse, she hadpacked her suitcases and left the centerwhere she was living in Milan. “She must betraveling now,” they told him, “maybe to-ward Rome…. She hasn’t told any of us ex-actly where she’s going.”

“What this daughter of mine needs now isto know that, come what may, even thoughthe ground gives way under her feet, she hasthe Father! Alvaro, will you come with me?Let’s go to the Stazione Termini!”

It was late at night when they got back.The person concerned had made up hermind to persevere. At the most difficult

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moment of her life, she realized that he was

the Father.52

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12

Monsignor at Home

Monsignor Escrivá and hisdaughters

Acar pulled up at the front door of Villa delleRose, in Castelgandolfo outside Rome, andMonsignor Escrivá got out quickly, eager tosee his daughters. He always liked to bring apresent when he came to see them. Some-times he would bring sweets, other timessome china ducks or other ornam ents forthe house. Today, June 17, 1964, it was somerecords and an antique fan for the collectionin their sitting room.

In no time at all, a lively get-together star-ted. Joan McIntosh, an American, asked himwhy family life was the heart and soul ofpeople’s relations in the Work. MonsignorEscrivá smiled. “As a teacher, you know howto explain it perfectly to other people—butyou want to hear me say it, don’t you? Youknow we call it ‘family life’ because the sameatmosphere exists in our houses as in Chris-tian families. Our houses aren’t schools, orconvents, or barracks: they’re homes wherepeople with the same parents live. We callGod himself Father, and the Mother of God,Mother. What’s more, we really love eachother.”

Monsignor Escrivá made an eloquent ges-ture, interlacing the fingers of both handslike the weave of a basket. “We really loveeach other! I don’t want anyone in the Work

to feel alone!”1

He often said that he was “not a model foranything,” but he would make one exception.

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“If I were an example of anything, it wouldbe that of a man who knows how to love.”

Those who lived with him, even for a fewhours, could feel that. One of his sons inOpus Dei said, “When you were with theFather you felt looked after, cared for, welltreated, and loved. You always received morethan you asked for, more than you had real-ized you needed.

“It wasn’t that he had a fabulous memory,so that on seeing you he was reminded of theproblem of that friend of yours, or yourmother’s illness. It wasn’t that at all. Yourfriend’s problem and your mother’s illnessreally concerned him: he carried them in hisheart, because he had a big heart.

“One fine day I got up with a pimple on thetip of my nose. During the morning I met atleast eighteen people who told me one afterthe other, without fail, that I had a pimple onmy nose! At some point the Father passed bythe place where I was working, but he said

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nothing, and shortly afterward some onebrought me a tube of ointment ‘from the

Father, for the pimple.’ “2

He had a big heart which embraced all hissons. And also his daughters, although hemaintained a distance of “5,000” or even“50,000 kilometers” from them. But if it wassnowing and he knew two or three of the wo-men from Villa Sacchetti had left early to goto the out-of-town wholesale markets, hewould phone to ask whether “those daugh-ters of mine put chains on the wheels of thecar.” Monsignor Escrivá’s way of loving wasnot angelic or theoretical. It meshed withpeople’s small day-to-day needs.

When the women of the Work went to livepermanently in Villa delle Rose, MonsignorEscrivá suggested they get a dog “to guardthe house, especially at night time.” Onemorning they found the dog dead. There wasno sign of violence, so they concluded it must

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have been poisoned. That same day they toldMonsignor Escrivá.

“Don’t worry,” he told them, “but get an-

other dog this very day.”3

In the spring of 1974 the Italian govern-ment imposed some fuel restrictions. Onewas to restrict the use of cars on Sundaysand holidays to those whose plates ended inan odd or an even number, depending onwhether the date was odd or even.Monsignor Escrivá immediately talked toCarmen Ramos and Marlies Kücking aboutit. He was concerned about the women wholived and worked in Albarossa, the cateringwing of Cavabianca on the outskirts of Rome,who might find themselves cut off in anemergency since there were many of themand they had only one small van.

“Before Sunday you will need to see to itthat these women have another vehicle.Make sure that the plate numbers of the twovehicles are alternate: one odd and the other

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even. We are poor, but when necessary we

spend what we have to.”4

Around this same time there were demon-strations and disturbances on the streets ofRome, and news of possible attacks bygroups of political extremists. MonsignorEscrivá recommended closing windows onthe ground floor, having sandbags ready inthe garage, and not opening mailboxes.

“I trust our Lord completely, and I knownothing will happen to you. But I think weshould use all the available means, humanly

speaking, as well.”5

Force the door open

He adopted security measures for all thecenters throughout the world, even to the de-tails of how bars on outside windows anddoors could be made decorative.

In Villa Tevere, he ensured that the frontdoor of the women’s house, which opened

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onto Via di Villa Sacchetti, was secured dur-ing the day with a heavy chain on the insideand always opened by two people, so that incase of a robbery or attack one would alwaysbe able to raise the alarm. He also had a loudbell installed next to the receptionist’s desk.

“This bell doesn’t need to go off outsidebut inside the house,” he explained, “becauseif anything happened, we would be the onesto come and help.”

All were common sense precautions notintended to make it difficult to go out but getin. Applying this to vocation, MonsignorEscrivá would say “the door is always open”to leave the Work, but to join, “I don’t makeit easy: you have to push hard—to force thedoor open.”

After the Carnation Revolution

After the popular Carnation Revolutionthat began in 1974, Portugal went through a

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period of political turmoil, involvingsearches, requisitions, and confiscations.Some people of the Work lost their posses-sions, homes, and jobs. In these times of in-stability and fear, people were not only afraidbut hungry. Monsignor Escrivá, in Venezuelaat the time on his last catechetical journey,instructed two of his daughters, MercedesMorado and Josefina Ranera, to go to Por-tugal “to help their sisters in need as far aspossible, at least with their presence,serenity, morale, and affection.” On his re-turn to Europe he stopped in Madrid to getdirect news of the people of the Work in Por-

tugal.6

In 1955, the women of Villa Tevere tookover the operation of the printing press, pre-viously done by men. Monsignor Escrivámade several recommendations about theuse of the machines and in particular calledattention to the danger of the cutter. “Look,this contraption cuts through a stack of

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paper two inches thick like butter,” he toldthem. “Martha, please make a notice to warnpeople of the danger, and put it up whereeveryone can see it.”

He warned about this on several occasions,not ceasing until in 1970 they acquired ahigh-security cutter with a photo-electricsensor. “What a weight you’ve taken off myshoulders!” he said. “Thank God, because thehand of a daughter of mine is worth more

than the best machine in the world.”7 He wasalso constantly solicitous that the peoplewho worked with the linotype machinesshould drink plenty of milk “to neutralize theeffects of the lead vapors you breathe in

there.”8

One day Palmira Laguens, AnnamariaNotari, Jutta Geiger, and other students ofthe Roman College were decorating the wallswith borders in a new area of Villa Teverecalled Il Ridotto. Monsignor Escrivá went toencourage them in their work. On leaving, he

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called two of them aside; he looked serious,rather sad. “My daughters,” he said, “some-times you women are very hard. Don’t youhave eyes in your heads? You need to havehearts. This sister of yours, Annamaria, isobviously losing weight, she looks like a skel-eton, she’s very pale, and she has dark circlesunder her eyes. Is she ill? Has she lost herappetite? What’s the matter with her? Tell

Chus,9 or whichever doctor is at home now,to see her immediately and say whether sheneeds a tonic or she should start having amidmorning snack. Do whatever is necessaryto make this daughter of mine fit and healthy

again!”10

“What was the matter withDora?”

Dora del Hoyo was a domestic workerwho had been in Opus Dei since the 1940s.She had successfully done all kinds of work,

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hard and delicate, and was an expert in lin-ens, ironing, and dry cleaning. When a laun-dry needed to be installed for a large house,be it Villa Sacchetti or Albarossa, MonsignorEscrivá saw to it that her opinion took pre-cedence over the opinions of the architectsand engineers. One evening in December1973, Monsignor Escrivá had guests for din-ner and Dora waited at table. Next morninghe asked Mercedes Morado, “What was thematter with Dora last night?”

“Dora? Nothing, Father. I don’t think any-thing’s the matter with her.”

“Look, don’t just think: find out and tellme, please. Last night she looked awful. So-mething was wrong with her. Better not askher directly, so she doesn’t realize I’mworried.”

Dora had a toothache. Monsignor Escrivánoticed this in the face of the woman eventhough he seemed attentive only to his

guests.11

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Stealing a piece of heaven

He could put himself in other people’sshoes. Encarnita Ortega suffered from severemigraine, and Monsignor suffered as if hehad migraine himself. On his insistence, En-carnita consulted specialists. After repeatedvisits to doctors and different methods oftreatment with no success, he said finally,“We’ll just have to put up with them, and of-fer them up, my daughter. I think we’ve doneall we could do—all your mother would have

done.”12

He often said, “In Opus Dei the sick are atreasure, for whom we don’t begrudge anyeffort.” If necessary, “I’d be capable of steal-ing a bit of heaven for a child of mind who issuffering, and I’m sure our Lord would not

be cross with me!”13

In the 1930s, when Josemaría Escrivá puttogether the points of The Way, he wrote thewords “Children” and “the Sick” with capital

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initial letters. He explained, “The reason isthat in little Children and in the Sick, a soul

in love sees Him.”14

Once, shortly before Christmas, José LuisIllanes, a talented and lively student fromAndalusia, was in bed with a high temperat-ure. Upset that José Luis could not share inthe celebrations everyone was enjoying, heasked Marlies and Mercedes to get the cater-ing staff to prepare “a little Christmas treelike the ones we’ve got in the house, but justa small one, covered with decorations andlots of chocolate figures. The fact is that oneof my sons is ill…. I’ve got a tiny figure ofBaby Jesus to take to his room. It breaks myheart to think that he has to spend these spe-

cial family days in bed with a temperature.”15

In October 1959, Mercedes Morado wastold by her doctor that she needed an opera-tion on her gall bladder. When MonsignorEscrivá heard this, he asked her to come tothe dining room of Villa Vecchia with

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Encarnita. Monsignor Escrivá often met hisdaughters there for personal messages orshort conversations.

“Mercedes,” he began, “I don’t know whatyou think. Of course we’ll do whatever yousay, but I’m going to tell you what I think.What would you say if instead of having theoperation here, in a hospital in Rome, youwere to go to Madrid to get a second opinionand then, if they say the same, have the oper-ation there?”

“But Father, why?” exclaimed Mercedes.“It would be tremendously expensive—notonly the journey, but also more doctors!”

“Well, there are two main reasons. First ofall because you don’t yet speak Italian prop-erly, and a patient needs to explain to thedoctor exactly what the matter is, where ithurts and all the symptoms, as well as under-standing what the doctor says. And secondly,your parents live in Segovia, and they’ll wantto be near you, naturally, during the days

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following the operation. If you’re in Madridit will be a lot easier for them than if you

have the operation here.”16

At that time the financial situation in VillaTevere was not very strong. But not only didshe have the operation in Spain, she stayedthere for months while convalescing.

For Monsignor Escrivá, this generositywas perfectly compatible with avoiding wastelike leaving taps dripping or lights on inempty rooms, buying useless “bargains,”making lengthy but pointless telephone calls,and so on.

During a meeting one day in the sittingroom of La Montagnola in Villa Sacchetti,the phone rang. Someone answered it and,after a couple of brief phrases, hung up.Monsignor Escrivá asked who it was.

“It was from the women’s center of theWork in Milan,” she replied. “I told them tocall back later because we were in ameeting.”

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“No, my daughter,” Monsignor Escrivátold her, “that wasn’t right. You can’t ignorea long distance call from another city. That’snot poverty, it’s irresponsible, because theyweren’t telephoning you for a chat but to tell

you something.”17

Julia herself would never askfor anything

Julia Bustillo had come to Rome with thefirst group of women when the men were stillliving in the rented flat of Città Leonina. Shewas a pleasant, rather forthright woman, aBasque from Baracaldo, who got to know theWork in the 1940s as a cook in the first cen-ter of Opus Dei in Bilbao. She was now anelderly lady with a bun at the nape of herneck and never a hair out of place. For every-body in the Work, Julia was a real character,and not just part of the family but part of thevery house.

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One night in September 1965, Julia did notfeel well and had to go to the bathroom. Shedid not turn the light on so as not to wakenanyone. She felt her way along the corridor,but when she reached the stairs she missed astep and fell downstairs, hitting her head andbreaking both wrists. A doctor was called,and by dawn she was in the hospital.Monsignor Escrivá was told when it was allover. Extremely concerned, he called a meet-ing of all the directors of the central advisoryand, without mincing words, complained asa father. How could they not have realizedthat Julia herself would never ask for any-thing? A woman of nearly seventy shouldhave all she needs in her room and not haveto be walking around corridors and stair-cases at night. Then he asked, “When youcalled the doctor, did you call the priest too?”

“Well, no, we didn’t. We didn’t think.”“My daughters, you have to love each other

more, you have to love each other better! You

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worried about her body. Fine. But you didn’t

worry about her soul.”18

When the first Japanese women of OpusDei came to live in Rome, Monsignor Escriváinsisted that as “women are like fragile por-celain there,” they should be treated with ex-quisite delicacy and helped “to adapt to theclimate, food, language, and Western cus-toms.” Thus: “As they are used to walking oncarpets, for the first few days let them useslippers around the house until they get used

to our hard floors.”19

Another time he noticed that a Europeandaughter of his who had lived in Africa forseveral years had prematurely aged skin. Hesaid, “I don’t know much about these creamsand things, but I’m sure there must be somekind of face cream that will revitalize herskin. Buy her some jars to take back to Ni-

geria with her.”20

Bertita was a girl from Ecuador who hadjust arrived in Rome and was living in Villa

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Sacchetti, helping with the housework.Monsignor Escrivá knew she had had a de-prived childhood, with much hardship andsuffering. Now that she was living in a centerof the Work, he wanted her to find all thelove and joy she had lacked. Whenever apretty package arrived, he would keep thecolored ribbons “for my little daughter fromEcuador.” If they received a present ofchocolates, he asked the administration toensure “that Bertita gets one of the biggestones,” even by “cheating” a little if necessary.

One morning Begoña Alvarez answeredthe house telephone and was surprised tohear Monsignor Escrivá asking aboutsomething quite unexpected. “Do you knowif Bertita has any woolen vests?”

“Woolen vests? I don’t know, Father, I’veno idea!”

“Well, find out, please, and tell me.”Begoña lived in La Montagnola with the

other directors of the advisory. She asked the

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person who would know, Blanca Fontan. Inpoint of fact, Bertita did not have woolenvests.

“I thought as much,” said MonsignorEscrivá when she reported this. “It’s begin-ning to get cold in Rome, and this daughterof mine must feel it more than anyone else.Will you make sure that she gets herself acouple of woolen vests before the day is out?

Nice soft wool that won’t scratch.”21

In the summer of 1955, Encarnita Ortegawas away from Rome. Monsignor Escriváspoke to Helena Serrano and Tere Zumalde.“What do you think of maybe giving Encar-nita a surprise by painting and decoratingher office while she’s away? It’s so dark andshabby! Give it a bit of color, brighten it up,hang a few pictures and some other pleasantlittle surprise. My daughters, this isn’t awhim of the Father, it’s a small act of justice.When you joined the Work, you found al-most everything in place, but your older

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sisters, poor women, have been through allkinds of privations: they have lacked clothes,furniture, and basic comforts; they’vesuffered hunger and cold; they worked likepack donkeys to get the Work going. Isn’t itonly fair that they should find somethingnice now? Will you do it? Of course you will,

putting your hearts and souls into it.”22

That same year he traveled a few times toGermany, where the people of the Work were“lifting the cross from the ground,” as theycalled beginning the apostolate in a newcountry. On the evening of August 22,Monsignor Escrivá went to Eigelstein, a res-idence for women students in Cologne, withDon Alvaro and another priest. They wereunexpected, and could see the precarious-ness of the situation and enormous economicdifficulties his daughters were having.

Monsignor Escrivá had words of affectionand encouragement for each of them: KätheRetz, Carmen Mouriz, Marlies Kücking,

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Tasia Alcalde, Pelancho Gaona, and EmiliaLlamas. He asked Marlies about her friends,he spoke to Emilia in Italian so she did notforget it, and she told him how she managedto cope in German when they went shopping.He asked Käthe how her parents were, andencouraged Carmen and Pelancho to eat andsleep more, because “you don’t look too well,and you must take care of your body, whichis the container of the soul.” He talked aboutBurgos, Tasia’s hometown. After the conver-sation, which lasted some time, he took atour of the residence. At one point he asked,“Where do you wash the sheets and theclothes, yours and the residents’? Don’t youhave a washing machine?”

There was embarrassed silence. This wassome thing they would have preferred himnot to notice. But he insisted on knowinghow and where they did the washing, soTasia explained, “There’s a machine

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provided for the use of everyone in thisblock.”

Monsignor Escrivá made no comment. Hewent into the oratory again. The walls hadbeen neatly covered with fabric, but not eventhis embellishment could hide the direpoverty. He said to Don Alvaro, “Alvaro, willyou please write to Rome and ask them topaint a nice triptych for the oratory of thesedaughters of mine.”

Before leaving, he gave them a couple ofboxes of Swiss chocolates. “I bet you’d for-gotten that such things as chocolates exist!”he said.

At a time when they were counting everylira in Rome, the students of the Roman Col-lege used to walk to their lectures becausethere was no money for bus fares; meat,wine, and coffee were luxury items, servedonly on the most solemn feast days. ButMonsignor Escrivá was alive to “the small,prosaic needs of his children.” The day after

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his visit, two men from an appliance store ar-rived at the Eigelstein residence bringing awashing machine, a small spin dryer, and atrolley for transporting the clothes. DonAlvaro had bought these on behalf of

Monsignor Escrivá.23

A song in the laundry

Occasionally, on special days theyshowed a film in the main hall of Villa Tevereand Monsignor Escrivá watched it with thestudents of the Roman College. At othertimes, he watched films with his daughters.If it was a thriller or a mystery, he used totease them by giving them false clues orthreatening to tell them the ending. Now andagain he used the loudspeaker for entertain-ment. One afternoon in 1954, he used it tocall Julia and Rosalia, who were working inthe laundry.

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“Can you hear me? I have Madrid on theline. If you listen hard you can hear the con-versation too.”

But what came over the loudspeaker was asong by the singer Agustin Lara. “When youcome to Madrid, my darling, I will make youthe Empress of Lavapies, / I will carpet theGran Via with carnations, / and give you finesherry to bathe in …” They heard MonsignorEscrivá laughing. There was no telephonecall at all. “We got this record as a present,

and I thought you’d like to hear it!”24

“We’ve eaten three pianos”

During the 1950s, when the one musicalinstrument in many people’s homes was stillthe old gramophone, Monsignor Escriváwanted a piano for Villa Tevere so the men inthe Roman College could enjoy themselves.Three times, friends gave them the money tobuy one, but more urgent needs claimed the

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money first. Monsignor Escrivá used to saycomically, “We’ve eaten three pianos!” Oneday the piano finally arrived. He brought hissons together in the sitting room and an-nounced the news. A loud cheer went up.When they calmed down he said, “My sons, Ican see you are delighted. I am too. But wewere thinking—ahem—that maybe we shouldgive the piano to … your sisters in the admin-istration. What do you…?” He did not get tofinish the question, as the cheers rose evenmore loudly.

Later, telling the women in Villa Sacchettiabout it, he said, “We had no piano. Thensuddenly we got the money for a piano but itturned out we needed it to pay for food …and that happened again and again. This isour blessed poverty! In the end we actuallygot a piano, and my sons have given it up,with enormous joy, without even having seenit. This is true affection in this family of

ours!”25 This was what he had told the

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American Joan McIntosh— “We are a Chris-tian family and we really love each other!”

From the start, Monsignor Escrivá taughtthe members of his supernatural family tolove God with the same heart with whichthey loved their parents, and to love theirparents with the same heart with which theyloved God. He called “Honor your father andmother” “the sweetest commandment” inOpus Dei.

One day in 1964 he called Begoña Mugicaand Helena Serrano to the dining room inVilla Vecchia, though their respective jobshad nothing to do with each other.

Monsignor Escrivá showed them an oldCastilian oil lamp. “If you get together,there’s a job here for both of you,” he said.“Begoña, try to clean this metal with out des-troying the patina on it; and you, Helena, seeif you can find a way of changing the silk lin-ing on the lampshades, because it’s worn out.

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An antique is one thing; dirt is quiteanother!”

That seemed all he wanted. But then headded, “Do you know that you are both goingto Spain to do your annual course? Otherpeople will be doing the same in due course,but you two are going to be the first.”

For people in Opus Dei the “annualcourse” was a break from ordinary work, atime spent together for three weeks or more,relaxing while studying, or studying while re-laxing. In those years of economic hardship,they always did their annual courses nearhome, to avoid spending money on traveling.Begoña’s and Helena’s surprise showed intheir faces. Monsignor Escrivá made the ges-ture of sealing his lips. “And now, mum’s theword. You don’t know a thing.”

They realized that exactly four years earli-er, in 1960, their fathers had died in Spain,and neither had been able to be with their

families then.26

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Each case was different. That same year,1960, Mary Rivero’s father fell ill: he was anelderly man and was going through a badtime economically. When Monsignor Escriváheard the circumstances of the case, heweighed what it would mean if Mary were toleave Rome and give up her post as centralprocurator. “My daughter, you know verywell how difficult it is for me—and how ithurts me—to have to do without you here. Itwould be untrue to say that whoever takesyour place will do the work as well as you.But you have to go to Bilbao and take care ofyour father: that’s only fair. We’ll be support-ing you from here, and I’m sure you’ll do itvery well! And if you put supernatural out-look and a lot of love into it, you’ll be helpingus so that the work here won’t be weakened

by your absence.”27

He often encouraged his children to writetheir parents to tell them what they were

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doing, send them a photograph, and keepthem up to date on the Work.

“Count on your parents,” he told them.“They have a right to feel that you love them.I love them very much, and I pray for themevery day. Bring them closer to God. A goodway of doing that is to bring them closer tothe Work. How could anything we do bepleasing to God if we neglected the souls ofthose who have loved us most on earth? Youowe them your life, the seed of the faith andan upbringing which has made your vocation

possible. Love them and count on them.”28

One day, looking at a small picture of St.Raphael in Villa Vecchia, he said to one ofhis Spanish daughters, “I really love thislittle picture. Do you know why? Well, be-cause it’s the Archangel St. Raphael, it comesfrom Cordoba, and your mother sent it to

us!”29

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“Our liabilities, which areblessed”

Carlos Cardona’s father was very ill, andCarlos, who lived in Villa Tevere, had gone toGerona in Spain. He wrote to MonsignorEscrivá telling him of his father’s death, andin the letter said his parents’ house had de-teriorated a lot due to dampness and was notvery comfortable; the tiny pension his moth-er was going to receive as a widow would notbe enough for her to move. When he got backto Rome, Monsignor Escrivá welcomed himand almost immediately began to speakabout his domestic problem. “Carlitos, don’tyou worry about your mother’s house. We’llhelp her to move as soon as possible.”

From then until her death years later Mrs.Cardona received a monthly check to help

her manage.30 Needy or sick parents of somepeople of the Work, whom Monsignor

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Escrivá called “our liabilities, which are

blessed,”31 were always looked after.Monsignor Escrivá said, “When your par-

ents need anything which is not opposed toyour vocation, we rush to give it to them, be-cause they are a very beloved part of OpusDei…. I have always impressed upon you thatyou should love your parents very much andI have stipulated that you should be withthem when they are dying. You need to knowhow to bring them to the warmth of theWork, which is to bring them to God. Andwhenever necessary the Work will take care

of them spiritually and materially too.”32

Rosalia Lopez, a domestic worker, was oneof the women closest to Monsignor Escriváand served him at table every day at lunchand dinner. She had arrived in Rome in theearly days. In 1964 she was going to Spain tospend a few days with her parents, who wereshepherds, simple, forthright people in theprovince of Burgos. A few days before she

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left, Monsignor Escrivá said to BegoñaAlvarez, “You need to prepare Rosalia’s trip alittle. Apart from her parents’ joy at havingher visit them, I would like her to takesomething which they would like and whichwould be useful at the same time. I thoughtmaybe you could buy a warm jacket for hermother and a shirt for her father. I’m surethey’d enjoy some Italian pasta and an Itali-an panettone. Wrap each gift beautifully,

with great care.”33

Another time it was Martina, an Italian,who was going to spend some days with herfamily in a little village in Umbria. Hermother was about to give birth to her ninthchild, and Monsignor Escrivá wanted Mar-tina to give the family a helping hand. Hethought at once of sending a little present:“Some sweets that her little brothers and sis-ters will enjoy, and maybe a box of biscuits,but not Italian ones—find some foreign ones

so it’s a novelty for the children.”34

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Small things, but things that showed hislove and care.

One day Marichu Arellano, who lived inVilla Sacchetti, got a letter from her familysaying that her father was not well. He hadnot yet been diagnosed, but they feared theworst. Mercedes Morado, director of thecentral advisory, waited a couple of days be-fore telling Monsignor Escrivá, because hehad known this family for years and was veryfond of them. When she told him, he asked,“Does Marichu know yet?”

“Yes, Father. She’s known for the last twodays.”

“Two days? And you’re only telling metoday? Mercedes, you were wrong not to tellme immediately, because something likethis, which affects a daughter of mine, affectsme too. And all this time she’s been suffer-ing, I could have given her a little bit of con-solation. What’s more, we’ve lost two days

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when we could have been praying for them

all.”35

But Monsignor Escrivá did not confuseloving parents with emotional depend ency.To the younger people in the Work he said,“It grieves me to say this, but so often it’s thefamily or friends or relatives who thought-lessly oppose a vocation, because they don’tunderstand, or they don’t want to understand, or they don’t want to receive lightfrom God! They end up opposing all thenoble things of a life dedicated to God. Theyeven dare to test the vocation of their child,or of a sister, brother, friend or relative, andend up doing the work, the dirty work, of aprocurer. And then they claim to be a Chris-

tian family. What a shame!”36

Some verses from Cervantes

During his journeys to South America tospeak of the teachings of the Church, a young

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man in the Work spoke to him of the diffi-culties his mother had raised, arguing thathe should first “try other things, see more oflife, taste human love so as to be sure, andthen make his choice.” Monsignor Escriváanswered unhesitatingly. “Some verses byCervantes come to mind, ‘Woman is made ofglass, but better not try to see if she willbreak or not, because everything is possible.’So better not try to see if you will break. Tellher to leave you in peace! Your mom is mis-taken here. She ought not to want you tocarry out experiments which would be an of-fense against God. If she doesn’t leave youalone, she will lose her own peace of mind,confuse her conscience and put her eternallife in jeopardy…. My son, love your mothera lot. Contradict her firmly, but kindly andgood-humoredly, because in this she’s

wrong, poor woman.”37

On November 2, 1973 he had a visit fromparents of a woman who lived in La

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Montagnola, a member of the central advis-ory. As soon as they exchanged greetings, themother said, “Well, I was very curious tomeet the person who was more powerfulthan I was— because I fought hard againstmy daughter’s vocation, but it was no use!You were the stronger, and she and you gotyour own way.”

“I’m sorry to contradict you,” MonsignorEscrivá said, “but it is our Lord who was thestronger, not me. If it were for my sake thatyour daughter were here, she could gowhenever, right now if she wanted. Person-ally, I don’t need her at all. Not at all! And Ididn’t call her: God called her. That is what avocation is: a grace from God, a divine call-ing. And it isn’t a sacrifice for parents if Godcalls their children. Nor is it a sacrifice foryour children to follow our Lord. On the con-trary, it’s a huge honor, a great glory, a signof very special love which God has shownyou at a particular moment, but which was in

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his mind from all eternity. I’d even dare tosay this: it’s your own ‘fault,’ because youbrought up your daughter in a Christian way.And so our Lord found the spadework done.Your daughter knows she has to be verygrateful to you; she’s heard me say so hun-dreds of times, among other reasons becauseshe owes ninety percent of her vocation toyou.”

Next day, after a work session with thecentral advisory, Monsignor Escrivá said tothe daughter in question, “Look here, I wantyou to write a letter to your mother on mybehalf and ask her to forgive me for sayingthings so bluntly. Explain to her that I amfrom Aragon, so I like to speak clearly, face

to face, without beating about the bush.”38

“But Father,” she replied, “they were de-lighted! I could see my mother was pleased,and even proud. And my father was somoved when he left you that he asked tospeak to a priest. And it’s been many, many

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years since he last received the sacra-

ments.”39

Appointments are burdens

Opus Dei does not remove anyone fromhis or her proper place. Members do theirjobs according to their capacity, studies,availability, age, health, education, character,and suitability. There are no jobs of greateror less status. Directors are not appointed forlife: this is a job they do for a time, then leaveto do other things. No one is congratulatedon being appointed director, nor does any-one complain when he or she ceases to beone. There will never be such a thing as an“owner-director.” Monsignor Escrivá said:“The owner-director does not exist. I havekilled him off.” It goes without saying thereare no grades, levels, social classes, or priv-ileged groups in Opus Dei.

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Lawyers are up-to-date in law, doctorsstudy new diagnostic techniques, soldiersperfect their martial skills, cooks their skillin cooking, and business people try to bal-ance their right to legitimate profits with ser-vice to society. When some priests of theWork were ordained bishops, MonsignorEscrivá told them, “When you get home, putall your ‘jewelry’ away in a drawer, becausein our family no one is greater than anyoneelse. It is the same if someone is appointed agovernor or a minister in his country: in theWork he continues to be loved as before, buthe does not acquire any preeminence, nordoes he have any special privilege. At homeall these honors have no importance what so

ever. Is that quite clear?”40

In October 1961 Encarnita Ortega leftRome after holding appointments in the gov-ernment of the Work for almost twentyyears. She returned to Spain, where sheworked in other fields of apostolate, as well

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as working professionally in women’s fash-ion. Monsignor Escrivá’s words on partingwere, “Your mission, the mission of someonewho has been in the Work for a long time, isnot to command or impose your opinion, butto keep quiet and let your good example do

the shouting.”41

He impressed on his spiritual children theimportance of “humility and service” to pre-vent directors from falling into the trap of ar-rogance or complacency. He himself refusedto let people help him on with the cardiganhe wore at home over his cassock, or carryhis suitcase when he was traveling. On goingto bed at night, he insisted on carrying hisown camomile tea. “I’ll carry it myself! Whatare my hands for?” Often he repeatedChrist’s words, “I have not come to be served

but to serve.”42

“And the last one for you, boss”

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One Sunday morning he called MercedesMorado and two students from the RomanCollege who were working on the decorationof Villa Tevere. He wanted to discuss someaspects of their work. On the dining roomtable in Villa Vecchia was a box of yemas deSan Leandro, a sweet from Seville. Aftermaking suggestions about ornamental de-tails, he opened the box and shared somesweets. He offered them to Mercedes Mor-ado last, saying, “And the last one for you,boss, because those of us who give the orders

should always be last.”43

He made no distinctions between peopleor social classes. What made a job importantfor him was “the love of God with which it isdone.” On one occasion he said, “If you askedme which I preferred, a daughter who was aprofessor at the Sorbonne or another whowas washing dishes in the latest hospitalyou’ve started up out there, I really don’tknow the answer! It would depend on how

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they each carried out their work, on the loveof God they put into what they were doing.I’d very often envy the one who was washing

dishes.”44

He also said, “All souls are the same, be-cause they are all made in the image andlikeness of God. A university vice-chancellor,an ambassador, or a peasant all have thesame rank before God. Except that the soulsof simple people are often more beautiful,because you learn good manners by being incontact with well-mannered people. So it isthat illiterate souls who speak and listen toGod the Father, God the Son, and God theHoly Spirit, Our Lady, the Holy Angels, andSt. Joseph, can become very delicate souls,really delightful ones. They possess divineknowledge which is the essence of wisdom,and know so many things that the learned of

this earth do not know.”45

Some women in the Work have houseworkas their profession. It is their responsibility

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that centers of Opus Dei be cozy, clean,cheerful family homes. Monsignor Escrivásometimes called them “my little daughters.”He felt like “those mothers who are lost inadmiration of the child they never expectedto have.” In 1964 he told some domestic em-ployees in the Work, “You have a special,outstanding place in the heart of this poorfounder. I seldom use the word ‘founder,’ butI am doing so now deliberately. You deservethat special place, because you occupy it in

the heart of God.”46

Marlies Kücking and Mercedes Moradomade a written note of his words. “Thoughnot fully understanding the depth of what Iwas hearing,” Mercedes said, “I clearly real-ized it was something important in the life ofthe Work from the Father’s attitude and theemphasis he employed in speaking. Itseemed to me the Father had just unveiledcertain sentiments of his heart.”

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He paid special attention to his favoritedaughters. If the people in Villa Tevere weregiven some sweets and there were notenough to go around, he sent them to VillaSacchetti “for the staff.” The first rooms to beair conditioned were the kitchen, the server,and the laundry. These rooms also had themost modern equipment. Monsignor Escriváfostered the setting up of catering schoolsand colleges in many countries to providepeople in the catering profession with sci-entific and technical knowledge of thehighest standard. He also made sure theseschools and colleges promoted the image ofcaterers by giving them education that tookin all aspects of the person: spiritual, profes-sional, cultural, aesthetic, social, apostolic,and physical. He also encouraged them tostand up for their rights as citizens.

One day in 1962 in La Montagnola theywere installing furniture and putting the fin-ishing touches to the decoration. They

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wanted Monsignor Escrivá’s opinion on aparticular ornament to be placed over thedoor. They needed a small ladder, and twodomes tic employees brought one in.Monsignor Escrivá thanked them. Whenthey had left, his expression and tone ofvoice changed, and he said to the women,“Listen care fully. In the Work all of you areservants of each other. You must never letyourselves be served! You, as directors,ought to be the first in coming forward to dothe most difficult, demanding, and unpleas-

ant tasks. That’s where you have to lead!”47

“Today it’s my turn to serve”

On March 19, 1959, feast of St. Joseph,the patron of Opus Dei, Monsignor Escrivácame to the servery when the dishes wereready for lunch. Picking one up, he took it in-to the dining room. Seeing Julia Bustillo, the

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eldest person there, he went to her and heldthe dish for her to help herself.

“In the house at Nazareth everyone servedeach other,” he said. “Today it’s my turn to

serve!”48

Some days later he said to the directors inLa Montagnola, “In the Work we don’t have‘servants.’ Different people do different jobs.We each do our own job and all of us serveGod, who is our only Lord. It would be agood idea if sometimes (and it doesn’t needto be a special day or a feast day, but an or-dinary day) you serve at table for those who

normally serve you because it’s their job.”49

During her long stay in Rome, EncarnitaOrtega visited Cardinal Tedeschini on severaloccasions and heard him pay tribute to OpusDei and its founder. He said that of all thepeople he knew, Monsignor Escrivá was themost attentive to God’s plans and carriedthem out the soonest. “He is the holiest manI know,” said the cardinal, “maybe the only

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saint I know.” Then he made another com-ment: “The biggest miracle achieved by theFather in this Work entrusted to him by Godis the vocation of those women who work inthe administrations and feel so proud ofserving all their lives that they wouldn’t

change places with a princess.”50 In June1967, Monsignor Escrivá reminded thosewho had completed their doctorates at theRoman College of the Holy Cross and wereleaving, “We don’t create supermen here.You’re not going out there to give orders, stillless to interfere! You’re going to serve.You’re going to be the last of all, putting yourhearts on the floor as soft carpets for the oth-

ers to walk on.”51

The last bedspread

Although people of the Work began tolive in Villa Tevere in 1949, they had to sharetheir daily lives with the noise and confusion

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of builders, plumbers, electricians, andpainters for more than ten years. And it wasnot until 1964 that some details such as bed-spreads were in place. Until then, the beds,of which there were more than 200, weresimply covered with blankets. MonsignorEscrivá’s blanket was very worn, with a fadedgreen and brown pattern.

In 1956 they received an unexpected dona-tion, and the women thought of using it tobuy material for making bedspreads, but inthe end the money had to be used for other,more pressing needs. Some years later theyproposed to Monsignor Escrivá that theyshould get the material for bedspreads littleby little. Admittedly, they argued, they werenonessential, but they would complete thebedrooms and give them a cozier, morehomelike look. Monsignor Escrivá consentedbut made them reverse the order they hadsuggested; they should begin with the bed-spreads of his daughters on the domestic

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staff, followed by those of the teachers andstudents of the Roman College. Next it wouldbe the turn of the members of the generalcouncil. And last of all: “Make mine wheneveryone else has theirs. I want to be the lastone.”

One Sunday in March 1964 the house tele-phone rang in Mercedes Morado’s office. Itwas Monsignor Escrivá. “Thank you, mydaughter, and God bless you!” he greetedher. “What a surprise I had the other daywhen I came into my room! I thought I’dgone into the wrong room by mistake. Then Isaid to myself, ‘Long live luxury and itsmaker! Josemaría, you’re getting rich!’ Mer-cedes, my child, when time has gone by andI’m no longer in this world, you will tell yoursisters this little story. Why did the Fatherwant to be the last to have a bedspread? Fortwo reasons. First of all, out of the great loveI have for my daughters: I wanted you to befirst. And secondly, out of poverty. Not

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having a bedspread simply doesn’t matter!The Work is thirty-six years old. And now,for the first time in thirty-six years, I have a

bedspread.”52

To be of use, you must serve

On June 25, 1975, the day before he died,he spoke to Rolf Thomas about service. Hereferred to passages in the Gospels where Je-sus tells his disciples, “he who is first shall belast,” “do not seek the first places at table,” “Iam in the midst of you as one who serves, be-cause I have not come to be served, but toserve.” He contrasted this strongly with “theclimate of pride which is spread all overnowadays, and which makes people rejectanything they consider demeaning.” “As aresult of your efforts to give life back itsChristian meaning,” he said, “many peoplewill wonder, with great joy, about whetherthey can give themselves to a life of service:

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to serve everyone, for the love of God. Andthey will see it as what in fact it is: a greatprivilege! From all parts of the globe thefinest souls will come to the Work, the mostspiritual and cultured ones, those who wishabove all to identify themselves with JesusChrist, and they’ll ask for admission to Opus

Dei, with a resolute vocation to serve.”53

Soon afterward, young women graduatesfrom universities and technical colleges inseveral countries asked to be admitted toOpus Dei, expressing a preference to dedic-ate themselves to housekeeping tasks. It wasa direct challenge to an individualistic,stony-hearted civilization where nurses,teachers, and housewives were consideredanachronisms.

Monsignor Escrivá transmitted a code ofconduct: para servir, servir—“to be of use,you must serve.” To be of service, one had tomake oneself available with “the healthy psy-chological attitude of always thinking about

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others.” And this was service rendered toGod himself.

While Monsignor Escrivá regularly recitedPsalm 2, which says “serve the Lord withfear” (servite Domino in timore), after a timehe also began to say to his children a versefrom Psalm 99, “serve the Lord with glad-ness” (servite Domino in laetitia). By direct-ing to the Lord what we do for our fellowmen, the act of service is done with the glad-ness of freedom.

Monsignor Escrivá confronts aheadof government

In June 1974, Monsignor Escrivá had aget-together with several thousand people inthe congress center of General San Martin inBuenos Aires, Argentina. A young man spokeup. “I’m in the Work. My mother, who is al-most my whole family, because I don’t have afather—“

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Monsignor Escrivá interrupted. “What doyou mean, you don’t have a father!” He heldup his hands and counted on his fingers.“One, in heaven; another, in heaven; and me:you’ve got three altogether!”

“Well,” said the young man promptly, “astoday is Father’s Day: congratulations, Fath-er! Anyway, my mother is very happy aboutmy vocation. But sometimes she worriesabout what will become of me when I’m old.She says I won’t have a family. She’s here be-side me, Father—here she is. I want you toexplain to her that we do have a family andlove each other a lot.”

“Yes,” agreed Monsignor Escrivá, “sitdown. Once, many years ago, a man in OpusDei in a certain country was not in agree-ment with the way the head of governmentacted, and had written some things in anewspaper which offended this person. Andthis very powerful person got angry and de-clared that the Opus Dei man had no family.

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So I, who do have a family, immediatelyasked for an audience, and they could notdeny me one.”

Monsignor Escrivá was referring to anepisode that happened in Spain. Rafael Calvohad written an article attacking the Francoregime. The authorities reacted very harshly,and Calvo had to go into exile. Among otherinsults printed about him was one callinghim “a person with no family.” MonsignorEscrivá went to Spain immediately and re-quested an audience with Franco. In it hesaid Calvo did have a supernatural family,the Work, and Monsignor Escrivá consideredhimself his father.

Franco inquired, “What if he goes to jail?”Monsignor Escrivá answered, “I will re-

spect the decisions of the judiciary; but if hegoes to jail, no one can stop me from provid-ing my son with all the spiritual and materialassistance he might need.”

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He repeated the same thing to AdmiralCarrero Blanco, Franco’s right-hand man,who admitted that the founder of Opus Deiwas right.

Monsignor Escrivá went on, “… And I saidto him, ‘You have no family, he has mine!You have no home, he has my home!’ He saidhe was sorry.”

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Under the brush of portrait painter LuisMosquera at Molinoviejo in September 1966.

The J.J. Sister, in which St. Josemaríatraveled from Barcelona to Genoa in 1946.Photo taken in the port of Santa Cruz deTenerife, Canary Islands. The ship wasscrapped in 1974.

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Above: Buildings at Villa Tevere, Rome,under construction in 1950.

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Above right: Aunt Carmen with her box-er, Chato, during Christmas 1956.

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Give-and-take with young men in a get-together in Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1974.

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Meeting university students and profes-sional women in Rome in the early 1970s.

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Relaxing in 1964. In the left foreground,Bernard Villegas, from the Philippines.

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With workers and farmers in Jaltepec,Mexico in 1970.

Meeting families at Montefalco, Mexicoin 1970.

The best place to live and thebest place to die

Monsignor Escrivá then addressed themother of the boy who had spoken. “Now

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you know your son has a family and a home,and that he will die surrounded by his broth-ers, with immense affection. Happy to liveand happy to die! Unafraid of life and un-afraid of death! Let’s see who can say thatout there! Unafraid of life and unafraid ofdeath! The best place to live and the bestplace to die: in Opus Dei!”

He paused, threw his head back slightlyand closed his eyes. He took a deep breathand exclaimed with all his heart, “How very

well off we are, my children!”54

“I would have willingly gotdown on my hands and knees”

In February 1950, Don Alvaro fell ill withacute appendicitis and liver problems. Doc-tor Faelli recommended an operation.Monsignor Escrivá tried to cheer him up bytelling him cheerful stories. When he sawhow bad the pain was, he began to improvise

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a funny dance. Don Alvaro and another manin the room started to laugh, which was ex-actly what Monsignor Escrivá wanted: “I hadto do what I could to lessen his pain. From aspiritual point of view, although he was of-fering up everything with great supernaturalvision, I thought our Lord would like him toforget about his pain, so I danced. I wouldhave willingly got down on my hands andknees, whatever, moved by the wonderfulreality that we are never really alone: Goddoes not abandon us and neither do our

brothers and sisters.”55

One morning in December 1955,Monsignor Escrivá arrived home after pray-ing beside the body of Ignacio Salord, ayoung student of the Roman College. Hepaused for a moment to talk with the girls ontelephone duty, who saw that his eyes werered and swollen with crying. “He died as helived,” said Monsignor Escrivá. “He knew ex-actly what was happening, that he was dying.

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He wished to make a general confession ofhis whole life. I’d say he didn’t need to. Any-

way he did!”56

In October 1960 three young people in theWork were killed in a car crash. A few dayslater Monsignor Escrivá said to one of hissons, Gumersindo Sanchez, “I got the newslate, because I was on my way to France.When I heard it, I could not control myself,and I cried like a child—because I’m a mangydonkey and sometimes I drag the cross re-

luctantly.”57

In the early hours of December 11, 1961Armando Serrano died. He had lived andworked close to Monsignor Escrivá for a longtime; among other things, he had been thedriver on long car journeys. MonsignorEscrivá was so upset he could not eat breakfast but had to leave the dining room in tearsand go to the oratory. This was repeated twoor three times, and on one of his hasty exitshe met two of his daughters. He put his

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handkerchief in the pocket of his cassock,but could not hide his distress. “This son ofmine is dead … Armando …” he said. “Goand tell the others so they can pray for

him.”58

An accident on the island ofGuadeloupe

One morning in March 1968 MonsignorEscrivá had a meeting with the women dir-ectors of Opus Dei who had come to Romefrom different countries for a special course.He entered the sitting room of LaMontagnola at ten sharp. As soon as he satdown, he told them sad news: VladimiroVince, a Croatian priest of Opus Dei, hadbeen killed in an air crash on the island ofGuade loupe. Vlado Vince had met the Workas a refugee exiled in Italy during the war.He had translated The Way into Croatian.

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“I have been to the tabernacle to com-plain—lovingly, but I did complain—becauseI find it hard to understand how our Lord,having so few friends in this world, can takethose who could serve him, when they are sobadly needed! But then, as always, I end upaccepting the will of God and saying: Fiat,adimpleatur—May the most just and mostloveable will of God be done, be fulfilled, bepraised and eternally exalted above allthings. Amen. Amen.”

His voice cracked and he swallowed.Standing up suddenly, he apologized: “I can’tgo on speaking to you … Forgive me, mydaughters.” And he left the room.

At the same time the next day he returnedto the sitting room, looking quite different,even happy. He told them what he had justheard: two or three people of the Work, oneof them a priest, had flown from Venezuelato Guadeloupe in an aircraft chartered by AirFrance for relatives and friends of those in

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the crash. Miguel Angel Madurga had alsogone from Rome, sent by Monsignor Escrivá.The crash site was chaotic: bits of the air-craft, dead bodies, luggage strewn about, andthe smell of death. The relatives had come toidentify the dead, but one by one retreated totheir plane, appalled at the scene. The peopleof Opus Dei kept searching determinedly un-til they found some personal belongings ofVladimiro. (Later they sent these to Croatiawhere his mother was still living, togetherwith a photograph album.) While two contin-ued the search, the priest prayed successiveresponsories for the dead and at a nearbychapel celebrated several Masses for thesouls of those killed.

Monsignor Escrivá concluded his accountin La Montagnola by saying, “Together withthis tremendous sorrow, God has given methe consolation, the joy, of experiencing onceagain the fact that we are a family and loveeach other dearly: your brothers have done

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more for Wlado than husbands did for theirwives, more than fathers for their sons. Theyhave done what others, even actual relatives,did not have the courage to do. Always prac-tice that blessed fraternity— heroically, if ne-

cessary.”59

Sofia, Aunt Carmen

In May 1972 Mercedes Morado toldMonsignor Escrivá that Sofia Varvaro, ayoung Italian, had been diagnosed with can-cer. The doctors thought she had only a fewmonths to live. Monsignor Escrivá said hewanted to go and see her immediately.

“Father, Sofia is living in Villino Prati, inAunt Carmen’s house,” they told him. “Infact, she’s in the same room Aunt Carmenwas in when she died.”

“Aunt Carmen” was Carmen Escrivá deBalaguer, Mon signor Escrivá’s sister. Shehad united her whole life and heart to Opus

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Dei, though she had never actually belongedto the Work. She looked after the domesticadministration of centers before there wereany women in the Work and put all her affec-tion at the service of Opus Dei. A foundationstone in the history of the Work, after herdeath on June 20, 1957 she was buried inVilla Tevere in the crypt.

Her little apartment was at 276 Via degliScipioni. “You know, I said I never wanted togo back to that house again,” MonsignorEscrivá said now, “and I’ve never been backsince then. It holds so many memories! But adaughter is more than a sister. I can’t letSofia leave us without going to see her andsaying some words of consolation.”

A few days later he went to Villino Pratiwith Father Javier Echevarria. TeresaAcerbis and Itziar Zumalde were waiting forthem. He started talking to Sofia before hehad even entered her room. “Sofia, miafiglia!” When he got to the room, he gave her

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a holy picture of the Blessed Trinity; on theback he had written a short prayer in big,bold letters.

“Shall I read you what it says?” he asked.“Would you like to say it with me? ‘My Lordand my God, into your hands I abandoneverything, past, present, and future: big andlittle, great and small, temporal andeternal.’”

He encouraged her to be cheerful, simpleas a child, and let herself be cared for, to takepainkillers when she needed them, and topray for her cure.

“Because there are still very few of you inItaly, and so much apostolate to be done,” heexplained. “It would be too easy to go toParadise. There’s still a lot of work to bedone here! Although for us, the most import-ant work is doing God’s will in everything.”

“Father,” she confided, “when they firsttold me what I had, my reaction was fear.But not fear of suffering or death—fear

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because I’m a very ordinary person, worthvery little, and I don’t want to go topurgatory!”

“How about that! She doesn’t want to go topurgatory! You shan’t go, my daughter. Don’tbe afraid, because our Lord is with you.Besides, that’s what everybody in Opus Deiis—ordinary! Our Lord has chosen us and heloves us precisely because we’re ordinarypeople. And you have to pray to get betterbecause, just as you are, we need you! Youhave to help us a lot. Now I feel stronger be-cause I’m relying on you. You can rely on me,and don’t be afraid! But if our Lord wantsyou up there, you’ll have to help us evenmore from heaven.”

Monsignor Escrivá followed the progressof Sofia’s disease closely. He urged thepeople looking after her to do all they couldfor her, with loving care; that they should be“more than a mother or a sister” to her. Hetold them not to leave her alone, and to help

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her to say the prayers and fulfill the othernorms of piety that everyone in Opus Deidoes every day; and to give her painkillers“so this daughter of mine does not sufferunnecessarily.”

He went to visit her again at a private hos-pital in Rome when she had gotten worse.Before going into her room, he said to Teresaand Itziar, “She mustn’t realize how we aresuffering for her. How long will the doctor letus stay so as not to tire her? Well, when thetime is up, if I forget, tell me: I’ll only stay aslong as the doctor allows.”

He went in with Father Javier Echevarriaand sat beside the bed. He spoke softly andencouragingly to Sofia about spiritual mat-ters. Because he knew the value of suffering,he asked her to offer up her pain and physic-al difficulties “for the Church, for priests, andfor the Pope.”

“Sofia,” he asked her, “will you join me inthe intentions of my Mass?”

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“But, Father, I’m here in bed. I can’t go toMass any more.”

“My daughter, now you are a constantMass! And to morrow, when I say Mass, Iwill place you on the paten.”

Shortly after this, Sofia said she was get-ting tired. Monsignor Escrivá made the signof the cross on her forehead and said good-bye.

On December 24, while chatting with agroup of Italian women of the Work, heasked, “How is Sofia doing? Every day whenI get to the offertory of the Mass, I place allmy sons and daughters who are ill ortroubled on the paten.”

Sofia was dying. Toward the end, when hercaregivers were praying the litany of theRosary, at the invocation “Gate of heaven,”Ianua coeli, she smiled and said “That’s myone.” She died on December 26. Next day,Monsignor Escrivá went to Villa delle Rosein Castelgandolfo as had been planned. As

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soon as he entered the sitting room he said,“As you know, my daughters, there’s been alot of coming and going recently. Your sistersare starting the Work in Nigeria, a few daysago I blessed another who should arrive inAustralia today, and yesterday … this other

daughter of mine left us to go to heaven.”60

There was indeed a lot of coming and go-ing. That same month, December 1972, Fath-er José María Hernandez de Garnica, a civilengineer and one of the first three priests ofOpus Dei, died in Barcelona. His nicknamewas Chiqui. Monsignor Escrivá had first methim in the 1930s when setting up the stu-dents’ residence in Ferraz Street in Madrid.Seeing him come in “dressed like a dandy,”Monsignor Escrivá gave him a hammer andnails, saying, “Come on, Chiqui, get up thatladder and help me put these nails in.”

How much had happened since then! Somany apostolic journeys, so much coming

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and going, helping to establish the Work inhalf of Europe! So many loving memories!

In Barcelona in October 1972, at a get-to-gether in the Brafa gymnasium, he confessedto those present that although he was de-lighted to be there, he had to leave. “A sickperson is expecting me,” he said. “And I haveno right to make a sick person wait—he is al-ways Christ…. He needs his father and moth-er. And I am both father and mother to him.”

After visiting Father José María, he said tohis sons, “I have been with a brother of yourstoday. I’m having to make a tremendous ef-fort not to cry, because I love you with all myheart…. I hadn’t seen him for a few months.And now I think he looks like a corpsealready. He has worked hard and with a lotof love. Maybe our Lord has already decided

to give him the glory of heaven.”61

When Monsignor Escrivá got back toRome, he had in mind the aspiration ut ingratiarum semper actione mane amus!

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(“that we may always remain in the act ofthanks giving”) from an old liturgical prayer.He wrote it in his diary as a “password” forthe New Year, 1973, using an exclamationpoint to emphasize his gratitude, for as hesaid, echoing St. Paul, “Everything helps tosecure the good of those who love God”—om-

nia in bonum!62

A box of crystallized fruit

In May 1975, after going to see the con-struction underway in Torreciudad, then al-most completed, Monsignor Escrivá receiveda visit from the lord mayor and a councillorof Barbastro. After they left, Father JavierEchevarria and Father Florencio SanchezBella came in. They had sad news: SalvadorCanals, nicknamed “Babo,” another of theolder people in the Work, had just died. Itwas he who had gone to Rome with Jose

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Orlandis to pave the way for setting up theWork there.

Monsignor Escrivá began to cry openly. Heprayed a responsory for the dead, interrup-ted by sobbing. Then, weeping silently, hewent to one of the armchairs near the bigwindow overlooking the esplanade of Torre-ciudad. The others sat around him quietly,respecting his prayerful sorrow. He prayedand remembered. After a while, he said, “Ilove all of you just the same—all of you—butyou have to realize that I’ve lived through somuch with Babo … so many years! It’s onlynatural his death should affect me more. It’sa hard blow, even though I knew Babo wasdying when I left Rome. I even lefteverything ready—didn’t I, Alvaro?—so thathis funeral could be celebrated in Tiburtino.

“I went to see him in hospital just a fewdays before coming here. I wanted to takehim some sweets he liked, but I couldn’t re-member what they were. I asked one of my

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sons who works in Villa Tevere to find outfrom the people he’d been living with … theysaid it was crystallized fruit, and bought asmall box of them. Afterwards I had a sud-den thought, and I called the women in theadministration in Villa Sacchetti, and askedthem to go to a sweet shop and get a muchbigger box, with bigger fruit, and theybrought one right away. Alvaro and I went tothe hospital. You can’t imagine how happyBabo looked to see us. He accepted the box,opened it, and offered us some. Alvaro and Itook a small piece each. He looked at thefruits, and chose a really big fat pear. I wasdelighted! I thought: ‘Goodness, what if I’dbrought the little box!’ Besides, like a moth-er, when I saw him eating it … I got hopeful.But when we left his room, the doctor dashedall our hopes; he said his heart was in a verybad state.”

Monsignor Escrivá took out his handker-chief, took his glasses off and dried his eyes.

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Night had fallen. Everyone was silent. Look-ing from one solemn face to the next, hestopped at the architect, César Ortiz-Echagüe, and exclaimed, “My son, Opus Deiis the best place to live and the best place to

die. I assure you that it’s worthwhile!”63

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13

Passion for Freedom

“Did you vote for Kennedy?”

Monsignor Escrivá’s voice cut through theatmosphere of the get-together like a knife:“Fernando, that question is out of order!”

It was 1961. Fernando Valenciano had justasked an American, Dick Rieman, if he hadvoted for John F. Kennedy in the recentAmerican election. Monsignor Escrivá con-tinued, “It’s of no interest to any of us herewhether Dick voted, or who he voted for.And I would ask everyone in the Work never

to bring up such topics of conversation.”1

In 1958 Irene Rey, a Peruvian, was in aget-together in the Roman College of OurLady and witnessed an exchange between agirl of the Work and Monsignor Escrivá.

“Father, there are elections in Sicily. I amgoing to go because I have to vote …”

“My daughter, I’m delighted that you’regoing. But I don’t want to know who you’regoing to vote for. Don’t tell me. You knowvery well you can vote for whomever youlike, don’t you? Tell me about somethingelse.”

People in Opus Dei never speak aboutpolitics. Mon signor Escrivá was very clearon this. “If Opus Dei had ever got involved inpolitics, even for a second, I would have leftthe Work at that very moment. So don’t evergive any credence to anything which tries tolink the Work with politics, economics, ortemporal issues of any sort. For on the onehand, our means and our aims are always ex-clusively supernatural, and on the other

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hand everybody in the Work respects the factthat every single one of us, man or woman, iscompletely free in secular affairs, and as a lo-gical consequence is personally responsiblefor his or her actions. Therefore it is im-possible for Opus Dei ever to take a hand inany projects other than directly spiritual andapostolic ones, which can have nothing to do

with any country’s politics.”2

The radical option of Opus Dei for free-dom allows each individual to exercise his orher personal preferences on a wide variety ofmatters: state in life, job, cultural, sporting,or aesthetic questions. Monsignor Escrivásummed up the inheritance he was leaving intwo human characteristics: good humor andlove for freedom.

During the 1950s and 1960s in Spain, thepresence of some members of Opus Dei inthe government, universities, banks, and themedia caused some people to imagine acollective “take-over” strategy. There were

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references to “white masons” and pressuregroups. These people did not grasp that per-sonal holiness is individual, self-determined,responsible, and free, a project in which eachperson maps out his or her own destiny.

“The oddity of not being odd”

The Second Vatican Council had not yetproclaimed the “universal call to sanctity” soit is understandable that many Christians atthat time still thought good lay peopleshould be a sort of appendix or “long arm” ofthe clergy, reaching out to the world on theorders of the clergy; they did not realize thatlay people should act in the world on theirown initiative. This was the novelty of OpusDei from the start, but there was also “theoddity of not being odd,” which made somepeople regard members of the Work withsuspicion.

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“We could never be a pressuregroup”

One day in 1964 Monsignor Escrivá waschatting with a group of his daughters aboutthese matters. “I never talk about politics. Irespect all political opinions when they arenot contrary to the Church, the faith, and theteachings of Jesus Christ. Moreover, I re-spect and obey the authorities of whichevercountry I am in. But I love freedom, becausewithout freedom we could not serve God.Without freedom we would be wretch ed.Catholics must be taught to live as Catholics;not just to call themselves Catholics, but tobe citizens who take personal responsibilityfor their free actions. Not long ago I wrote toa very important person—you can imagine itwas whoever you choose, I don’t mind—thatGod’s children in Opus Dei live in spite of be-ing Catholics.”

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He may have been referring to a long letterhe had written from Paris on August 15 ofthe same year to Cardinal Angelo Dell’Acqua,the secretary of state of the Vatican, aware

that it would get to Pope Paul VI’s desk.3

He went on, “It isn’t true that we goaround like a flock of sheep. It simply isn’ttrue! Nor are we a pressure group. Peoplewho say so are wrong. I have a great manychildren of all sorts, from all over the world,of every race, and speaking many differentlanguages. I’m not boasting, since I have topractice collective humility. If I were to try touse coercion in a temporal matter, everyonewould leave. They’d say, ‘Who does he thinkhe is!’ We have to be totally free in

everything.”4

In some ecclesiastical and political circlespeople feared that Opus Dei was a powerbloc or pressure group. In others, both eccle-siastical and political, people were trying toturn Opus Dei into precisely that: an

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organized infiltrator of ‘moles’ programmedto invade the structures of society. Therewere even those who imagined that thou-sands upon thousands of people of Opus Deicould be manipulated and sent into action atone stroke.

False ideas of the Work led some to sug-gest, “Why don’t all the people in Opus Deistandardize their political aims, and become,if not a party, at least an effective socialpower with a religiously oriented vote?”

Monsignor Escrivá himself time and againsaid no. “In the Work we never give direct-ives on how people should exercise theirrights and duties as citizens. Each individualacts according to his or her conscience. Noone is told to go for one option or another. Ifthere is something to be said regarding pub-lic life in a particular country, that’s the do-main of the Church hierarchy, the bishops,and not ours. We defend our own personal

freedom and everybody else’s.”5

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He also said, “Even if everything peoplesay were true ten times over in the field ofeconomics, we could still never be a pressuregroup because of the real freedom we enjoyin Opus Dei. As soon as anyone tried to im-pose their own opinion about a temporalmatter, the other people of the Work whothink differently would have the duty to

rebel.”6

To a group of students of the Roman Col-lege he said in 1967, “My sons, we love every-one, including those who don’t understandor don’t want to understand our free, person-al actions as simple Christians. They can’t getit into their heads that you are as free asbirds. We are completely free, and have theright to think and act as we please. We eachdo as we please in temporal affairs, as longas it is not contrary to the Catholic faith.There is a wide range of opinions to choosefrom. No one will ever say anything against

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your exercising this noble freedom, and thathas been true since 1928.

“There were certain people who wanted usto be a political party so as to be able to ma-nipulate us; but Opus Dei is not that. OpusDei is the holy freedom of the children ofGod. There are some things—not many—thatwe all agree on: the faith and the teachings ofJesus Christ, and the spirit of the Work. Ineverything else you are completely free. Welive in a world of disguised or open tyranny,and this marvelous individual freedom ofours, with its corresponding personal re-sponsibility, is beyond some people’s under-standing—they find it hard to imagine such a

beautiful thing can exist!”7

No politics here

José Luis Muzquiz, a civil engineer whowas one of the first three priests of Opus Dei,together with Don Alvaro and Jose María

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Hernandez de Garnica, in 1975 recordedsome of his personal experiences as one ofthe first people to join the Work. In part hisstory reads:

In forty years I don’t recall ever hav-ing been asked about my political opin-ions. On the other hand, when I was inthe United States, I do remember goingto vote with another person of the Work,and even though we didn’t talk about it,I was sure he had voted differently fromme. The Father had spoken to me rightat the beginning about freedom in thesematters of opinion. This has always beenpracticed in Opus Dei, in every countryand in all circumstances.

He also recalled his first encounter withFather Escrivá. The meeting took place in1935, in the DYA Academy. DYA was an ac-ronym for Derecho y Arquitectura (Law andArchitecture), but to the people of the Work

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it also meant Dios y Audacia—God andDaring.

“I went to 50 Ferraz Street in the after-noon—I am nearly sure it was fouro’clock—to visit the Father. I was curious toknow what this priest would think about thesituation in Spain, the political parties andthe political leaders of the day. At that turbu-lent time in the prewar years, all the priestsdiscussed politics.

“The Father spoke to me right from thestart in a super natural, apostolic tone. ‘I’mvery pleased you’ve come,’ he said. ‘I’ve beenlooking forward to meeting you, and I’vebeen praying for you a lot.’ No priest hadever spoken to me like that. Later, the Fathertold me, ‘There’s no greater love than Loveitself. Other loves are petty by comparison….’I said I had a certain interest in the politicalfield: in fact I asked the Father what hethought of one of those public figures—Ithink I mentioned Gil Robles, for whom I

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had a certain liking. The Father answeredstraightaway: ‘Look, people here will nevertalk to you about politics. Young people fromevery background come here: Carlists, Popu-lar Action, monarchists of the Spanish Rene-wal party, and so on. Why, yesterday thepresident and the secretary of the NationalAssociation of Basque Students were here.’Then the Father added, ‘On the other hand,you will be asked many other ‘awkward’questions. You’ll be asked if you pray, if youmake good use of your time, if you are tryingto please your parents, and if you study, be-cause for a student, studying is a serious ob-ligation.’ I was left in no doubt whatsoever

about freedom in political matters.”8

Ullastres and Lopez-Rodo

One morning in February 1957Monsignor Escrivá spent some time with thestudents at the Roman College. One of the

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younger lads, thinking to give MonsignorEscrivá a big piece of news, told him theItalian press that day had reported that aSpanish politician had just been appointed aminister in Franco’s government. That re-ferred to Alberto Ullastres, who was in OpusDei.

Monsignor Escrivá responded that he per-sonally did not care. What did interest him,he said, was whether that son of his was ful-filling his plan of life and doing his job, nomatter what it was, honestly. He added hu-morously, “I’d be more concerned if they toldme that that son of mine had a boil on his

back.”9

A few days later, a cardinal who was afriend of his telephoned from the Vatican tocongratulate him on the appointment.Monsignor Escrivá’s answer was similar:“Why congratulate me? I don’t care one wayor the other! This matter concerns AlbertoUllastres’ professional and political life. As a

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father, I’m pleased about the professionalsuccess of all my children, but nothing more!What I’m really interested in is Alberto’ssanctity and health. For the rest, I don’t carewhether he’s a minister or a road sweeper, so

long as he sanctifies himself in his work.”10

These words and others in the same veinwere not for mere outward show. Alberto Ul-lastres himself wrote some notes of a meet-ing with Monsignor Escrivá following hisministerial appointment. “When I was ap-pointed Minister for Commerce in February1957 I asked the Father for advice: whatnorms of action should I follow to live my vo-cation better in this new experience in mylife? The Father answered ‘Just this: Do thenorms and love freedom.’ I could tell that he

didn’t want to say any more.”11

During that same period Laureano Lopez-Rodo, also in Opus Dei, began to stand out inthe Franco regime. He was to become Minis-ter of the Development Plan and then

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Foreign Minister. He met Monsignor Escriváin Lourdes on November 20, 1957. In hispocket diary he noted down that same day,“The Father told me a series of things:

You have total political freedom: thisis no joke!

Serve your country loyally.

Try to unite people, bring themcloser together; always work with a plussign (he traced out a cross), which is thesign of charity.

Work serenely.

When you leave the job, do so cheer-fully. It shouldn’t matter a fig to you.Not even half a fig!

If your work prevents you from do-ing your norms of piety, you have to

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realize that that work is not Opus Deibut opus diaboli— the work of the devil.

Always aim for holiness.

“Each of these recommendations was just

exactly what I needed.”12

“Don’t be fanatical aboutanything!”

Four years later, on November 27, 1961,Lopez-Rodo had another conversation withMonsignor Escrivá in Rome. MonsignorEscrivá insisted on the same things: charityand freedom. He told Lopez-Rodo that“serving one’s country for love of God ismore praiseworthy than serving a human be-ing. No one is worthy of this service: onlyGod.” Then he stressed, “In the Work we arecompletely free: the directors will never giveyou an order or make a suggestion. Like all

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Catholics, we follow the indications given bythe Church through the hierarchy. We acceptall the opinions the Church accepts and weaccept all political parties except totalitarianones.”

Even though he was talking to a ministerof a country ruled by a military dictatorship,or maybe precisely because of that,Monsignor Escrivá dwelt on the question offreedom, taking a view above political ques-tions. “With the passing of time,” he ex-plained, “I’ve come to love freedom moreand more. We have to respect other people’sfreedom and be understanding; accept thatothers have their reasons for thinking differ-ently; and admit that we ourselves may be inthe wrong. Let’s never be fanatics. There’snothing in this world worth being fanaticalabout. The only things we stick to unre-servedly are the truths of the faith, buteverything else—everything—is a matter ofopinion. And if this or that person thinks

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differently, so what! He’s not offending me,

so I don’t take offense!”13

Lopez-Bravo with MonsignorEscrivá

On another occasion Gregorio Lopez-Bravo, also a minister for a while in Franco’sgovernment, took ad vantage of an officialtrip to Rome to visit Monsignor Escrivá. Hesaid later, “Every time I tried to talk toMonsignor Escrivá about the difficulties Imet with in my work, he always reacted byreminding me that his mission was not polit-ical but priestly, and all he could do was re-mind me of Catholic doctrine. He told me re-peatedly that Christians were not second-class citizens, unmindful of, or detachedfrom, the problems of our time: we had to beout there ‘where history is being made.’ …Whenever I tried to get a more precise ideaof his ideas on freedom and responsibility in

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civil life, he would answer that ‘our behavioras ordinary Christians has no other limitsthan those marked out by the Church,’ andthat ‘each individual should study the prob-lems in the light of the Church’s teaching andseek concrete solutions with an upright con-science and with full personal freedom.’ …Every time we spoke together, he insistedthat I should avoid thinking that I was inpossession of the truth in matters of opinionlike politics. ‘Get rid of all kinds of intoler-ance and fanaticism: you cannot treat any-one coldly or with indifference just becausethey think differently from you,’ he recom-

mended.”14

Thomas More would have beenin Opus Dei

Lopez-Bravo was married and had a bigfamily. In January 1970, when he was athome in Madrid, he received a photocopy of

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an old engraving of St. Thomas More, whodied by order of Henry VIII, for opposing theKing’s divorce. On the back of the print was anote from Monsignor Escrivá. “St. ThomasMore knew how to love his family, his coun-try, the Holy Church of God, and the RomanPontiff. If he had lived today he would have

been a supernumerary of Opus Dei.”15

Vicente Mortes was also married, in OpusDei, and a minister of the Spanish Govern-ment. After a meeting with MonsignorEscrivá in Rome in September 1963, Mortesmade some notes of their conversation. “I’mpleased that you’re serving your country.Your job demands a lot of sacrifices and ded-ication, and so it can be a good way to sanc-tity. In any case, I couldn’t say which job ismore important: yours or the person whoshows in the visitors. The most importantjob is always the one which is done with thegreatest love of God.”

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In October 1967, when Monsignor Escriváwas in Pamplona, Vicente Mortes had anoth-er conversation with him. “Don’t worry, youzealous politician,” said Monsignor Escrivá.“I’m not a politician at all. I have my armswide open to everybody, do you see that?Look, I have no right to have any politicalopinions. I myself defend the ‘freedom ofconsciences,’ and they call me a heretic for it;but not ‘freedom of conscience’ which meanseverybody doing just what they like.”

Mortes saw him again on February 11,1968 in Villa Tevere. “In politics as ineverything else,” Monsignor Escrivá toldhim, “use the plus sign, which is in the shapeof a cross and means addition. In earthlymatters there are many ways of achieving anend, and a lot of these are equally good. Apolitician who rejects people who think dif-ferently from him is a bad politician. Don’till-treat anyone, not even those who are onthe wrong road: talk to them and listen to

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them, to bring them to God! Respect otherpeople’s freedom. Remember the plus sign:Add! Add! Don’t divide! … Those of you whohave a vocation to serve your fellow citizensdeserve all my respect. What’s more, you’recompletely free, as long as you don’t offendGod. But I won’t go any further than thisgeneral criterion. I won’t say a word more!I’ve never put spokes in the wheels of any-one’s personal work, in anyone’s work for so-ciety, because you’re citizens like everyone

else.”16

“You’ve come to the wrongplace”

Vicente Mortes had met Father Escrivá in1940 in the students’ hall of residence inJenner Street in Madrid. At the time he wasa young man from the provinces who wasjust beginning his civil engineering studies.Thirty-five years later he remembered that

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first meeting clearly. “My father and I hadcome to Madrid from Valencia to look for ac-commodation. Father Eladio España, an ex-emplary priest, rector of Corpus Christi, hadoften spoken to me about Father JosemaríaEscrivá, the author of The Way, who had es-tablished a students’ residence in Madrid.

“We arrived at number six Jenner Streetand went up to the first floor. We waited in asmall reception room with a balcony lookingonto the street, until a few minutes later ayoung priest appeared before us, with a ro-bust, cordial appearance: it was the Father.We tried to kiss his hand as was the customthen, but he gently pulled it away. We satdown and my father started talking to himabout me. He explained that I was an onlychild and was going to be living away frommy family for the first time. He was afraid Iwould be ‘lost’ in the big city. So he reallywanted to leave me in a safe place where my

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comings and goings could be checked;where, in other words, I would be watched.

“As my father spoke, Father JosemaríaEscrivá’s face changed; he became serious,very serious. Then he interrupted my father,saying, ‘You’ve come to the wrong place. Inthis residence we don’t keep a watch on any-body. We try to help the residents to be goodChristians and good citizens, free men whomake up their own minds and shoulder re-sponsibility for their own actions. In thishouse we love freedom very much, and any-one who is not capable of handling it and re-specting other people’s freedom has no placehere.’

“Fortunately, my father understood thatFather Josemaría was right: without a senseof personal responsibility, supervision wouldbe useless, less than useless, because itwould not make people into free men. In theend, the Father said that as far as he wasconcerned, I could stay.

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“ ‘Go up to the third floor,’ he told us, ‘andspeak to the director, Justo Marti, who’s alaw graduate. He’ll tell you if there’s a roomavailable and how much it costs. That’s notmy business. My job as a priest is the spiritu-al guidance of the residents.’

“He said good-bye to us very warmly. I’venever forgotten his words, which at the time,in Spain in 1940, sounded extremely harsh tome. One did not often hear people talk aboutfreedom. Later, over the years, how often Iheard the Father use this word! Without anydoubt it was much more for him than an as-piration or an ideal: it was the air he needed

to breathe.”17

Among the many memories Vicente Mor-tes wrote down, one clearly outlines the free-dom which has always been exercised in theWork in public and political decisions. “Oncoming to Madrid to begin my third levelstudies, I joined the Sindicato EspañolUniversitario (Spanish Student Union),

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whose national president at the time wasJose Miguel Guitarte.

“In the Jenner Residence, I met some finepeople, responsible students with goodstanding among their classmates. I thoughtthe SEU would receive a great boost if thesemen joined and became leaders: they’d beexcellent delegates who would attract others.I spoke to Guitarte about it and he thought itwas a splendid idea. I went happily off to seethe director of the center. He listened to mecarefully, and when I had finish ed, he verygently pointed out my mistake. ‘Look, Vi-cente,’ he said, ‘I can’t talk to any of the res-idents here about politics. They are eachcompletely free to think and act as they thinkfit in matters of opinion—which means al-most every thing, because there are very fewdogmas of faith laid down by the Church. Butit doesn’t concern me, and it isn’t my role toencourage or discourage anyone over this orthat political initiative. It would be meddling

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in other people’s freedom.’ It was very clearthat once again I’d come to the wrong

door.”18

A letter to the Abbot ofMontserrat

Respect for people’s actions and personalopinions in Opus Dei are the fruit of a deep-rooted passion for responsible freedom.

Certain churchmen were not able to understand the freedom that people of the Workenjoyed in their professional work and activ-ity in society. Monsignor Escrivá wrote toDom Aurelio M. Escarre, Abbot of Montser-rat, on March 25, 1958: “The last paragraphof your letter amused me because I too ‘criti-cize’ my children in public when I think‘their free, personal actions in society’ call forit; although in many activities in this samesphere they deserve praise, which we oughtnot to begrudge either.”

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He went on to say that this personal free-dom was well known to all in Opus Dei. “Andas a consequence it brings with it responsib-ility, which is also personal and exclusive,whether for successes or failures. So, logic-ally, the Work can on the one hand never beheld liable for the professional, social, andother activities of the individuals who belongto it, and on the other hand it can never ob-struct their personal freedom, as long as theyact conscientiously within the ambit permit-ted by the faith and the Church’s teaching. Iknow full well that Your Reverence will nothesitate to point this out at the opportunemoment. I also know that people will begrateful to you and will understand, becauseall decent people who are capable of respect-ing the freedom of others all over the worlddo under stand this.”

“Neither ultra-conservative norprogressive”

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Freedom in all matters of opinion alsoapplies to philosophy and theology. One dayin March 1964 Monsignor Escrivá remindeda group of women of the Work in Rome, “Inmatters of faith we follow the doctrinedefined by the Church. In all other mattersleft by God to the free will of human beings,we each think as we please, including ontheological matters. That is why I absolutelyforbid particular schools of thought or doc-trine to be held in common by people ofOpus Dei in matters of opinion, because inphilosophical and theological matters we are

also free.”19

In the same conversation he said, “Thosewho call us ultraconservative are mistaken.The same goes for those who say we are pro-gressive. We are free, qua libertate Christusnos liberavit—with the freedom in whichChrist set us free…. Love freedom then, with-in the limits of our vocation. However, as theworld is drowning in tyranny, there may be

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people who don’t understand us. Being tyr-ants themselves, they can’t understand soulswho live in libertatem gloriae filiorum Dei,in the freedom of the children of God. We

have to be champions of holy freedom.”20

Schools of tyranny

He often warned his children to struggle“against every kind of tyranny, and in case of

doubt, always go for freedom.”21

One day in the autumn of 1967, whilestrolling in the gardens of Lariz, a house inElorrio in northern Spain, he told those withhim he had compiled a fat file of notes ontyranny. “A tyrant normally has two or threetaboo areas which no one but himself is al-lowed to touch. To ensure this, he allowsthose around him to tyrannize others in theirturn about everything else. And so the prac-tice of tyranny becomes a real school of tyr-

ants.”22

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As he defended the freedom of con-sciences, he advised, “Don’t straitjacket yourpiety … all you need to do is tone it up fromtime to time…. In the contemplative life onecan’t give general guidelines on the basis of afew people’s experience, as some mysticalwriters have done. God acts in souls, in each

soul, in the most varied ways.”23

Monsignor Escrivá wanted freedom toreign supreme in the inner life, where manmeets God one-to-one. He encouraged hischildren “not to tie themselves to any partic-ular system in the interior life” and to “doyour own prayer in freedom, to putsomething personal of your own into yourrelationship with our Lord. There is—thereneeds to be—a lot of self-determination in

the spiritual life.”24

“Even along the hard shoulder”

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He used to compare the Work to a wideavenue, with plenty of walking space, whereeach person goes at his own pace. “The roadof the Work is very wide,” he said. “You cango along it on the right or the left, on horseback, cycling, on your knees, crawling likelittle children, or even along the hardshoulder, so long as you don’t leave the

road.”25

In advocating freedom Monsignor Escriváfostered diversity. Thus he said, “Within thegeneral vocation to Opus Dei, which is tosanctify one’s work in the midst of society,God gives each person a particular way ofachieving it. We’re not all cut out from thesame template, like an insole. Our spirit is soample that what is common to all of us is notdestroyed by legitimate personal diversity,by healthy pluralism. In Opus Dei we don’tput souls into a mold and press them; wedon’t want to straitjacket anyone. There is

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only one common denominator: our desire

to reach our final goal, that’s all.”26

“In Opus Dei,” he said, “the more we differfrom each other the better, always providedthe small common denominator remains in-tact. We respect everybody and defend theirfreedom; I’m not fanatical, not even aboutOpus Dei, and I beg you for the love of Godnot to be fanatical about anything. Have gen-

erous hearts.”27

When Opus Dei began to spread over theworld, Monsignor Escrivá establishedguidelines for asking people to go abroad.The new post should be proposed, not im-posed; they should be given time to make uptheir minds; if they accepted, they shouldthen be asked if they were going of their ownfree will; and because of this freedom, theyshould know that it was not a sign of bad willto acknowledge they were incapable of doingsuch a job in such a place.

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“I have just one vote”

From the beginning, he established teammanagement of the Work, to avoid any traceof authoritarianism. All matters, whethergreat or small, were to be studied in detail byseveral people. He himself governed with thehelp of a team of men, the general council,and of women, the central advisory.

When some matter required discussion, hecalled on two or three people more directlyinvolved to solve it together. He listened totheir reasoning, and only then, last of all,gave his own opinion.

When explaining how Opus Dei was runhe always said it was collegially. “I have justone vote.”

On the other hand, as founder of theWork, he did not delegate making rules orestablishing criteria in anything that affectedits essence. Only he had the grace, the

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charism, and therefore the responsibility forthe decision.

He often spoke of his temper, commentingthat our Lord wished to use it for Opus Dei.“You can’t use a straw as a crowbar,” he said.

“You’re not here as adecoration”

At the beginning of the 1950s he gaveJavier Echevarria, then a young law studentand a student at the Roman College, the jobof keeping an eye on the refurbishment ofone part of Villa Vecchia. Javier, from theChamberi district of Madrid, was the young-est of eight children in a middle-class family.His father had died three years previously.Although no one suggested it to him, he hadcome to Rome on an impulse to be nearMonsignor Escrivá.

One day a supplier arrived at the house.Javier let him in. At that moment Monsignor

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Escrivá came down the stairs and, meetingthe man on his way in, said good morning.He asked Javier, “Do you know the manwho’s just come in?”

“No, Father, I don’t.”“Don’t you? Well, my son, you’re not here

as an item of decoration. You’re here to seehow the building work is going, how thework is being done, what the men need, andwho comes and goes. And the obvious thingto do if anyone you don’t know comes in is toask him: ‘Who are you?’ because this is yourhouse. Yours! And if you don’t bother to lookafter it, if you’re not interested in who comesin here to work, it means you have very littlesense of responsibility.”

Javier went pale. Monsignor Escrivágrasped him by the shoulders, shaking himaffectionately while saying, “Don’t you real-ize, Javi, my son, that it isn’t I, or any otherperson, who gave you this job at this mo-ment, but God our Lord himself? So you

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have to put your heart and soul into it, all

your sense of responsibility.”28

“Will you be my secretary?”

Javier Echevarria recalled another event:“During those times of building alterationsin Villa Tevere, on one occasion we had tomove the contents of the Father’s office toanother area, to leave the room free for theworkmen. The Father asked all of us then inthe Roman College, about eighteen of us, tohelp so the job could be done very quickly.

“The Father said to us before we began, ‘Ihave complete trust in each of you here. So Iam not going to worry about how you do it. Iam sure you are going to respect all the ma-terial: I know you won’t touch a thing, ortake anything, or sneak a look at anything.The Father trusts his sons implicitly.’ We or-ganized a chain, passing things from one toanother. Suddenly I saw that in one of the

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cupboards we were carrying there was anopen box containing the Father’s visitingcards. I didn’t think it would matter to takeone of these cards, because they just had theFather’s name and address printed on them,nothing handwritten. So I took one card andkept it. I was glad to have it, and I mentionedit to someone a few days later, not attachingany importance to it. When the Father heardabout it, he asked to see me alone. He said inall simplicity, directly and emphatically, ‘Myson, if you behave like that, I’ll never be ableto trust you.’

“I was shattered to hear these words. Foran instant I thought the Father was magnify-ing a simple matter of a visiting card out ofall proportion, but as he went on I under-stood the depth of his reprimand. ‘Beforeyou started moving the office, I told you allclearly that you should not touch anything.But it seems that that didn’t matter to you. Ifyou go on like this, Javier, I shall never be

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able to trust you or rely on you. You need tochange a lot.’”

The sequel came not much later. “One dayin 1952 or 1953—I was twenty at thetime—the Father asked me if I would be hissecretary. I said ‘yes’ immediately. Amongthe first instructions he gave me, I remem-ber, he said, ‘You can look freely into all thecupboards and desks in the office where Iwork and the room where I sleep. Open allthe drawers, because I won’t be keeping any-thing secret from you.’

“I could not help thinking of the visitingcard episode. From the Father’s correction Ihad learned that if I did not carry out an in-struction, he could not count on me. I knewfor a fact that at no time had the Father with-drawn his trust. And now that he was askingme to be his secretary I had the most palp-able proof that the Father trusted his chil-dren and relied on them totally, with no re-strictions whatsoever, without abusing their

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freedom, like a good father, but at the sametime demanding responsibility, like a good

director.”29

From then on Monsignor Escrivá had Javi-er Echevarria by his side as his secretary. In1956, when he chose two guardians, cus-todes, to help him in all his personal needs,both spiritual and material, he designatedDon Alvaro del Portillo and Father JavierEchevarria.

Respect for freedom in work

Helena Serrano, head of the printingpress in Villa Tevere, relates an incident thatspeaks volumes about Mon signor Escrivá’srespect for his children’s freedom in theirwork.

“Several times during the Second VaticanCouncil, Don Alvaro asked us to print vari-ous conclusions of the council. He was thesecretary of the commission which wrote the

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decree Presbyterorum Ordinis. I rememberthat each time Don Alvaro had to explainsomething regarding the lettering of the texthe wanted us to do, the Father simply anddiscreetly moved away to the other side ofthe room, or actually left the room, waitingon the other side of the half-open door, butnot listening. He was aware that DonAlvaro’s personal work at the Vatican was

none of his business.”30

When Villa delle Rose was being set up inCastelgandolfo, some material with specificcharacteristics was needed. They searchedhigh and low for it without success. One dayMonsignor Escrivá said at a get-together,“We’re going crazy because your sisters say ithas to be that specific kind of material andno other!” An Italian timidly suggested,“Father, I could ask my family if you like, be-cause we have a textiles mill.”

“But my son, why didn’t you tell us thisbefore?”

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“The fact is … well … it didn’t seem rightfor me to obtain clients for my father fromhere.”

“My son, sometimes I find you a bit too‘rigorous’! But do you know what I say? Very

good! Excellent!”31

A courageous freedom

He often said Christians needed “holyshamelessness” to become involved in otherpeople’s lives, “just as God got involved inmine, without asking for my permissionfirst.” But they should do this without tramp-ling on privacy, and with extreme delicacy.“One has to enter souls on one’s knees.”

On April 9, 1971, in Villa Tevere, he had avisit from a group of students and youngprofessional women from Holland, Ger-many, Italy, and Austria. One of them, a Ger-man Protestant, asked him, “I see a tremend-ous gulf between my religion and

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Catholicism, in spite of our common faith inChrist. How can this abyss be overcome?”

“My daughter,” he responded, “there is in-deed a lack of unity among Christians. I re-spect other people’s beliefs, so much so that Iwould not speak to you about the truths ofthe Catholic faith unless you asked me to.But all of you, Christians and non-Christiansalike, can count on my loyal, selfless, cheer-ful, priestly, divine friendship. When I meetpeople who aren’t Catholic, as I’m not a hy-pocrite, thank God, I usually say to them,‘I’m a Catholic and I know that I have thetruth.’ “ Then he went on, “You have anotherfaith and I respect you with all my heart,with all my soul! To such an extent that Iwould do anything to defend the freedom ofconsciences; but my conscience does not al-

low me to say you hold the truth.”32

Three years later in Lima, in response toKeiko Watanabe, a young Japanese wife andmother who was a Buddhist and wished to

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learn about Catholicism, he said, “With mypersonal ecumenism, because I can’t do any-thing else without compromising my faith, Iwill tell you that I have the truth. However, Iwant you to know I respect your faith andyour beliefs. And with God’s help I’d laydown my life to defend the freedom of your

conscience.”33

When people of other religions heard himspeak of the Catholic faith with such assur-ance, they did not detect any arrogance oranimosity. Here was a priest with arms wideopen, faithful to revealed truth but not bran-dishing doctrine like a club. He alwayslooked for what united people.

Two Swiss brothers, Calvinists, visited himin Villa Tevere on Easter Sunday, 1970. Asusual, he told them he had the whole truthand they did not, but he would give his life todefend the freedom of their consciences. Hischarm and open-mindedness, and the super-natural turn he gave the conversation,

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disarmed these men. After the visit they said,“We’ve seen the joy of the Resurrectiontoday. This has been the best Easter Sunday

of our lives.”34

“I thought they were trying tocatch me”

The Cremades were a large family fromSaragossa in Spain. The parents, Juan Anto-nio and Pilar, had ten children, several ofwhom belonged to Opus Dei. In 1964 they allwent to Rome together for an audience withPaul VI and to meet Monsignor Escrivá.Juan Antonio and Pilar were celebratingtheir silver wedding anniversary.

Monsignor Escrivá said Mass for them inthe Holy Family oratory in Villa Tevere andinvited them to stay for breakfast. At onepoint he talked about freedom. He encour-aged Juan Antonio and Pilar to be friends oftheir children and allow them to practice

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personal freedom; they should not try tomake their family a “minor seminary” or aimfor “all their children to join the Work.”Looking at each of the ten children, he said,“Let each traveler go his own way!”

At the time one of the Cremades boys,Javier, was antagonistic toward anythinghaving to do with Opus Dei. He felt his fam-ily or his friends in Miraflores (a center inSaragossa) might be setting out a trap tocatch him. However, he did decide to studymedicine at the University of Navarre. Soonafter arriving there, he telephoned his par-ents, urging them to come see him. “Come assoon as you can,” he said, “I’ve gotsomething important to tell you.”

When they arrived, he blurted out, “I’veasked to join the Work.”

His father, dumbfounded, asked how thechange had come about. Javier explained, “Iwas convinced they were out to catch me. Ithought the Miraflores lot were after me. But

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when we were in Rome in March, and heardthe Father speak about freedom so forcefully,saying how we were completely free and ask-ing you not to coerce us morally, I said tomyself: ‘Javier, no one’s pushing you, noone’s putting pressure on you. You’re aloneand it’s up to you to decide for yourself. Dowhatever you choose.’ And in that sense offreedom, I decided to write to the Father ask-

ing to join Opus Dei.”35

“Why am I wearing this blackcassock?”

One day Monsignor Escrivá was speakingto some of his sons about holy steadfastness,not yielding, “as I am convinced of the truthof my ideal.” He spoke about holy shameless-ness, “disregarding what people might say,”and about holy forcefulness “to bring souls toGod by calm, fearless apostolate.” Somepresent felt this holy forcefulness or holy

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coercion should have immediate effect “asthe word of God is always fruitful and cannotfail.”

Monsignor Escrivá called their attention tothe mysterious interplay of freedom andgrace. “Not everybody has to be in the Work.It’s a vocation, and God gives it to whomeverhe pleases. My children, we have to reallylove freedom…. The only kind of ‘holy coer-cion’ we have is prayer, setting a good ex-ample, and being a good friend. You maythink that’ll take a long time! But I say to youthat grace is far quicker than we are. Theconversion from Saul to Paul was the work ofa moment! And then he thought it over forthree long days.

“Nobody, not even at their darkest times,ought to feel they are in the Work becausethey were pushed to come in. They have tohave said yes freely, absolutely freely! Be-cause I really want to! That’s the most su-pernatural reason.”

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He plucked at his cassock, adding, “If I amwearing this black umbrella-cover, it’s be-cause that’s what I want to do! I said to Godone day: I surrender my freedom. And with

his grace, I’ve kept my promise.”36

“My yoke is … freedom”

He continued speaking of this passionateunion between freedom and grace, freedomand self-giving for the sake of love, and will-ing service. “And when, on occasions, thedevil makes us feel the weight of this yoke wehave taken on freely, we have to hear thewords of the Lord: iugum enim meum suaveest, et onus meum leve, ‘because my yoke issweet and my burden is light,’ which I like totranslate freely as: my yoke is freedom! Myyoke is love! My yoke is unity! My yoke islife!”

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14

The Flight of the PeregrineFalcon

When showing people around the old house ofMolinoviejo in Spain, at the end of a longcorridor with dark wooden beams and red-dish tiles the guide may point to one wall,and say, “That’s the wall-hanging with thequotation ‘I flew so high’; it was made veryearly on, on the Father’s instructions.” It is akind of tapestry done in old ochre- and gold-colored cloth, showing a peregrine falcon inthe middle. Around the edge are the words:“I flew so high, so high, that I overtook theprey”—a quotation from the Spiritual

Canticle of St. John of the Cross. The com-plete verse is this:

I went out seeking loveAnd with unfaltering hopeI flew so high, so high,That I overtook the prey.

The image of the falcon inspired St. Johnto write verses and notes loaded with sym-bolism about the contemplative life.Monsignor Escrivá found the simile of thefalcon and other birds who dare to soar highenormously inspiring in reference to the in-terior life.

Monsignor Escrivá on one occasion spokeabout “the shared solitude” of the priest. “Weare never alone. Some say priests are peoplewithout love, but it isn’t true. We are in love:in love with our Lord. A priest has no needfor any other love. People also say ‘they’re allalone.’ It isn’t so! We have a closer compan-ion than anyone, and are in better company,because our Lord never leaves us. We are in

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love with Love, the Creator of Love! … Everymorning we lift up the Sacred Host, we raisethe Chalice above the altar and say perIpsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, through myLove, with my Love and in my Love. We are

in love!”1

Like a thief: “You are mine”

He described his decision to become apriest like the decision of someone falling inlove. He was a teenager and had otherdreams and ambitions. In 1917 or 1918, walk-ing in the snow on the streets of Logroño, hewas strangely and deeply moved to see theprints of bare feet. Someone was walkingbarefoot in spite of the cold for love of JesusChrist.

“I had no thought of becoming a priest,but Jesus came into my soul as love comes:sicut fur, like a thief, at the most unexpectedmoment. He said: Now you are mine, meus

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es tu! He made me feel the cry of Isaiah: egoredemi te, et vocavi te nomine tuo, meus estu! I have redeemed you, I have called you byyour name, you are mine. They were the ink-

lings of Love!”2

Many years had gone by since he was or-dained a priest in 1925. One day in February1960, talking with philosophers and theolo-gians who were in the Work, about freedomas an aid to knowledge, he offered this reflec-tion: “The heart always reaches farther thanthe head. Intelligence falls behind. Some ofyou philosophers might say, ‘what about themaxim nihil volitum nisi praecognitum—you cannot want something you do notknow?’ Well, even then! If not, how can youexplain love at first sight, between people

who’ve never met before?”3

Another time, at a get-together with stu-dents from several parts of the world whohad come to Rome to spend Easter with thePope, a girl from Argentina took the

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microphone and told him how the previousnight she had clearly seen her vocation tototal self-surrender, and had asked to be ad-mitted to the Work. She asked, “Father, howcan I be ‘the last in everything, but the firstin love’?”

Monsignor Escrivá recognized the wordsas his own from The Way. Beaming, he ex-claimed, “My daughter! Is it true? Is it truethat our Lord is giving you the grace to gounnoticed, willing to serve everybody, to bethe last in every thing? Is it true, my daugh-ter? Well, as from last night you have a lovewhich satisfies without cloying, which fulfilstotally. I have known it for many years. Youand I are going to be first in love! No one is

going to outdo us!”4

Toward the end of the 1960s MonsignorEscrivá had a visit one morning from ayoung couple in Rome on their honeymoon.Afterward, the woman said to MercedesMorado, “I told the Father that at first I

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didn’t love the man who’s now my husband.I fell in love with him gradually by getting toknow him. And now I’m crazy about him!”

Mercedes and Marlies Kücking had a worksession later with Monsignor Escrivá. Refer-ring to the young couple, he said, “Did yousee those lovebirds? What a lesson for us!What a lesson for our relationship with Je-sus! We have to look at him as those two lookat each other; we have to speak to him asthose two speak to each other and love himas they love each other. They’ve made me

feel a holy envy!”5

Over seventy, he seemed inflamed withyouthful ardor. “Begin with aspirations; lateron contemplation will come, you can’t ima-gine how. Like people in love, who repeat un-tiringly, ‘I love you very much.’ … Then, timegoes by, and maybe their love grows cold.But our Love is always young. It never fades.See if you can find a man of my age who talks

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about his love as I do! Maybe you won’t findmany.

“It is a love forged out of renunciation andimmense joy, out of unexpected blows andcalumnies, out of a darkness that is filledwith light, and out of unshakable trust. Sowhat! When I stop to think, I just have to ac-cept the truth of what I wrote so many yearsago when I was young, and did not love morethan I do now: Love … is well worth any

love!”6

“I could never grow old with this Love,” hesaid hundreds of times.

The truth about MonsignorEscrivá’s age

One day in January 1965 he was gettingready to bless the first linotype press in thelittle print room in Villa Tevere. While Fath-er Javier Echevarria helped him to put on

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the surplice, he said to those around him,“The Father is old. I am sixty-three!”

The next second he corrected himselfvehemently. “No! I’m young! I am only alittle over thirty years old, which is the time I

have spent serving our Lord Jesus Christ.”7

When he was a young priest in his twen-ties, Father Escrivá asked God to grant himthe prudence and gravity of an eighty-year-old to carry out his task. He felt too inexpertand immature to be ‘another Christ.’

In his Intimate Notes of 1931, only twenty-nine at the time, he was already writing withremark able confidence, “Jesus, help me liveour Mass, help me celebrate the Holy Sacri-fice with the calm gravity and composure of avenerable priest. Even if I were to experiencethe dark night, may I not lack light when I

am another Christ.”8

Much later, he would joke with his chil-dren about calculating “how old the Fatherreally is.” On February 6, 1967 he said to a

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group of women, “I’m far older than youimagine.” They had celebrated his sixty-fifthbirthday less than a month before.Monsignor Escrivá smiled.

“Shall we work it out? Let’s see, I need apen and paper. Have you a piece of paper?”

Mary offered her pocket diary, andMonsignor Escrivá made quick notes.“Eighty years: how I pleaded with Our Lordto grant them to me! Sixty-five years on theoutside. Two thousand more or less, we canround it up, as alter Christus, because we areall of us other Christs. We all have to be,

ought to be, saints … all of us.”9

This was what he wrote on the diary page:

on the inside: 80on the outside: 65Alter Christus: 2,000Total: 2,1456–2–67

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Monsignor Escrivá and women

“The gravity of an eighty-year-old.” Inthis naturally spontaneous and friendly man,gifted at communication, gravity became anacquired reserve, a studied kindness and dis-tance, when dealing with women. He had de-cided on this when young. “God gave me tounderstand this,” he explained.

He did not write to women or attend a so-cial function where he might have to con-verse with a woman alone. He was neveralone with any woman, old or young. To hearwomen’s confessions, he used a confessionalwith a grille as partition, and if he had tohear a sick woman’s confession, he left thedoor of the room open. When visiting hisdaughters in Opus Dei, he always asked an-other priest to accompany him.

“’Twixt holy man and holymaid….”

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One day he told a big group of his daugh-ters that he loved them “with the love of afather and a mother.” To the two priests withhim, he explained afterward, “The un lim-ited, fatherly love I have for my daughters issomething real, and I tell them so when theyare all together. But it would never occur tome to repeat those words to one of them in-dividually, so as not to give rise to any stir-rings of sentimentality on my side or on the

side of the woman concerned.”10

He made his own the maxim of St. Teresaof Avila: “Twixt holy man and holy maid, awall of solid stone be laid!” Precisely becausehe had the feelings of a normal man, he kepthis heart locked “with seven locks.” This didnot make him loveless. Priestly celibacy forhim was not an imposition that crushed hisvirility or a form of sublimation; it was a joy-ful reality—“a joyful affirmation of love,” heused to say, explaining that a chaste heart

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was full to overflowing with “a Love that sat-isfies without cloying.”

He spoke of celibacy as “the most preciousjewel in the crown of the Church.” For him,celibacy meant not merely remaining singleand without ties, but a commitment of pas-sionate surrender to a God who is “a jealouslover who is not satisfied with sharing,” whowants to be loved ex toto corde:wholeheartedly.

“I can see, but I don’t look”

One day in 1971 Luigi Tirelli was talkingto him after lunch about “Checco,” who wasalso in the Work, lived in Verona, and hadmany friends who were priests. MonsignorEscrivá listened with great interest. Suddenlyhe exclaimed, “Tell those priests they have aFriend— and the friends of that Friend! That

way they’ll never be alone.”11

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Love led him to be vigilant regarding hissenses and faculties. He used to say, “I cansee, but I do not look at what I ought not tolook at.” And, “At my age”—he had justturned fifty—“I have to make a real effort notto turn around every time I see a good-look-

ing woman pass by.”12

The marchioness’s eyebrows

One day during a get-together, Jim, wholived in Kenya, spoke of a certain Kenyanteacher who, along with black skin and hair,had blond eyebrows. Then MonsignorEscrivá told about a married couple he knewwell at the beginning of the 1930s in Spain,the Marquis and Marchioness De Guevara.He gave them spiritual guidance, and some-times had lunch with them. A young painterdid a portrait of the marchioness, and re-marked that she had “each eyebrow of a dif-ferent color,” something highly unusual.

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When he heard this, Monsignor Escrivá real-ized that he had never noticed it. “I had notnoticed it,” he said “because I had neverlooked into her eyes.”

They went on talking about other things. AMexican mentioned an image of Christ ven-erated in Montefalco, in Morelos State.Monsignor Escrivá said, “Pray to him, look-ing at his face, looking … at his eyebrows, as

one looks at a person one loves.”13

The good kind of anticlericalism

Although he was a priest through andthrough, twenty-four hours a day, he in-stinctively rejected clericalism and surprisedmany people by announcing that he was an-ticlerical—but with “the good kind ofanticlericalism.”

He taught his sons who were priests, andpracticed it himself, that clergymen shouldnot “meddle” or seek to be waited upon or

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retain privileges or organize the apostolate ofthe laity or intrude on the laity’s civil, profes-sional, or social activities or aim to be “thesauce in every dish.” Nor should they usetheir priesthood to avoid civic duties or ob-tain benefices, sinecures, or other comforts;or allow cliques of followers or admirers togrow up around themselves. They should notset themselves up as leaders of anything oranybody or make themselves indispensablein any job, anywhere.

He insisted on two attitudes that otherscould see in him: “I have not come to be

served, but to serve,”14 and “Do and disap-

pear: that only Jesus may shine forth!”15 Healso warned priests against the temptation offeeling they were “proprietors” of the soulsthey attended spiritually.

“Treat him well for me!”

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Like all those from Aragon, MonsignorEscrivá used “me” in all sorts of ways to ex-press paternal devotion: “Do the norms forme,” “Sleep the right amount of time for me,”“Be faithful for me!” and “Take care of thatdaughter for me!” He began letters to hischildren with “May Jesus take care of you forme” or, if it was a general letter to everyonein the Work, “May Jesus watch over mydaughters and sons for me.” Referring to Je-sus Christ in the Eucharist, he told his sonswho were priests: “Treat him well for me!”

He often told his children, “Be faithful forme!” Rather than a demand to be faithful tohim, this was a call to fidelity to theirvocation.

Father Carlos Cardona recalled how oneday, between 1955 and 1957, MonsignorEscrivá spoke about fidelity. “He told us hehad received a letter from someone who didnot want to persevere, and was asking toleave the Work. In the letter this person said

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that in spite of his decision he loved theFather very much. The Father observed, withan expression of deep sorrow, ‘It would havebeen better for him to love me less and Jesus

a bit more!’ “16

In 1954, Monsignor Escrivá went to see thefinishing touches on the oratory dedicated tothe Heart of Mary in Villa Tevere. Happy athow well the holy water font had turned out,he said to his daughters who were with him,“Give a good bonus to the workman who didthis, and tell him he’s a real artist!”

They did. The brick-layer, surprised, said,“Oh, I would do anything for Monsignor!”They repeated this to him, expecting him tobe pleased. But his reaction was different.“What a pity! How very sad that he should do

it for me and not for God!”17

Offering holy water

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A Spanish couple, Luis and Flora Ibarra,met Monsignor Escrivá in Villa delle Rose.Entering the oratory to pay his respects tothe Lord in the Blessed Sacrament, as washis custom, Monsignor Escrivá dipped hisfingers into the holy water font and politelyheld out his hand for Flora to take the waterfrom his fingers. With hand still out-stretched, he said, “I’ve never done that to

any woman before, apart from my mother.”18

He did not like having his hand kissed andwould hide it in the folds of his cassockwhenever he could. Once as he was goingalong the Galleria della Madonna in VillaTevere, several women from Villa Sacchettiapproached, and one of them, Carmen MariaSegovia, said, “Father, I want to kiss yourhand.”

“Well,” he answered, “you can kiss thehand of God our Lord!” Taking a small cruci-fix from his pocket, he kissed the hands

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nailed to the cross. “See how easy it is? I of-

ten do it. You do it too!”19

“No one should become at-tached to me”

This slightly aloof attitude was his re-sponse to a powerful inner inspiration givenhim many years before. In 1939, at the end ofthe Spanish Civil War, Father Escrivá wasamong the first priests, perhaps the veryfirst, to enter Madrid, riding in an armytruck, and wearing his cassock. People werein the streets cheering and applauding, andwhen they saw a priest, they swamped him,seeking to kiss his hands. He was moved bythis palpable demonstration of hunger forGod but determined that no one should beensnared by him personally. “I understoodvery clearly,” he said later, “that no oneought to become attached to me! I pulled abig crucifix from my pocket—my ‘weapon’ I

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called it—and I offered it to people, so theycould kiss Jesus Christ and not my hands.This rectitude of intention is essential for theapostolate: leading souls to God, and neverconsenting to their becoming entangled ordiverted to us. Anything else would be sacri-

legious robbery.”20

However, on March 28, 1974, anniversaryof his ordination, Monsignor Escrivá calledon his spiritual daughters in La Montagnola,and conscious of the dignity of the priest-hood, held out his hands, palms upward, forthem to kiss. “Today is indeed a day for kiss-ing the palms of hands which have received

priestly consecration,” he told them.21

Confession: with sealed lips

Another aspect of the priesthood onwhich he laid great stress was the faculty toforgive sins, including the seal of confession.Notes taken by Bishop Javier Echevarria,

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who lived with Monsignor Escrivá in Romefor twenty-five years, refer to the importanceof the seal, which he called onus et honor, aburden and an honor.

In August 1955 he said, “We’ve all experi-enced the immense joy of being able to un-burden our souls of some big problem thatwas worrying us to a reliable friend wholistens to us sympathetically and gives us ad-vice. We trust that person, secure in theknowledge that he won’t tell anyone elseabout our problem, because we’ve openedour souls to him. Besides, as it’s a person ofsound doctrine, he knows he’s obliged tokeep this natural secret.

“Well, if this happens with good friends onearth, imagine the peace and the joy we feelon confiding in our Friend in confession! Be-cause Jesus understands us, helps us, solvesour problems and, what’s more, he forgivesus. And the secret of what we say in confes-sion is even more absolute: it is strictly

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between Jesus and the person speaking. Maythe seal of confession be blessed a thousandtimes! I assure you that all the priests in theworld keep it zealously and love it becauseGod ordains it…. It is good to know that thevery severe penalties imposed by the Churchon those who violate it are very just. Thesepenalties, rather than instilling fear in me,actually lead me to take more care ofeverything referring to confession. Theymake me realize how careful our Lord haswished us to be, never even to hint at what

we have heard in confession.”22

The following dates from 1964: “The HolySee imposes an oath of silence on peoplewho work in particular congregations, oncertain matters. It is so serious that they can-not show in any way that they know anythingof the subject they have been dealing with,not even ictu oculi, with a movement of theeyes! It is obvious really, because otherwise

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they could cause great damage to the Churchor to souls.

“Well, even more serious, absolutely so,must be the secret we priests keep of whatwe have heard in confession. What a joy forpriests to know they are trustees of Christ’sforgiveness! And how wonderful it is, to real-ize the great peace they give to souls by theirtotal silence! When you forgive sins in theconfessional, think about the total silencewith which Christ takes the weight of the sinsof all humanity; a silence which is continuedin the sacramental seal, a proof of God’smercy. Everything that is said in confessionis covered forever under the safe, unbreak-

able slab of God’s forgiveness!”23

In 1970, speaking to a group of his sonswho were priests, he said, “God has wishedthe priest to keep the secret zealously, andthe Church commands it. The priest doesn’tspeak about what he has heard, even indir-ectly; he doesn’t think over what we have

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told him. Let us love the seal of confessionwith all our might, as something which even

protects the penitent psychologically!”24

On other occasions, referring to “the rulingpassion for hearing confessions and guidingsouls,” that together with “preaching, andteaching sound doctrine” ought to fill theheart of every priest, he pondered the abso-lute guarantee of the seal of confession.“What peace and joy the soul experiences! Iwould even dare to say that God’s mercy issomething tangible, because of the inviolableseal of confession, which is a confirmationthat Our Lord has said to us, ‘I have forgiven

you; your sin is totally forgotten.’”25

“Your Highness, kneel down”

One day a very important person, relatedto royalty, visited Monsignor Escrivá inRome. At one point in the conversation, thevisitor put on a serious air, and, lowering his

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voice, said in confidential tones, “I want totell you something secret …”

Monsignor Escrivá interrupted him gentlybut firmly. “Your Highness, kneel down andspeak to me in Confession, which is the ut-most secrecy you could ask for. In any case,you are speaking to a priest, a man of honor,and that ought to be enough for you. I assureyou whatever you say to me in confidence, Iwill keep reserved in my soul, in accordancewith Christian teaching. I don’t find it hardto do so, because besides being my duty, it isdemanded by simple honor, which is what I

always try to live by.”26

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15

Traveling Light

From early on, Monsignor Escrivá experi-enced poverty as a resolve not to possessthings even if he had them. This kind ofpoverty set him free. When he spoke topeople who wanted to be apostles of Christ,he stressed that chastity and poverty wereessential. They make war on the tyranteveryone carries in himself and bring theguarantee of eternal happiness. In a point inhis book The Forge, he expressed his desire“to live and die in poverty, even though I

may have millions at my disposal.”1 He wasbeing realistic here, because he had to act as

one who did own things: money, buildings,household goods, and all kinds of thingsneeded to do Opus Dei and spread it over theworld.

Yet for a long time he had had practicallynothing: desperately short of food, clothing,shoes, books, and cash, with no house of hisown. Moreover, people who have gone to be-gin the Work in a new country have alwayssuffered an almost total lack of resources,“shamefully poor” and deprived of everycomfort. But these are, and ought to be, tem-porary situations. The people of the Workearn their own living. So Monsignor Escriváhimself, and his children in the Work, wouldalways have sufficient means to live “a

simple and temperate life.”2

This defined the poverty practiced in OpusDei—a voluntary poverty, never imposed byforce. It does not mean not having things,but being detached from them, using thingswithout considering them one’s own, doing

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without superfluous things, not complainingwhen something necessary is lacking, choos-ing the worst for oneself, not acquiringhabits of self-indulgence, not being ruled bywhims.

In March 1950, for the silver jubilee of hisordination to the priesthood, MonsignorEscrivá was given a watch as a present. Heliked it, and was delighted to wear it at first,but after a short time he stopped.

“I liked it so much I was getting attachedto it, so I’ve handed it in. Out of sight, out of

mind.”3

He did not normally carry a pen, but usedthe one in the room where he worked, whichbelonged there. Whenever he was some-where else and needed to write something,

he had to borrow a pen.4 His handwritingwas bold and emphatic, and not every pensuited him. Adapting his writing to the penhe was using was a way of “living in poverty”without being noticed.

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Santiago’s walkie-talkie

He practiced constant small acts of de-tachment. One day his brother Santiago,after spending time thinking of a presentthat would be really useful, gave him awalkie-talkie. It was indeed a practical idea,enabling him to contact people anywhere inVilla Tevere. He accepted it gratefully andspent time learning how it worked; he ap-peared delighted with it. Santiago went offsatisfied at finding something his brotherwould use every day. But that same day, thewalkie-talkie went to the women of the Work

in La Montagnola.5 That was what he didwith all his presents; he never kept them.

Full time and no watch

In Italy, Christmas presents are given atEpiphany, “la befana.” Monsignor Escrivá’spresent every year was a small pocket diary,

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and every time he was as pleased as if it werea real surprise.

For Christmas 1974 (which was to be hislast Christmas), the women in Villa Sacchettiand La Montagnola wanted to give him atriple picture frame holding photographs ofDon Jose Escrivá and Doña Dolores, his par-ents—“the grand parents,” as the people inthe Work called them. The central picturewould be one of Our Lady of Torreciudad, towhom Monsignor Escrivá owed his miracu-lous cure at the age of two.

At that point, however, Don Alvaro toldthem not to go ahead. “The Father has heardabout it,” he explained, “and asks you not tobother with this present. He says, ‘If my chil-dren don’t have photographs of their families

in their rooms, neither will I.’”6

He always found a good reason for turningdown presents. On different occasions he de-clined a brush and comb set on the grounds

that “that’s too good for me,”7 a pair of

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slippers because “the ones I have are still ingood shape,” a wool cardigan because “thisone I’m wearing has a lot of life in it yet … ordo you want me to give up practicingpoverty?” His German daughters sent him acolor television set in 1975. He did not keepthat either. “The Father is much happierknowing that his daughters in Rome are en-

joying it.”8

In fact there was a gentle, ongoing tug-of-war, with the women trying to guess whatthe Father would like and Monsignor Escriváoff-loading the gift without offending them.After a long time, they realized he would onlyaccept things which could be used in divineworship somewhere: chasubles, embroideredpalls, chalices, ciboria, and so on. On thatsort of thing, expense seemed to matter littleto him.

The men solved the problem by giving hima new diary every year, with a pencil or redballpoint pen as an “added extra.” But the

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women persisted in looking for somethingnew. Occasionally they overcame his resist-ance, or so it seemed. In 1974, having failedwith the triple photograph frame, they de-cided to give him a clock for his desk, to re-place the one he had, which was a cheap onethat had come free with something else. Hav-ing heard that on his catechetical travelsthrough Europe and Central and SouthAmerica, he would often ask “What time is itin Rome now?” and “What will those chil-dren of mine be doing now?” they decidedhis Christmas gift would be a “universalclock” showing time zones and the localtimes in the different cities around the worldwhere people of the Work lived.

The clock was duly placed on the desk inDon Alvaro’s office, where MonsignorEscrivá used to work because it was a brightroom and did not need an electric light on allday as his did. Within a week, Father JavierEchevarria called Carmen Ramos and

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Marlies Kücking, and handed them a boxthey recognized as the one the clock hadcome in. Dismayed and thinking at first thatDon Javier had made a mistake, they ex-claimed, “But Don Javier, this is the clock wegave the Father!”

“Yes, I know,” he answered. “But what canI do? The Father is giving up everything he

particularly likes. And he liked this a lot.”9

His room

Monsignor Escrivá had only the essen-tials in his room, and these were of verymodest quality. The room itself was really apassageway, with a door at each end; it hadno window, and the floor was of diamond-shaped blue and white tiles. There was aplain wooden chair and a varnished canewastebasket. At the foot of the bed was alittle maroon mat stitched and restitchedwhenever it started to fray. One Epiphany,

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his daughters in the Work gave him a small,good-quality fur rug. When MonsignorEscrivá saw it, he thanked them gratefully,but then said, “Don’t be upset, but I’m nevergoing to use it. Good things have to be forOur Lord. The mat I already have is more

than enough for me.”10

A stub of red candle

In December 1967 he spent several daysin Castelgandolfo in the “Lake House,” abuilding next to Villa delle Rose. Just beforereturning to Rome, he dropped in to seethose in Villa delle Rose itself. They hadalready put up the Christmas decorations,and from one of the ornaments in the cor-ridor he took a red candle stub with a littlesprig of holly, saying with a mischievous ex-pression, “I’m going to take this.” When hegot to Villa Tevere, he placed the little orna-ment on his desk and kept it there for several

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days. One morning, after working through apile of papers, he went to the Galleria delFumo, where there was a crèche in the sittingroom. Candle stub and holly in hand, he bentover the little figures of the Mother and Childand put the ornament in the crèche, sayingsoftly, “My Mother, here you are … I’ve

brought you all I have.”11

A heap of many small efforts

He took care of things as if he only hadthem on loan and had to pass them to thenext generation exactly as received. He neverunderlined passages in books, he took care ofhis clothes, and he opened and closed doorsas carefully as if in someone else’s home. Hisreason above all was his love for little things.As he said in The Way, “Great holiness con-sists in carrying out the little duties of each

moment.”12 In the course of his day he kepttrack of “many small things” that involved

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being very much “in God’s presence.” He sawthat only rarely would ordinary Christiansplay a heroic role in life; but little things,

“without splendor and of no value,”13 werealways within reach. “You have mistaken the

way if you scorn the little things;”14 and “Per-severance in little things for love is hero-

ism.”15 Here was the raw material for trans-forming “the daily prose into epic verse.”

God doesn’t ask any more of us

One brilliant day in June 1956,Monsignor Escrivá was walking up and downa corridor on the third floor in Villa Vecchiawith Carlos Cardona, giving him the outlineof a forthcoming article on the doctrine ofwork as the hinge of the call to holiness inOpus Dei. Cardona was taking rapid notes inshorthand. Suddenly Monsignor Escrivástopped and pointed to some windowsthrough which the sun was streaming.

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“Those shutters ought to be closed,” he said.“The sun could damage everything in there.”

Cardona hurried to pull down the blinds,without stopping to secure the shutters prop-erly, running the risk of damaging the walls.Monsignor Escrivá quickly held them, pre-venting them from banging against the walls.Then with the same seriousness and interestas when he was dictating the article, he said,suiting the action to the words, “Carlos, be-fore opening the window you have to fastenthe shutters. You do it as a little mortifica-tion, you say an aspiration silently, and thatis all God asks us for! He doesn’t ask any

more of us!”16

Many of his children learned from him thesimple “art” of closing a door properly, “say-ing a few silent words of love to our Lord!”Often he pointed out a crooked picture orthat a lightbulb had burned out; or that careshould be taken not to scrape the skirtingboard when using the floor polishing

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machine. This was taking care of little things.He had a lively awareness of “God waiting

for us there, in those little things.”17 Morethan once, after pointing out some little de-tail, he said, “Forgive me for having such a

sharp eye!”18

He would say, “If there are doors, why arethey open? If they are to be left open, whatdo we need doors for?” So many youngpeople went through Villa Tevere year afteryear that he had to explain time and againthat “doors are for opening when necessaryand then closing again. Doors are meant tobe closed; otherwise we’d have put archwaysall over the house, which would have been

much cheaper.”19

One day in 1972 Monsignor Escrivá wentto the print room with two priests from Eng-land and Ireland. They were on their way toa large gallery lined with glass cases contain-ing liturgical vestments valuable either be-cause of the quality of the embroidery or the

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antiquity of the material. He asked HelenaSerrano to turn on the lights in the cases,adding, “Then you can go—we’ll turn themoff.”

Helena switched on all the lights and wentout, closing the door so quickly that the catchdid not engage. Monsignor Escrivá called herback, and said softly so that no one elsecould hear, “If you had closed the door forlove of God, you would surely have done it

properly.”20

No voice to say “I am poor”

The poverty Monsignor Escrivá practicedand taught had two other notable character-istics. In the first place, it was the secularpoverty of ordinary people. It had to be prac-ticed with dignity, in keeping with each indi-vidual’s social and professional life, ob-serving fashion and technical progress, aswell as having a certain elegance. In

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Monsignor Escrivá’s words, it was “the kindof poverty which has no voice to say ‘I ampoor.’”

Second, it was not collective poverty butdecidedly personal. Each individual was togauge his or her own needs, acquire and usethe things needed, take care of them to makethem last longer, keep an account of ex-penses, and try to earn enough not only tosupport himself but also to contribute toOpus Dei’s apostolic works. Each also had tokeep a check on his dependence on or de-tachment from the things he used. All of thiswas summed up by Monsignor Escrivá, “Youshould act like the father or mother of a largeand poor family.” He explained, “Fathers ormothers who have many children and notmuch money practice poverty unostenta-tiously. They work out how to save money onthis, that or the other thing. When summer’scoming, they may decide, ‘If I spend anymoney on that, we might not be able to

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afford a holiday, or to get the children new

shoes,’ and so on.”21 He taught his children athousand ways of saving money by using upleftover food, or reusing wrapping paper andtwine. He taught how to make a fine wallhanging with scraps of old fabric; how to buythings wholesale or direct from the factory;and how, for a few lira at the Roman fleamarkets, to buy an old piece of furniturethat, cleaned and repainted, would be usefuland decorative.

He noticed small details of domestic eco-nomy. Once when he was staying in Paris,his daughters there served him a foreignbrand of mineral water. He told them after-ward, “From now on, try to buy localproducts, because they’re cheaper. What’smore, it means you can return the empties

and save some francs that way too!”22

Another time, in Cologne, he had writtenseveral postcards to different places. Hewanted everyone in Eigelstein to sign the one

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for his daughters in Rome, which he wouldthen send in an envelope. The card alreadyhad stamp on it, so he tried to remove thestamp. Turning to Giorgio, a son in the Workand a priest, he joked, “Come on, you’re a

doctor: finish off this operation for me!”23

Another time, passing through the diningroom which had just been vacated by the res-idents of the Casa del Vicolo in Rome, he no-ticed that many glasses had a bit of wine leftand there was unstirred sugar in the coffee-cups. He remarked to the people with him,“Tell those lads only to serve themselves theamount they intend to eat or drink. It is areal lack of poverty to have to throw out all

that wine and waste all that sugar.”24

He saved the most unlikely things. He hada green box on his desk where he kept smallrectangular bits of paper—pieces of used en-velopes that he used for notes or writingdown phrases for later on in preaching orwriting. He said, “Yes, I do use paper well: I

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write on both sides—and I don’t write on the

edge because I can’t.”25

But he insisted that people who worked incenters of the Work be paid promptly andgenerously. On special feast days, they alsogot a little treat for themselves and theirfamilies; and sometimes a bonus, “eventhough we ourselves have to do without.”

A workman is robbed

At the end of the 1940s, at the height ofpostwar scarcity, he received a letter fromRamon Montalat, a son in the Work who wastaking care of the building work atMolinoviejo conference center in Spain. Ra-mon told him what had happened to one ofthe workmen: “He had been saving hard forsome time to pay for his wife to give birth ina hospital, and to buy a crib and outfit for thebaby. When he heard that the birth was im-minent, he went back to Madrid, and when

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he got there he couldn’t resist the temptationof going to his local pub to meet his friendsand show off the fortune he had accumulatedby effort and hardship. On leaving the pub,he was robbed.”

A few days later the painter FernandoDelapuente arrived in Madrid from Rome.He was in charge of overseeing the work inMolinoviejo and Villa Tevere at the sametime. He had a message for Ramon Montalatand Jesus Alberto Cagigal, who were directlyresponsible for Molinoviejo: MonsignorEscrivá wanted the worker who had beenrobbed to be reimbursed all the money hehad lost and a bit over—as much as theycould manage—as a present for the birth of

his child.26

Though generous to the point of extravag-ance to bring cheer to people’s lives, he neverallowed any avoidable waste. “We are verymuch in favor of clean air and clean water,and we have no use for darkness: we do

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things in the light of day. But put love of Godinto turning off taps properly and turning offlights that aren’t needed. In these big houses,if everyone were to leave the light on fiveminutes more than necessary, added togeth-er it would pay the electricity bill of an aver-

age family for a month.”27 Crossing a land-ing, he would often turn to whoever wasthere, point to the lighted lamps, and say,“Either the lights on the stairs or the ones on

the landing, but not both!”28

Yet he insisted on surrounding our Lord inthe Blessed Sacrament with light; making theoratories radiant during liturgical actions;switching on all lights in corridors androoms which a priest was to pass throughwhile carrying Communion to a sick person’sroom. And he said, “Feast days stand out be-cause the worship is extra rich, people put ontheir best clothes, the meals are especiallywell prepared and presented, and there is acheerful atmosphere everywhere.”

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In the spring of 1955, recalling the eco-nomic difficulties of Opus Dei in its earlyyears, he said to his sons, “On many occa-sions during the past twenty-six years Ifound myself destitute, in the most totalwant and with absolutely nothing on the ho-rizon. We lacked even the essentials. But welived through all that with such joy! Because,since we were seeking the Kingdom of Godand his justice, we knew that all other thingswould be given to us, multiplied many timesover. My children should be cheerful if theyever lack something vital, while at the sametime they should do their best to make sure

they don’t lack anything.”29

An ink bottle and a razor

For many years Monsignor Escrivá him-self had almost nothing at all. “He never hadanything. He would travel with an ink bottlefull of holy water and a razor,” Regina

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Quiroga declared. She was a Franciscan ter-tiary who first met Father Escrivá in 1938when he was preaching a retreat for priestsin Vitoria. She, Maria Loyola, and MariaElvira Vergara testified that “he only had halfa cup of white coffee for breakfast every day,”and “he only had one cassock, and on one oc-casion he gave it to us to mend; it was in tat-ters, but we did our best to fix it for him asquickly as possible, as he was waiting in his

room for us to finish it.”30

In someone else’s shoes

In the 1930s, Pedro Casciaro was im-pressed by the “smartness, cleanliness, evenelegance” of Father Escrivá’s appearance.“Later on,” he said, “I began to realize he al-ways wore the same cassock, keeping it wellbrush ed and very clean indeed. I also no-ticed how, when celebrating Mass, he notonly genuflected slowly and with tremendous

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concentration, but in such a way that hisright foot was always concealed under hiscassock and alb; in the most natural way, hewas careful not to show the soles of hisshoes. The fact is that although they wereperfectly clean and shiny, they were in direneed of new soles or, even better, of beingthrown away. It was not surprising he woreout his shoes, considering the long walks hehad to do. He hardly ever took the tram, butwalked from one end of Madrid to the other:from St. Elizabeth Street to Ferraz Street,

from the Salamanca district to Vallecas.”31

What he did not say was that the old shoesFather Escrivá wore had been thrown out bythe university students at the FerrazResidence.

A priest who did not charge

During the Spanish Civil War, under-nourished, with no money, and only the

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clothes he wore, sometimes running a tem-perature, Father Escrivá traveled all over thecountry to give spiritual help to his sonsscattered on different battlefronts and milit-

ary hospitals.32

One time in Utrera in the south of Spain,after going to see someone who needed spir-itual help, he went to the ticket office in thestation, put all his money down on thecounter, and said to the ticket clerk, “I wantto get to Burgos. How far will this get me?”

“Let me see…. You only have enough hereto get as far as Salamanca.”

With no money left to buy anything to eat,he finished the journey as best he could.Recalling this episode and others like it, hesaid years later, “We have not flinched atanything when a soul was at stake—neitheraffection, nor sacrifice, nor money. And Idon’t think our Lord will blame us for that;on the contrary, he’ll put it in the scales onthe good side, and it will become pure gold,

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weighing as heavy as lead, because it repres-

ents the tremendous value of charity.”33

At the time of greatest penury, “with abso-lutely nothing on the horizon,” when he hadto choose between having lunch or dinner,and, in the middle of winter, the four of themin Burgos had just one sweater to sharebetween them, the words of a psalm sud-denly occurred to him: iacta super Domin-um curam tuam, et ipse te enutriet, “Castthy care upon the Lord, and he shall sustain

thee.”34 He decided to forfeit the only incomehe might get: stipends for saying Mass andpreaching. That was in 1938. For the rest ofhis life he would not accept money for exer-

cising his priestly ministry.35

Live with the problem or livewith the mystery

By experience he found that when he for-feited something that appeared to offer a

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solution to his problems, he was transferringthe problem to God, and God “can always domore!” This hopeful, trusting abandonmentof a child gave him peace, joy, and relief fromall worry, and enabled him to live in eachpresent moment with a wonderful freedomof spirit. Years later, during a get-togetherwith his children in Barcelona in 1973, hesaid, “We had nothing. Sometimes I foundjust the amount we needed at that moment,down to the last peseta; I did not understandthen but I do now, and I realize it was a clearsign of the working of God’s Providence. Ifthe Work of God had been done with themoney of men, it wouldn’t have been much

of a Work of God!”36

Encarnación Ortega recalled that “from1942 to 1944 he would come to the house inJorge Manrique Street, and later to theZurbaran Residence in Madrid, and whenthe time came for him to go home he would

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ask us for a peseta, as he had no money to

get the tram home.”37

Shades of black on a cassock

Even when the Work was spreadingthroughout the world, he had only the bareminimum for himself: an old cassock, finallythrown away in 1964 after he had worn itevery day for twenty years; and a newer,more presentable one, for going out or re-ceiving visitors. The old cassock “had somany patches it was difficult to tell which

piece was the original cloth.”38 Seeing himarrive in Portugal in this worn-out garment,a son of his exclaimed, “But Father, this cas-sock has several shades!”

Monsignor Escrivá was amused. “I wore itfor the journey. But don’t you worry, my son,I will get changed in a minute and look really

smart.”39

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He took care to keep his threadbare cas-sock brushed, sewed buttons back on as soonas they fell off, and gave it to the domesticstaff to clean and iron, so that it looked relat-ively neat. One day he asked one of hisdaughters for a favor: he showed her a bookof matches and said, “See if you can make usa little book just this size, with leaves of felt.My mother had one to keep needles and pinsin when traveling, and it’s a very practicalidea. We would like to do our own mending

while we’re away.”40

His outward appearance was always verycorrect and proper. He used to say, “Povertyisn’t the same as not being clean; there’s noreason why you shouldn’t have more thanone shower a day when the weather is hot,out of consideration for others; or even usesome of the lighter, clean-smelling eau-de-colognes, because the best smell for a man is

not to smell of anything.”41

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Monsignor Escrivá combined hard work athome with a highprofile social life. Althoughhe did not attend cocktail parties or recep-tions, as president general of Opus Dei hedid receive visits and guests every day, andnaturally he dressed properly. Having onlyhad the minimum of clothes, he had tochange several times a day.

Helena Serrano, who had a photographer’ssharp eye for detail, noticed his care on thispoint. “I saw the Father going through thehall of Villa Vecchia, wearing his old cassock.Half an hour later I needed to ask his adviceabout a problem in the print room. I calledthe map room on the house telephone andFather Ernesto Julia answered it, and toldme, ‘The Father has just gone to change, ashe’s expecting visitors any minute. Go to theentrance of the sitting room of LaMontagnola and you’ll catch him as hepasses by, and can ask him whatever youneed.” So I did, and the Father came along

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wearing his good cassock, the Roman-styleone. He said he would get back to me whenthe visit was over, as he wanted to deal withthe matter properly. Less than half an hourlater he called us to the dining room of theVilla. Two of us went, taking the material wewere having problems with. When we gotthere, I realized the Father had changed hiscassock again: he was wearing his old oneonce more, the one he used around the

house.”42

Monsignor’s wardrobe

Monsignor Escrivá sometimes declaredhe could tell the state of soul of one of hischildren in the Work by looking at the insideof his or her wardrobe. He always kept hisown wardrobe unlocked so his daughters inthe Work could put away his launderedclothes.

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After he died, Carmen Ramos and anotherwoman of the Work went to clear out hiswardrobe. Hanging were his cassock, awoolen cardigan, an old woolen cape he hadgotten years before from an army friend, andthe trousers he wore under his cassock;shoes, underclothes, a few pairs of socks, afew collarless shirts, and a black woolenscarf. Several sets of cuffs, some white Ro-man collars and some handkerchiefs werefolded up very neatly in boxes. There wasalso a leather whip which he used for self-discipline, the little sewing box for sewing on

buttons, and nothing more.43 Five or sixminutes was all it took to pack it all up.

Three untouchables

Deliberate detachment from owning andusing things is hard and meritorious. Buthigher and deeper still is the poverty of onewho surrenders his privacy, time, and future

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plans. These features of poverty of spiritwere part of Monsignor Escrivá’s daily life,practiced in such a natural way that theywent unnoticed.

First, privacy. Monsignor Escrivá livedamong people whom he met constantly inthe corridors, in get-togethers, on walks, attalks and meditations; he celebrated theirbirthdays and feast days with them andshared their troubles; he prayed in theoratory or watched a film with the rest. Heled formational activities, went for walksaround the city with groups of them, or satwith one for long periods if he was ill.Anyone who lived under the same roof withhim could easily find out where the Fatherwas and what he was doing at any given mo-ment. He had no time to himself and noplace to be alone in; he knew that he wasconstantly observed as an example forothers.

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At the much deeper level of conscience, heplaced his inner life in the hands of his con-fessor and confidant, Don Alvaro. Everythingmaterial, great and small, he placed in thehands of Father Javier Echevarria; from say-ing the synovitis he suffered from was caus-ing pain in his elbows or he had not beenable to sleep all night, to asking for a glass ofwater when his diabetes provoked ragingthirst.

In the same way he surrendered his time.Monsignor Escrivá summed it up simply:“Do your duty now, without looking back onyesterday, which has already passed, or wor-rying over to morrow, which may never come

for you.”44 He encouraged people to live in-tensely in the hodie et nunc, today and now.Nunc coepi!—“I am beginning now!”—wasthe language of his spiritual struggle.

Monsignor Escrivá used time voraciously,making the most of each “hour of sixtyminutes and each minute of sixty seconds.”

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He did not need a watch because, as he ex-plained, “after one job I do another; after at-tending to one matter I attend to the nextone,” wishing to die “squeezed out like alemon.”

His struggle to overcome his defects andacquire virtues was intense, consisting ofshort-term objectives, skirmishes, exact ac-counting, and a daily examination of con-science, checking it on waking in the morn-ing, at midday, toward evening, and lastthing at night. He had only “today” to win“this beautiful battle of love,” hoc pulcher-rimum caritatis bellum.

One spring day in 1960, talking to a groupof his sons, he said, “I have no time to thinkabout myself. I’m always thinking about oth-ers and about Jesus; and through him, aboutothers and about myself. My midday exam-ination of conscience is: ‘Jesus, I love you!’And then I aim to advance on some smallparticular point. I haven’t time for anything

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else! When night comes, it’s: ‘Lord, I haven’t

thought about myself all day!”45 He workedfor today, solved problems today, prayedtoday, and loved today. “Tomorrow” was “the

adverb of the defeated.”46

On one occasion some young men in theWork wished to present him with a plannerof the kind that fits into a diary and unfoldsto show the whole year. Monsignor Escrivádeclined the gift. “My children, I don’t need aplanner: my life is in God’s hands. I can’t goaround calculating and scheming, like astrategist. I live here and now, and I knowthat tempus breve est: time is short, the time

for loving God is short.”47

Cruel doubts

Finally there was the surrender of hisplans for the future.

Monsignor Escrivá was even detachedfrom the vocation and mission entrusted to

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him by God on October 2, 1928: to do OpusDei on earth. On at least two occa-sions—June 22, 1933, the eve of the feast ofthe Sacred Heart, in the Church of PerpetualSuccor in Madrid, and again on September25, 1941 in the Collegiate Church of LaGranja at San Ildefonso in Segovia—he hadthe temptation or “cruel doubt” that theWork might after all be his invention aboutwhich he was deceiving others. Both times hereacted in the same way. “Lord, if the Workis not here to serve you and to serve yourChurch, destroy it! Destroy it immedi-

ately!”48 Both times the immediate responsewas peace and joy.

From then on he had an unshakable con-viction: “Heaven is bent on the Work beingfulfilled.” The Work would flourish as Godwilled. His task was to put his whole heartand soul into the effort, without being wor-ried about anything. He did not considerhimself the maker or manager of the Work,

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still less its proprietor. He did not even con-sider himself its founder. “I’m not thefounder of anything!” he would say, addingeach time that he was just “a deaf and clumsyinstrument.” This was not just assumed hu-mility. The Work existed by an initiative onGod’s part. He would never have guaranteedthe success of some thing he invented; butknowing God to be the guarantor, he had apowerful sense of assurance.

Dr. Carlo Faelli was Monsignor Escrivá’sdoctor from 1946 until his death in 1975.Afterward he wrote a signed testimony: “Hespoke little about himself and when he did itwas only as God’s instrument to do HisWork. He never attached any importance tohis own things. He gently passed over them.He was not interested in them. He nevermade a show of his position (as founder andpresident general of Opus Dei). He would sayjokingly, ‘I’m just a priest.’ I told him he hadno need to humble himself in front of me,

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but I think he took no notice. I can state as a

fact that he had a keen sense of humor.”49

Having emptied himself and become poorand free, Monsignor Escrivá never worriedabout tomorrow. “I’m not worried but occu-pied,” he often said.

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16

Clay and Grace

In 1942 Father Escrivá was the target of manyaccusations, insults, and calumnies. The at-tacks he called “the opposition from goodpeople” had begun. One night, in the studentresidence hall on Diego de Leon Street, hewent to the oratory. Alone on his knees be-side the tabernacle, he sobbed. But after awhile he said, “Lord, if you don’t need mygood name, what do I want it for?”

Later he confessed, “It was hard, it wasvery hard because I’m very proud, and hugetears were running down my face … but from

that day on, I couldn’t care less about any-

thing!”1

Sixty brays, a line drawn, and aburst of laughter

He often repeated a kind of litany oflowliness: “I am worth nothing, I have noth-ing, I can do nothing, I know nothing, I am

nothing … nothing!”2 When his children inthe Work wished him a happy sixtieth birth-day, his response was, “Sixty years, Jose-

maría: sixty brays!”3 And again: “I’ve drawna line under all these years, and they add up

to a burst of laughter!”4

A mangy donkey

In his Intimate Notes from the ’30s, re-ferring to matters of conscience, the letters ‘bs’ (for burrito sarnoso, “mangy donkey”)

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often appeared. That was how he saw himselfbefore God: covered with mange, but want-ing to be a humble, hard-working donkey.

On occasions he recalled an inner locutionhe had heard: “A donkey was my throne ofglory in Jerusalem.” He said, “Can’t you see?Jesus is satisfied with a poor animal as athrone. I don’t know about you, but it doesn’thumiliate me to recognize that I’m a donkey

in our Lord’s eyes.”5

Canon Joaquin Mestre, secretary to Bish-op Marcelino Olaechea of Valencia for years,one day asked Mon signor Escrivá for a pic-ture of himself.

“Certainly, certainly!” replied MonsignorEscrivá. “I’ll get you one right away.” Hewent into the next room and return ed carry-ing a small wrought iron donkey. “There youare, there’s your picture of me. That’s me: alittle donkey. And I hope I’ll always be a littledonkey before God, his beast of burden,

bringing peace.”6

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In May 1975, the last time he went to Tor-reciudad, he beamed with delight on discov-ering a picture of a donkey in a smalloratory. It was in a picture of the Flight intoEgypt. He went to it and kissed it, saying,

“Hello, brother!”7

In his office in Rome he also had a simple,roughly carved statue of St. Anthony, patronsaint of domestic animals. Half-joking, yetwholly in earnest, he celebrated St.Anthony’s feast day every year as if he werehis own patron saint.

Toward the end of his life, during a briefstay in Madrid, while he was chatting withthree or four of his sons, one of them, Fran-cisco Garcia, several times heard MonsignorEscrivá quietly murmur words from Psalm72: “ut iumentum factus sum apud te!—I

have become like a donkey before you!”8

A superiority complex

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In Rome one day in 1968 an Italian uni-versity student asked him, “Father, how canwe reconcile humility with the aplomb andsuperiority complex which Christians needin order to stir the world?”

“Look, my daughter, I have three doctor-ates and I’m an old man, so I must knowsomething; but when I come before God I re-cognize that I’m just a donkey. Before God Iknow nothing, I’m worth nothing, I can donothing. On the other hand he is wisdom andomnipotence—and he is my Father! Withouthim I have a great inferiority complex, butwith him, with his help, I can do everything!I’m his son, and I have the resources of hiswisdom, his power. And I say with St. Paul:omnia possum in eo qui me confortat, ‘I cando everything in him who comforts me.’”

“I have this ‘superiority complex’ in orderto serve, to serve others without their noti-cing this service, this work; to do it for loveof God. The ‘superiority complex’ is a clear

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manifestation of humility: without God I cando nothing, with him I can do everything

that is beautiful, bright, and great!”9

“I am a beginner … a babblingchild”

He considered himself to be “a deaf,blind, and clumsy instrument,” “a sinnerwho lives among saints,” “a big fool who hasnot yet learned the lessons God tries to teachhim,” “a beginner,” “a babbling child,” “azero,” “nothing … nothingness!”

One night in 1957 he saw a famous scient-ist on television presenting a large number ofbooks, the fruit of many years’ work. Nextday Monsignor Escrivá said to some of hischildren, “When I saw that old man, lookingso natural and straightforward, I felt veryashamed in God’s sight, because after somany years of vocation I can’t say thesame—I can’t present this or that completed

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work. I’ve done nothing. I know nothing. I’mstill learning the alphabet in the spiritual life.

I feel like a beginner.”10

“Ah, ah, ah … I cannot speak”

One day in Madrid in 1941, Jose RamonMadurga came upon Father Escrivá readingand making notes in a notebook. FatherEscrivá showed him what he had been writ-ing: a phrase from Jeremiah (1:6) where theprophet argued with God that he did notknow how to preach, that he was like a child,awkward at expressing himself. “Look, readthis,” he said. “‘Ah, ah, ah, Lord God, I donot know how to speak, for I am only achild!’ I often use these words as a prayer, anaspiration, when I’m preparing to preach or

give a talk.” 11

Seeing himself as an instrument for con-tact between others and God, he tried not todistract people or get in their way. In 1948 he

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preached a retreat for professional men inMolinoviejo. Aware that the people attendingwere fired up with enthusiasm and when theretreat was over there could be an explosionof praise for him, he organized a quick get-away. The director of the retreat was a lawprofessor, Amadeo de Fuenmayor;Monsignor Escrivá told him, “Amadeo, whenthe last talk is finished, stay in the oratorywith all of them. Give me a few minutes toget into the car and set off for Madrid. Don’tsay the final aspiration until you hear the en-

gine start!”12

In 1964, after a stay in Pamplona duringwhich he preached to many people, he saidhow ashamed he felt at the demonstrationsof affection he received. “They carried mearound like a statue in a pro cession!” He ad-ded, “Later on I heard that there had beenmany conversions, lapsed Catholics going toconfession … and I remembered the clay our

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Lord used to open the eyes of the blind man

in the Gospel.”13

A Rhodesian journalist, Lynden Parry, in-sisted on thanking him for her conversion toCatholicism and the discovery of her voca-tion to Opus Dei. Without hesitation, he said,“All of us have so much to thank our Lordfor! Don’t thank me. God writes a letter andputs it in an envelope. You take the letter outof the envelope and throw the envelope

away.”14

On countless occasions he said that in theWork he was “a disproportionate instru-ment” God had chosen “so people can seethat the Work is his.” On October 2, 1971, do-ing his prayer aloud with the general councilof Opus Dei in Rome in the light of a stainedglass window depicting the descent of theHoly Spirit on a group of early Christian menand women, he turned slightly toward the al-tar and said, “Thank you, Lord, for your con-tinuous protection and for having

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intervened, sometimes very obviously—Ididn’t ask for it, I don’t deserve it!—so therecould be no doubt that the Work is Yours,

only Yours, totally Yours.”15

“A filthy rag, trash”

At other times he put it more bluntly: “Iam a filthy rag, I am trash, and God haschosen me so everyone can see that the Work

is his.”16 When his children wished him ahappy feast day on any October 2, he wouldturn their praise back on themselves, in thewords of an Italian proverb: Il sangue delsoldato fa grande il capitano!—“The sol-dier’s blood makes the captain great!”

Told some visitors had gone away comfor-ted and strengthened by their conversationwith him, he said, “Of course! They are excel-lent people and whatever you give them, theyturn into good wine. On the other hand, ifthey were bad, they would turn even the

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good wine of the wedding feast of Cana into

vinegar.”17

After receiving visitors, he was often vis-ibly moved. “What good people!” he wouldsay. “Our Lord is constantly teaching me les-sons! I’m always learning!” One day he hadhad more than the usual number of visitors.Far from showing any sign of tiredness, hedisplayed admiration and gratitude. “Thosewho come are so good, and it’s so difficult tobe good! To be even half-good requires suchan effort! I see myself as very small indeed, a

mere pigmy, beside them.”18

One evening in Villa Sacchetti, GiuseppinaBertolucci read aloud a letter from her familytelling how happy they all were after being inRome with the Father. She started readingsome words of praise—“every time they re-member him, their eyes shine”—butMonsignor Escrivá would hear no more. “Allright, all right. ‘With my fondest love,’ and

let’s go on to something else!”19

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Another of his daughters started to tellhim how she had been to see Cardinal Cas-ariego, and the cardinal said, “Pray for me,so that I may be half the saint MonsignorEscrivá is.”

“No, my daughter! Don’t take any notice of

what he said on that point!”20

A conversation with Paul VI

Returning from the Vatican after whatwas to be his last meeting with Pope Paul VI,Monsignor Escrivá looked very serious, evenupset. Only later did he say what hadhappened. In the middle of their conversa-tion, Paul VI had suddenly stopped and ex-claimed, “You are a saint!” MonsignorEscrivá’s spontaneous answer was, “Here onearth there is only one saint: the Holy Fath-

er. All the rest of us are sinners.”21

“Our Lord is my general”

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He always felt very far from the totalidentification with God to which he aspired.He knew he was struggling in a constantstate of beginning anew—nunc coepi, hesaid. But he never felt complacent.

An army general and his wife came to visitMonsignor Escrivá in Villa Tevere in October1964. Monsignor Escrivá confided, “Fromthe little balcony of my office I can see thetabernacle in the oratory. And there, in theevening, I often say to our Lord, who is mygeneral: ‘I am a soldier, your little soldier inthis war of peace. And as a soldier, althoughI have fought hard today, Josemaría is not

pleased with Josemaría.’22

Neither a saint nor a devil

Attacks did not overwhelm him, andpraise did not make him vain. He had an ex-act sense of who he was. In July 1950, speak-ing of good and bad stories circulating about

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him for some time, he declared, “Somepeople have said that I’m a saint, and it isn’ttrue: I’m a sinner. Others have said that I’ma devil; and they’re not right either, because

I’m a son of God.”23

On February 25, 1947, when he and someof his children were living in the Città Leon-ina apartment, Vatican Radio broadcastnews of the Decretum Laudis, the first sol-emn approval of the Holy See for Opus Dei.Father Escrivá borrowed a radio, wishing tolisten to the news with his daughters: Encar-nita Ortega, Julia Bustillo, Rosalia Lopez,Dora Calvo, and Dora del Hoyo, the only wo-men of Opus Dei then living in Rome. Thespeaker praised the founder of Opus Dei andhis work to the skies. Father Escrivá had notexpected that. He became withdrawn and si-lent, standing with head bowed and eyes

half-closed. He was praying intensely.24

The following year in Madrid, at the open-ing of the beatification process of Isidoro

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Zorzano—an Argentinian engineer, one ofthe first people of the Work—Father Escrivásat among the public; Bishop Leopoldo Eijo yGaray, Bishop of Madrid, had to urge him to

sit beside him on the podium.25 Also in 1948at the ordination ceremony of several men ofOpus Dei in the Church of the Holy Spirit inMadrid, Monsignor Escrivá, wearing darkglasses, came in discreetly by a side door and

took a place in a corner of the chancel.26

The doctorate … for the donkey

Professor Carlos Sanchez del Rio recalledwhen Monsignor Escrivá was awarded anhonorary doctorate by the University of Sar-agossa in 1960. “He was very humble. I sawhow moved he was when we gave him hishonorary doctorate. He was grateful for theaffection, but at the same time he listened tothe glowing homage which we read abouthim as if against his will—as if he was not

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being given it for any merits of his own.”27

Returning to Rome, Monsignor Escrivá tookthe ring he had been given during the cere-mony and hung it on the ear of one of thesmall ornamental donkeys in his office.

In October 1960, when the University ofNavarre, founded by Monsignor Escriváhimself, was formally constituted, severalpublic functions were held. A journalist, Joa-quin Esteban Perruca, observed him closely.He recalled how by popular demandMonsignor Escrivá had to appear on the bal-cony of the town hall. People were cheeringand applauding. The journalist wrote, “TheFather remained deeply recollected all the

time, as if the applause were not for him.”28

With his forehead on the floor

One day in Rome in 1955, two women ofthe Work visited a prelate called FatherPedro Altabella. He made a prediction: “I

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assure you, the day will come when the nameof Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer will beknown in the farthest corner of the world.”Back at Villa Tevere, they told MonsignorEscrivá what was said. He commented, “It istrue; Father Pedro is not mistaken. It willhappen…. That’s why I pray Psalm 50, theMiserere, every day prostrate on the ground,

with my forehead touching the floor.”29

“Go unnoticed and disappear”

In Madrid in April 1970, he stayed in thecenter of the Work on Diego de Leon Street.One morning he came into the dining roomfor breakfast with his sons and noticed someof the decorations. He recalled how the lamphad been bought in the early 1940s. “It camefrom a billiard room, and as it’s made ofbronze, it is very heavy; every time my moth-er saw it she was afraid it would fall onsomeone.” Then he noticed some small

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gilded wooden pedestals that had beenplaced under a clock and under a set of orna-mental candlesticks on the mantelpiece. Hehad suggested this touch on an earlier trip.“You’ve done it very nicely,” he observed.“That makes them stand out more. In civillife, people also need a kind of pedestal sothat their worth can be seen. On the otherhand, I’ve always preferred to go unnoticedand disappear…. ‘He must increase and I

must decrease.’ And even then…!”30

In a letter from the 1930s he told the vicargeneral of the Madrid diocese, “I see moreand more clearly that God’s will is for me to

go unnoticed and disappear.”31 More thanforty years later, he expressed the same ideain almost the same words, on the eve ofMarch 28, 1975, the golden jubilee of his or-dination to the priesthood: “I wish to spendthis jubilee in my usual way: to go unnoticedand disappear is my part, so that only Jesusshines forth.”

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Every year Opus Dei ordains a new batchof priests. Generally speaking, MonsignorEscrivá did not attend the ordination cere-monies, but stayed at home and prayed.When people asked why he was not there, heanswered firmly, “My way is to go unnoticedand disappear.”

At the beginnings of Opus Dei, well-mean-ing people advised him to take a universityprofessor ship or some honorary post so asto have more influence and make himselfheard, and not be just “a plain priest.” In-variably he answered, “If I limit myself to be-ing a priest 100 percent, there will be manyother 100 percent priests, and there will bemany good Catholics who will be professors,employees, or peasants, who will faithfullyserve the Church as 100 percent Christi-

ans.”32 In those first years in Madrid, a priestoutside his own diocese, he wanted a way ofbeing incardinated into the Madrid diocese.It was arranged for him to meet Father

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Pedro Poveda, founder of the Teresian Insti-tute and secretary to the Patriarch of the In-dies, someone very well situated who couldhelp solve his problem. When they met,Father Poveda suggested, “Maybe you couldthink about the post of honorary Palacechaplain.”

“And what’s that?” asked Father Escrivá.“Well, now, you would dress more or less

like me, and you would get a benefice.”“But, Father Pedro, would that give me the

right to be incardinated in the Madriddiocese?”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Then I’m not interested.”33

Father Poveda was surprised and im-pressed. To be part of the clergy attached tothe Royal Household was a much soughtafter honor; but Father Escrivá turned itdown because it was not what he needed tocarry out his mission. From that point on, a

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deep friendship developed between FatherPoveda and Father Escrivá.

Around the same time, Bishop Cruz La-plana of Cuenca, a relative of Father Escrivá,offered him a canonry in Cuenca Cathedral.Father Escrivá rejected the offer. LeavingMadrid and moving to Cuenca when OpusDei had just begun growing would placeobstacles in the mission to which God had

called him.34

“I don’t want to be a bishop”

In the same way, on February 11, 1933, herejected an interesting proposition made byFather Angel Herrera, recently appointedpresident of Catholic Action in Spain. FatherHerrera offered to appoint him director ofthe house of the counsellor of Catholic Ac-tion, where he was planning “to bring togeth-er the most outstanding of the secular Span-ish clergy.” Besides apostolic influence on

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these priests, it was clear that this post couldbe a springboard to the episcopate.

“Think it over, Father Josemaría,” urgedFather Herrera. “I’ll be bringing the bestpriests in Spain together in this house, andwhat I’m proposing is for you to be theirdirector.”

“No, indeed,” he replied. “I’m very grate-ful, but I cannot accept. I have to follow thepath chosen for me by God. Besides, I can’taccept for the very reason you yourself give:because the best priests in Spain will begathered here, and I’m obviously not capable

of directing them.”35

It has been said, without foundation, thatFather Escrivá wanted to be a bishop. But ac-tually he took steps to avoid the possibility.After the Spanish Civil War he spent a greatdeal of his time preaching retreats to bish-ops, and his standing and reputation grew.No doubt he heard comments about the pos-sibility of being made a bishop, so he asked

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his confessor (at the time, Father José MaríaGarcía) for permission to “make a vow neverto accept the burden or dignity of beingmade a bishop.” Father Garciá respondedthat without the permission of the Bishop ofMadrid, he could not allow such a vow. Fath-er Escrivá then presented the problem toBishop Leopoldo Eijo y Garay of Madrid, onMarch 19, 1941. Among his notes is: “TheBishop has not given me permission. I am

really upset.”36

During the 1950s he was awarded a civildecoration. At a gettogether, one of his sons,an army man, congratulated him. MonsignorEscrivá smiled and said, “For you militarypeople this business of getting medals is animportant affair, but not for me. I—and you,too, at the bottom of your heart—am only in-

terested in one cross: the Holy Cross.”37

He explained that the worst thing thatcould happen to anyone was to receive noth-ing but praise. He was grateful when people

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corrected him, and took note of the correc-tions to improve. He had to struggle with theHoly See not to be deprived of “fraternal cor-rection,” a fundamental means of formationin Opus Dei. The Vatican notified him thataccording to traditional custom, “a superiorcannot be corrected by his subordinates.”But Mon signor Escrivá insisted that he notbe deprived of this help. In the end, approvalwas given to his having two custodes, guardi-ans or aides, to live close to him and adviseand correct him. Don Alvaro and FatherJavier Echevarria had this job for years.

“Alvaro does not let me getawaywith a single thing!”

He was grateful to them for pointing outthings to improve on or make amends for.He said this one day to a group of women ofthe Work. “They point out things to me too,

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and I receive them with my head boweddown. If ever I think they’re wrong, I stopand correct myself—and I see that the one

who’s wrong is myself.”38

He was chatting one day while the con-struction at Villa Tevere was going on withseveral of his daughters, showing them howthe work was progressing. Don Alvaro wasthere. Monsignor Escrivá, leaning on a bar ofthe scaffolding, confided, “Don Alvaro cor-rected me today. It was hard to accept. Somuch so that I went to the oratory for a mo-ment. Once there, I said, ‘Lord, Alvaro’s rightand I’m wrong.’ But after a second, I said,‘No, Lord, this time I am right. Alvarodoesn’t let me get away with a single thing,and that doesn’t seem like affection butcruelty.’ And then I said, ‘Thank you, Lord,for placing my son Alvaro near me, who is sofond of me that he doesn’t let me get awaywith a single thing!’” He turned toward DonAlvaro, who had been listening in silence,

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smiled at him, and said, “God bless you,

Alvaro, my son!”39

“I’m not a river which can neverturn back”

Encarnita Ortega recalled hearing himsay he found it hard to be corrected, “espe-cially when what they tell me is true,” but“on feeling an inner resistance, if I’m alone Isay aloud, ‘They’re always right! They’re al-

ways right!’”40

He corrected himself quickly. He saidonce, “I’m not a river, which can never turnback. It would be foolish and stubborn not tochange your mind when you have new

data.”41And he said, “I assure you that cor-recting yourself rids your soul of bitter-

ness.”42

“I’ve come to say sorry”

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One day in Madrid in 1946, he went intothe catering department of the Diego deLeon residence in mid-morning. It looked amess: a cupboard door half open, anothercupboard untidy inside, groceries and sup-plies not put away but still in baskets andbags, and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.Much upset, Father Escrivá called for thedirector, but she was not in. Flor Cano, an-other woman of the Work, came instead andreceived the full flood of protest. “This can’tbe allowed! It just can’t! Where is your pres-ence of God while you’re working? You haveto do things with much more sense ofresponsibility!”

Without realizing it, he had been raisingand hardening his voice. Suddenly hestopped. Then, in a completely differenttone, he said, “Lord … forgive me! And you,my daughter, forgive me too.”

“Father—please—you’re absolutely right!”said Flor.

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“Yes, I am, because what I’m saying istrue,” he responded. “But I ought not to havesaid it in that tone of voice. So please forgive

me!”43

On another occasion in Rome he reprim-anded Ernesto Julia over the intercom forneglecting an important job. Ernesto did notprotest or make excuses. Shortly afterward,someone informed Monsignor Escrivá thatErnesto had not known about the matter be-cause he had not been asked to do it.Without delaying a second, MonsignorEscrivá picked up the intercom and askedErnesto to come to where the two buildings,Casa del Vicolo and Villa Vecchia, met. WhenErnesto got there, he found MonsignorEscrivá waiting for him with arms wideopen. With an engaging, affectionate smile,he said, “My son, I’m sorry. I beg your for-giveness and restore your good name to

you!”44

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He was quick and generous whenever heneeded to put something right or ask forgive-ness. One day in January 1955, while stu-dents of the Roman College were chattingwith him in a corridor in Villa Tevere,Fernando Acaso came by. Monsignor Escriváasked if he had collected some furniturewhich was to be placed near some stairs.Fernando gave an evasive reply withoutmaking it clear whether the furniture was inthe house. Monsignor Escrivá interrupted:“But have you brought it home, or not?”

“No, Father,” said Fernando. MonsignorEscrivá then told all of them there always tobe “sincere and direct, unafraid of anythingor anybody” and “without making excuses,because no one’s accusing you!”

At that moment Don Alvaro came along,looking for Fernando Acaso. “Fernando, youcan pick up the furniture whenever you like;there’s money in the bank for it now.” Herewas the reason for Fernando’s evasive

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explanation. In front of everyone, he apolo-gized. “Forgive me, my son, for not listeningto your reasons. I can see that it wasn’t yourfault. With your attitude you’ve given me asplendid lesson in humility. God bless

you!”45

In the summer of that same year, 1955,Monsignor Escrivá was in Spain and spent aday in Molinoviejo with a big group of hissons who were doing a course there and hav-ing a rest. Among them was Rafael Caamaño,who had just come back from Italy where hehad taken a three-year course in naval engin-eering. Monsignor Escrivá beckoned himand Javier Echevarria over to a stone foun-tain among the trees. “Rafael, I have to begyour pardon for maybe having scandalizedyou that time by not giving money to thebeggar. I needed to tell you that that’s not myspirit. Although I never carry any money, Icould have—I ought to have—asked one ofyou to give some coins to that poor man.

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Now you know: the Father did wrong andbegs your forgiveness.”

Rafael said nothing. Only much later hemanaged to recall the event. Months back, hehad gone with Monsignor Escrivá and twoother people on a drive in the outskirts ofRome. They stopped to have a coffee in oneof the castelli. A beggar came up asking foralms, and they gave him to understand theyhad no money for him. Caamaño realizedthat this common place event had touched

Monsignor Escrivá.46

One day in Villa Tevere Monsignor Escriváwent into the office of the secretary generalof the Work and corrected some errors whichtwo or three of the people working there hadintroduced into a document that misrepres-ented the spirituality of Opus Dei. Havingmade plain the far-reaching consequencessuch mistakes could have, he left. After awhile he came back, looking peaceful andjoyous. “My sons,” he said, “I’ve just been to

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confession to Don Alvaro, be cause what Isaid to you before was something I had tosay, but I shouldn’t have said it the way I did.So I went to our Lord to ask him to forgive

me, and now I’ve come to say sorry to you.”47

Another time he was hurrying along a cor-ridor when one of his daughters tried to stophim with a question for which it was neitherthe time nor the place. Hardly slowing, heshrugged and said, “How should I know? AskDon Alvaro!” Later that day the same girlwas tidying things in the hall of Villa Vecchiaas Monsignor Escrivá and Don Alvaropassed. Monsignor Escrivá said, “I’m sorry,my daughter, for having answered you as Idid earlier on. Those of you who live with me

have so much to put up with!”48

In his pocket diary he copied a phrasefrom St. John’s Gospel every year: Numquidlex nostra iudicat hominem, nisi priusaudierit ab ipso? “Does our law judge anyman without first giving him a hearing?”

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(John 7:51). He meditated on that, put it into

practice, and recommended it to others.49

He also corrected himself or changed hismind if he could do someone a service. In1970 Monsignor Escrivá was making a stop-over at the Madrid airport on his way fromRome to Mexico. There was a big group ofmedia in the international departure area,hoping to get photographs of the founder ofOpus Dei, and the photographer of the news-paper Nuevo Diario, Eduardo Caliz, couldnot get a shot. A big, heavy man, he pushedthrough the crowd to Monsignor Escrivá andsaid, “Let us have a few photos!”

Monsignor Escrivá answered cheerfully,“Look, I’m not Concha Piquer” [a famoussinger], “I’m only a poor man!”

The journalist replied, “I don’t care at allfor myself, but I have to do my job. This ismy children’s bread and butter.”

At that he stopped short and, turning to-ward Eduardo Caliz, looked him in the eye

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and smiled. “If you have to do your job, andearn your children’s bread and butter, I’llstay here and pose until you tell me to

stop!”50

Monsignor Escrivá’s“guardians”

A part of Monsignor Escrivá’s humilityless generally known was his voluntary sub-mission, in apparently insignificant things,to Don Alvaro, who was, for want of a betterword, the “guardian” of his soul. AlthoughMonsignor Escrivá ranked above Don Alvarothere is evidence that in questions of a per-sonal nature, he obeyed him unhesitatingly,deter mined to seek “a golden opportunity tobe able to obey.”

One day in the print room he was examin-ing type fonts and layout options for a cer-tain text. Instead of deciding there and then,he specified, “This is fine, but don’t do it yet:

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wait till Don Alvaro comes back and see what

he thinks. He’s out right now.”51

His breakfast was always a roll and a cupof lukewarm white coffee, without sugar.One day, he saw some fried eggs on a dish allready for him and Don Alvaro. He asked thatthey be taken away “so that someone else canhave them, because we’re not going to.” ButRosalia, waiting at table, told him “DonAlvaro asked for them,” and he accepted

them immediately.52

On January 9, 1968, his birthday, he had ashort get-together in the morning with thewomen in La Montagnola; Don Alvaro wasthere. They chatted animatedly. SuddenlyMonsignor Escrivá looked searchingly at allof them and said confidentially, “My daugh-ters, I’m going to tell you something, becauseyou are all grown up here, so you can prayfor something for me.”

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There was an expectant silence.Monsignor Escrivá turned to Don Alvaro andasked, “Alvaro, shall I tell them?”

“Father, better not,” replied Don Alvaro.“Shan’t I tell them?”“I think not, Father.”“Well, my daughters,” said Monsignor

Escrivá, “there’s nothing more to say. You’llfind out about it in due time. And now youcan offer up this little curiosity to our

Lord.”53

Although especially in his last few years hewoke up before dawn, he remained in beduntil Father Javier Echevarria, his other“guardian,” said it was time to get up, be-cause he had been told to rest more. If at aget-together Father Echevarria told him itwas time to finish because he had work wait-ing for him, he always got up without delay,no matter how interesting the conversationwas.

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One day in 1961 at Christmas, MonsignorEscrivá had been talking with some of hisdaughters in the laundry of Villa Sacchetti.On his way through the Galleria dellaMadonna, Helena Serrano said, “Father, nowthat you’re here, why not come and see thecrèche we’ve set up in the print room?”

Monsignor Escrivá turned toward DonAlvaro and Father Echevarria. “Shall I go?”

When both assented, he smiled happily

and said, “Let’s go.”54

“Doctor, do whatever you haveto do”

He practiced this docility also towarddoctors and dentists, to the point of volun-tarily suppressing the slightest complaintwhen he put himself into the doctor’s hands.His dentist, Dr. Kurzio Hruska, a Protestant,was very impressed. He often treated

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Monsignor Escrivá in his office at 10 Via Car-ducci, in Rome.

“Whenever possible,” recounted Dr.Hruska, “he preferred to have an appoint-ment early in the morning so he could workwithout interruption afterward, even thoughhe knew that after the treatment he wouldnot be feeling well.

“He always arrived early for his appoint-ment. And if I was running late and kept himwaiting, he would enter the examinationroom with the same good humor. He did notlike making people wait for him because, hesaid, ‘I respect your work very much.’

“As a patient Monsignor Escrivá was avery disciplined, humble person. I wasamazed, because it’s not often one findspeople like that: he was humble in all hisgestures. Humble, in spite of his tremendousenergy and dynamism. It was strange: first ofall he looked at you, he looked into your verysoul. You could almost say that he X-rayed

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you! And then straight away he became a do-cile patient. Whatever I said or did was fineby him. This was an added difficulty for me,given his delicate dental situation. Some-times I’d say, ‘Tell me if this hurts.’ And as hedid not complain, I would interrupt the oper-ation in some surprise and say, ‘I’d preferyou to tell me everything and not just put upwith the pain, because it isn’t possible thatI’m not hurting you right now.’

“My medical treatment was not always‘friendly.’ Some times I’d say, ‘I’ll have togive you an injection.’ And he would reply,‘Doctor, do whatever you have to do!’ So Idid. I had to do a lot of hard, painful work onhis mouth. And I asked him, ‘How can youstand it?’ ‘Man has to get used to everything,’he said. Even if I’d nailed a spike into hisgums, he would have accepted it. I think Iwould have been able to crucify him and hewould have put up with it. As a man and as apatient he was very humble; but it was not a

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mean-spirited or offensive humility. The factis, he was always content, balanced, cheerfuland serene. He felt himself to be a son ofGod. ‘God will cure me,’ he used to say, andthis made him unconcerned about his body,

and any physical discomforts or illness.”55

Marquis of Peralta

Sometimes it is easier to give way thanexercise rights. Monsignor Escrivá experi-enced this when, in 1968, he decided to re-vive the title of Marquis of Peralta, whichhad belonged to his ancestors centuries be-fore. He wanted to be able to pass it on to hisyounger brother Santiago and his descend-ants, in compensation for supporting the de-velopment of the Work from the beginning atthe cost of a small family inheritance.

Although he had no intention of makinguse of the title himself, he knew he would becriticized by people who would see his action

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as proof of worldly vanity and snobbishness.He thought it over carefully in his prayer andconsulted several people within and out sidethe Work—Cardinal Dell’Acqua, CardinalMarella, Cardinal Larraona, Cardinal An-toniutti, Cardinal Bueno y Monreal, and theArchbishop of Madrid Casimiro Morcillo. Allagreed. On the civil side, he had the favor-able report of the Council of State and theDeputation of Grandees of Spain. Some, likeCardinal Larraona, a famous canon lawyer,argued that from the viewpoint of lay men-tality it was not only a right but an obliga-tion. “It’s your duty. You have always taughtyour children to fulfill their civil obligationsand to exercise their rights as citizens.Therefore if you did not do so, you would be

setting them a bad example.”56

He was not mistaken in thinking thiswould be a new opportunity for people to in-sult him. The affair stirred up a controversyin the press. At one point, alone with Don

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Alvaro, Monsignor Escrivá declared, “Myson, it is often much more difficult to exer-

cise a right than to carry out a duty!”57 Henever used the title himself, but in theshortest possible time transferred it to hisbrother, who became the Marquis of Peralta.

On one occasion he was given an antiquetapestry of red velvet. In the center was theheraldic shield of the family who had ownedit. Someone suggested replacing the emblemwith Monsignor Escrivá’s family crest. He re-fused, and proposed the inscription IesusChristus, Deus, Homo—“Jesus Christ, God,Man.” “It makes me so happy to put those

words there!”58

The tomb of the unknownsoldier

In April 1969, on a trip to Madrid, he vis-ited the crypt in the Diego de Leon residencefor the first time. In two sarcophagi on either

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side of the altar lay the mortal remains of hisparents, Jose Escrivá and Dolores Albas.Mon signor Escrivá explained to those withhim, “I have allowed you to bring my par-ents’ bodies here to represent all your par-ents. They fulfill the role of the ‘unknownsoldier’ who lies buried in so many monu-ments to the war dead.” And he added, “Thefirst thing I did on coming into the crypt wasto pray for all the parents of the people of the

Work, living and dead.”59

“A founder without foundation”

How did he cope with being the founderand still stay humble?

While still a young priest, Father Escriváhad accepted being called “the Father” in themost natural way, but he was reluctant to becalled “the founder.” This unsought charism,far from conferring a privilege, obliged himto have a greater sense of responsibility. In

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molding and forming the spirit of Opus Dei,his word was not just decisive but was theonly one divinely authorized. He did notshare this work or delegate, but carried theload alone. He alone had seen the Work,whole and entire, and he responded with thefaithfulness of an instrument who had re-ceived a command.

In some aspects, including the juridicalform of the Work, which did not depend ex-clusively on him, he was capable of waitingas long as necessary and putting up with redtape, rather than take a false step. Whenpeople called him “the founder,” he respon-ded, “Well, my children call me the founderof Opus Dei, and indeed I am; but I am afounder without foundation. The foundationis Christ alone. When he comes for me it willbe seen straight away that I’m not at all in-dispensable. I am a founder who is not

needed.”60

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An old yellowing piece of paper

At times he spoke of himself as “ahindrance.” On a piece of paper, yellowedwith age, undated, written in his own hand-writing and signed Mariano—one of hisChristian names which he began using dur-ing the Spanish Civil War—the followingconfession can still be read:

In a Work of God I am nothing more thana hindrance. Mariano.

A postscript adds: “Then just imagine my

role! Alvaro.”61

On September 24, 1968, at an evening get-together in Rome, after recalling episodesfrom the early days of Opus Dei, MonsignorEscrivá explained, “It was very hard in thebeginning. With you men, things worked outat the first attempt: however, there weresome people who came to the Work and thenleft without even saying good-bye. And I

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spent many hours praying in front of the tab-ernacle. Now I pray everywhere, but then Ithought that I was not praying unless I wasin front of the tabernacle. Anyway, when I goto Spain now, and see the marvelous devel-opment of the Work, I have palpable proofthat it is God who has done everything, be-cause he made me see how powerless I

was.”62

Another day in the spring of 1967 in Po-zoalbero, Spain, Manuel Pedreño told him anamusing story about a boy from Seville whosaid: “When I’m big I want to be one of themen in Opus Dei so I can live in a house ofthe Work.”

Monsignor Escrivá then told how on Octo-ber 2, 1928, the day the Work was founded,he had thought that everyone would live intheir own homes, as the Work was for ordin-ary Christians who had to be saints in theirown circumstances. Soon afterward Godshowed him the need for some to live

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together to attend to formation and corpor-ate works of apostolate. He said, “Our Lordworks in the same way as a good teacher:first of all he gives a general impression, anoverall view. Later on he fills in the details.You will find out about fifty percent of thesethings here; the other fifty percent you willfind out in heaven. It’s all God’s doing, noth-ing is mine. You have to realize that God haseven spoken through a donkey! Remember

Balaam’s donkey?”63

“As a notary, I testify …”

A month before his death in May 1975 hewent to visit the almost completed shrine ofTorreciudad. During the tour of the shrine,they went past an open-air altar where therewas a bell with historic significance: it wasone of the bells that had pealed in the belfryof the Church of Our Lady of the Angels inBravo Murillo Street in Madrid on October 2,

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1928. Father Escrivá had heard those bells inGarcia de Paredes Street at the moment hesaw the Work.

Don Alvaro went to look at the plaque onthe wall, translating the first few sentencesfrom Latin aloud.

“On the morning of 2nd October 1928while this bell and the others of the belfry ofthe Madrid Church of Our Lady of the Angelswere ringing and the peals of praise were go-ing up to heaven, Monsignor JosemaríaEscrivá de Balaguer received the seed ofOpus Dei in his heart and mind …”

Monsignor Escrivá had been listeningcarefully in silence. Now he turned to thepeople around him and said firmly butwithout raising his voice, “I’m called Escrivá,which means scribe or notary. Very wellthen, as a ‘notary’ I testify to what you have

just heard.”64

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“Will you carry on with theWork?”

He knew he was only the receiver andtransmitter of a message “as old and as newas the Gospel,” the universal call to holinessfor all men and women in all circumstancesat all times and everywhere. From early onhe understood that everyone in the Workought to “do Opus Dei in the world, by beingOpus Dei yourself.” In 1931, when he wastwenty-nine and the Work was still veryyoung, he was ready to hand over the batonto others. With violent religious persecutiongathering strength in Spain, Father Escriváasked a seventeen-year-old boy who had re-cently joined Opus Dei, “If I am killed, willyou carry on with the Work?” In 1936,shortly before the outbreak of the Civil War,Father Escrivá summoned a few young meninto the dining room of the Ferraz Street res-idence in Madrid, and said, “If I were to die

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now, for whatever reason, will you carry onwith the Work?”

“Yes, Father,” each responded.“Will you swear it?”“Yes, Father. With all my love, I swear it.”Don Alvaro remembered this vividly forty

years later. He was one of those young

men.65

But Monsignor Escrivá was well awarethat he had received the charism of founderand gave him self to it wholeheartedly. Hehad to remain “attentive” in case God wantedto make him aware of new details. In a get-together in the Roman College on April 23,1959, he said, “I’m still alive, which meansthat the Work is young and there are stillmany things, customs, small points to bebrought out. You will have to help me. Thefoundational stage will be closed when youbury me. Until then all of you are co-founders. Everything is complete, and thespirit of the Work is not just sketched out but

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sculpted! But the foundation will be closedonly when you have the kindness and com-passion to bury my body. Maybe you’ll haveto wait another twenty-four years and you’llbe taking me out in the sun in a wheelchair;or I might even die tonight—and may God

receive me in his mercy and love.”66

Monsignor Escrivá did not consider him-self spiritually remarkable or a model, muchless a saint. When referring to himself, ex-press ions such as “a poor man,” “a filthyrag,” “a ragamuffin,” and “a poor sinner wholives among saints” were constantly on hislips.

Speaking to his spiritual sons in Rome, hesaid once, “I adorn myself with the jewels ofyour daily self-surrender, and like that I haveenough confidence to talk with our Lord.That’s my strength: your self-surrender! …My dear sons, I don’t know how I have thenerve to call myself the father of such chil-dren, who have given themselves so

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completely to God. For years I’ve had the im-pression that I’m living among saints. Lord,what sons you have given me, al though I’m

just a sinner!”67

On March 27, 1975, eve of his golden ju-bilee as a priest, he admitted while prayingaloud that he saw himself as small, awkward,and clumsy. “Fifty years have gone by, andI’m still like a faltering child. I’m just begin-ning, beginning again, as I do every day inmy interior life. And that’s how it will be tillthe end of my days: always beginning anew.Our Lord wants it that way, so that none ofus may ever have any reason for pride or

foolish vanity.”68

Next day he spent some time talking withhis daughters. “Be really convinced there isno one in the world as happy as we are, andthat we invent almost all the difficulties wemeet—they are never of any real importance.I can tell you so after drawing a line underthese past fifty years, adding up the sum and

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bursting out laughing: a laugh which means Iforgive everything and ask God for forgive-ness myself. I forgive everything, and I ask

God for forgiveness!”69

In 1940, he again asked some of his sons ifthey would carry on with the Work if he died.Finally he said, “I should hope so! It wouldbe a poor show if instead of following ourLord, you had merely been following a poorman like me!” He stressed over and overagain, “I’m not aiming for you to love me,but for you to love God and be faithful to

him.”70

Referring to his successor, he often said tothe members of the general council: “Youwill have to love and venerate in a very spe-cial way whoever comes after me.” He alsotold them, “When I hear in this blessedRome, how some institutions suffer a kind ofearthquake when the founder or foundressdies … I assure you there will be no suchearthquake in the Work. Of that I am

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certain.” Later he added, “You have to lovehim already, because he will govern better

than I do.”71 On December 27, 1973, he saidsincerely, “I don’t want to be a despot. WhatI want is that on the day I die, everythingshould carry on as if I were still here. Other-

wise I’ve been wasting my time.”72 On March19, 1975, he said, “I’m not necessary. I’ll beable to help you more from heaven. You’ll beable to do things better than I do. I’m not

needed.”73

Another angle on Monsignor Escrivá’s hu-mility was this theme of “beginning and be-ginning again” which made him see himselfas “a faltering child.” It was the opposite ofbitter ness, resentment or any kind ofmischief-making and intrigue. MonsignorEscrivá had the dynamism of a child whowas always enthusiastically beginning toread the first page of a new book, linked to acontinuous act of returning to clean ness ofsoul. He made this act of returning like “the

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prodigal son returning to his father’s house,”along the paths of contrition and confes-sion—humble, well-trodden paths which heoften used.

He called acts of contrition, sorrow, andatonement “staples,” like the metal staplessometimes used to hold pieces of broken pot-tery together. He compared himself to an oldclay vessel, “any old cheap earthenware,”cracked and needing to be held together withclips.

Monsignor Escrivá’s confessors

From the beginning Father Escrivá didhis best to go to confession to the same priestfor as long as circumstances permitted.When he was fifteen in Logroño, he turnedto Father Jose Miguel, a Carmelite friar, forspiritual guidance. It was Father Miguel whomade those footprints in the snow, and hesuggested to Josemaría that he too should

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become a discalced Carmelite. Young Jose-maría, having pondered the matter in prayer,understood that this was not what Godwanted of him. But to be available for the vo-cation he could not yet see clearly, he de-cided to become a priest.

His father put him in touch with the Abbotof the collegiate church in Logroño, FatherAntolin Oñate, and with Father Albino Pa-jares, an army chaplain, who prepared himto enter the seminary with academic andspiritual teaching. However, Josemaría re-ceived his spiritual guidance during this timefrom Father Ciriaco Garrido, canon of thecollegiate church.

During the years in the seminary in Sara-gossa, he received help from the rector, Fath-er Jose Lopez, Monsignor Miguel de los San-tos Diaz, Father Antonio Moreno, and Car-dinal Soldevila himself. Soon after his ordin-ation, from 1926 on, he was guided by Father

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Jose Pou de Foxa, whom he always re-membered as a loyal man and good friend.

When he moved to Madrid, he went to theJesuit Father Valentin Sanchez for spiritualguidance. This began in 1930, and was twiceinterrupted for reasons beyond his control.The first time was in 1932, when the Repub-lican government ordered the expulsion ofthe Jesuits; Father Escrivá then went to con-fession to Father Postius, a Claretian. Thesecond time was during the Civil War, whichforced priests to go into hiding or flee theRepublican zone. Father Escrivá took refugein the Honduran legation, which had diplo-matic immunity, and went to confessionevery week to Father Recaredo Ventosa, whowas also being sheltered there. After crossingthe Pyrenees in 1937 to the Nationalist zone,he took Father Angel Sagarminaga as hisconfessor during his stay in Vitoria; and in1938, while in Burgos until the end of thewar, he first chose Father Saturnino

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Martinez as spiritual director, a very devoutpriest; but Father Martinez’s health was pre-carious and so he could not attend to himregularly. Then Father Escrivá went to theClaretian Father Francisco de Borja Lopez,whom he always remembered with gratitude.In the early 1940s, when Father Lopez cameto see him in the Diego de Leon residence inMadrid during the great scarcity of the post-war years, Father Escrivá gave him a warmcape, the only one he had.

From April 1939, living in Madrid again,he sought out his old confessor, the JesuitFather Valentin Sanchez. It was FatherSanchez who had one day asked FatherEscrivá, “How is that Work of God gettingon?” Without knowing it, he had conferredthe name Opus Dei on an undertaking thatdid not have a name. He continued to receivespiritual guidance from Father Sanchez untilthe autumn of 1940, when he felt he was

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morally obliged to stop. The keyfactor—trust—had failed.

Don Alvaro, a witness of the last two meet-ings between Father Escrivá and FatherSanchez, offered the following account. “In1940, the Father had prepared the docu-ments for the diocesan approval of the Workat the insistence of the Bishop of Madrid(Bishop Leopoldo Eijo y Garay). Since part ofit related to the spirit of Opus Dei and wasno more than an account of the ascetic wayour Lord was taking him, that is to say, hisown interior life, it seemed opportune toshow these documents to Father Sancheztoo. The Father always distinguishedbetween what referred to the foundation ofOpus Dei, which did not involve his spiritualdirectors, and what affected his own spirituallife. So his intention was not to ask FatherSanchez for his opinion about Opus Dei, butabout his own spiritual life. I seem to

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remember the meeting when he gave him thedocuments took place in September 1940.

“A few weeks later I went with the Fatherto visit his spiritual director. Father Sanchez,who had always encouraged him to be faith-ful to his foundational charism, told him thistime, in very different tones, that the HolySee would never approve the Work. And hecited the numbers of several canons ofChurch law to corroborate this statement. Hereturned the documents to him and dis-missed him.

“The Father really suffered a lot in thatmeeting but did not lose his peace of mind.He repeated his conviction that as the Workwas God’s, He would be responsible forbringing it to a safe harbor. He also addedclearly and submissively that he could notcontinue to go to confession to FatherSanchez because he no longer trusted him.

“It was evident that Father Sanchez wasbeing strongly influenced, almost coerced, by

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others. Such a sudden and radical change isotherwise inexplicable. It was a time when aviolent persecution was raging against theWork.

“I made a note of the canon numbers men-tioned by Father Sanchez. As soon as we gothome, I checked them out with the Father,and discovered that the numbers had beenquoted at random and had nothing to do

with the issues at hand.”74

Despite everything, Father Sanchez andFather Escrivá parted amicably; the founderof Opus Dei was grateful for all the gooddone to his soul in the past. Father Escriváused to go to see him at a center of formationrun by the Jesuits in the Chamartin district,in the north of Madrid and a long way fromAtocha, the district he lived in; despite thedistance, he used to walk there. Not once butseveral times Father Sanchez had kept himwaiting a long time, sometimes hours, beforereceiving him. Many years later, when

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Monsignor Escrivá was living in Rome andwas having lunch with Father Arrupe, gener-al of the Society of Jesus, at the Jesuitheadquarters in Borgo Santo Spirito, thefounder of Opus Dei paid grateful tribute tothe memory of Father Valentin Sanchez, whohad died by then. He recalled the long walkfrom Santa Isabel to Chamartin and howsometimes after getting there and waiting, alay brother would come out and tell him,“Father Sanchez cannot see you today.” Hisrecollection was good humored. “I have al-ways considered it a good way to form mysoul,” he said. “Like that, I learned to adaptmyself to other people’s circumstances andto control my impatience, not getting upsetabout anything.”

At this, the old lay brother serving tablesaid unexpectedly, “Well, I know all aboutthat! I was the one who had to give the dis-agreeable message, after you had been wait-ing for an hour or two! I remember perfectly

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well that it wasn’t just once or twice, but sev-

eral times that this happened.”75

From that autumn 1940 when he stoppedgoing to Father Valentin Sanchez, FatherEscrivá took Father José Mariá Garciá, spir-itual director of the Madrid seminary, as hisconfessor. From the first he made it clear heintended to go to confession to a priest of theWork “as soon as the first priests are or-dained.” And so he did, four years later onJune 26, 1944, the day after the ordinationsof the civil engineers Alvaro del Portillo, JoséLuis Muzquiz and José María Hernandez deGarnica. Father Escrivá, living in the Diegode Leon residence, went to the center of theWork in Villanueva Street, and there foundDon Alvaro.

“Alvaro, my son, have you heard anyone’sconfession yet?” he asked.

“No, Father.”

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“Well, you’re about to hear mine, because Iwant to make a general confession to you!Let’s go to the oratory.”

From then until the end of his life he wentto confession to Don Alvaro every Sunday,and often during the week as well. Some-times, on a big feast day, he would say to hissons, “I’ve already celebrated today. Wouldyou like to know how? I asked Don Alvaro tocome, and I went to confession. It’s a good

way to celebrate!”76

On his last visit to Torreciudad, not yetopen for public worship, he asked the archi-tect César Ortiz-Echagüe, “César, are theconfessionals in the crypt finished?”

“Yes, Father,” answered César. “Would youlike to come and see them now?”

When they got there, Monsignor Escrivásaid, “There will be many confessions here.That’s what I’m hoping for from Our Lady:abundant grace to move many souls to a pro-found conversion. And as I’ve always liked to

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set people a good example, as tomorrow ismy day for going to confession, if one of theconfessionals is ready I’d be very happy to bethe first to use it!”

Thus Torreciudad was inaugurated, with a

man on his knees confessing his sins.77

He often said he was “always returning,”like the prodigal son. “That way, my sinsdon’t take me away from God, but rather

turn me to him like a son.”78 Like a refrain,he repeated in Latin or Spanish shortphrases from Scripture: “Lord, you know allthings: you know that I love you”; “I am apoor, humble servant”; “a humbled, contriteheart you will not spurn.” They were acts ofcontrition “with which even lost battles are

not lost.”79 These “staples” of the soul did nothumiliate Monsignor Escrivá because “in

God’s eyes they shine like medals.”80

A soul put together with staples;earthenware clay

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Manuel Caballero, an artist, was model-ing an image of Christ crucified that was tobe installed in the Galleria degli Offici ofVilla Tevere. Monsignor Escrivá told him,“My son, every morning before starting workyou should say the Creed and ask our Lord toarouse at least an aspiration in the heart ofeveryone who looks at it; and pray that theFather, whenever he sees it, will be able tosay with his whole heart, Domine, Tu omnianosti, Tu scis quia amo te, ‘Lord, you know

all things, you know that I love you.’ “81

In 1972 his children in Portugal presentedhim with an old china soup tureen, held to-gether with staples. Monsignor Escrivá wasmoved by it. Later, speaking of the soup tur-een, he waxed lyrical. “It’s an ordinary thingbut I loved it, because you could see it waswell used. It had been broken—it must havebelonged to a big family—and they had men-ded it with staples so as to go on using it.What’s more, it had been decorated with the

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words amo te, amo te, amo te before firing. Ifelt very akin to that soup tureen. I prayedabout that old bowl, because I see myself likethat too: like the broken clay tureen, stapledtogether, and I like to say to our Lord that,stapled together as I am, I love him so much!We can love our Lord, my children, even

when we are broken.”82

Although he saw himself like that, at thesame time he said, “It is obvious that Godhelps needy souls like mine to mature aswine matures. I say to him at Mass: ‘Lord, letyourself be seen through my wretched ness.’

“83

The last Holy Thursday of his life, March27, 1975, Monsignor Escrivá made his per-sonal prayer aloud. “I adore the Father, theSon, the Holy Spirit, one God. I don’t under-stand this marvel of the Blessed Trinity, butyou have placed in my soul a yearning, ahunger to believe. I do believe! I want to

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believe like the best. I hope! I want to hopelike the best. I love! I want to love like thebest.

“You are what you are: perfect goodness. Iam what I am: the filthiest rag in this rottenworld. And yet, you look at me … and youseek me … and you love me…. And when Isee how little I understand of your wonder,of your goodness, of your wisdom, of yourpower, of your beauty … when I see I under-stand so little, I’m not disheartened. I’m gladthat you are so great that you don’t fit insidemy poor heart, inside my wretched head. MyGod! My God! If I can think of nothing else

to say to you, this will suffice. My God!”84

Realizing that a group of his sons werepresent, he said, “We must be in heaven andon earth, all the time. Not between heavenand earth, because we are of the world. Inthe world and in paradise at the same time!… In heaven and on earth, divinized, butknowing that we are of the world and made

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of clay: an earthenware pot which our Lordhas chosen to use in his service. Andwhenever it has got broken, we have stapledthe bits together again, saying like the prod-igal son, ‘I have sinned against heaven andagainst you.’ … God has chosen to deposit avery rich treasure in us. Am I exaggerating?No, I’ve said very little! … God our Lord, withall his greatness, dwells within us. Heavendwells habitually within our hearts. I’m not

going to say any more.” 85

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17

Working Summers

Whenever Cardinal Pizzardo met MonsignorEscrivá, he would take Escrivá’s headbetween his hands and give him a loud kisson the nape of the neck, exclaiming, “Thankyou for teaching me how to relax!” And if hesaw that people were surprised, he would goon, “I used to be one of those people whothink that in this life, when you’re not work-ing you’re wasting time. But he gave me anew, wonderful idea: resting does not meandoing nothing, it’s not laziness or idleness,but changing one’s occupation, turning to adifferent, useful, relaxing activity for a

while.”1 Pizzardo was secretary of the HolyOffice and prefect of the Congregation forSeminaries and Universities. He knew whatit was to work hard, but he had to learnrelaxation.

For many years, Monsignor Escrivá wouldanswer those who insisted he slow down, “I’llrest when they say ‘may he rest in peace.’” Astime passed, however, he realized that hewas wrong, and explained, “You cannot keepyour head and your body under constantstress; if you do, you’ll collapse.”

“This man has an absolute atombomb in his mind”

From 1958 on Monsignor Escrivá beganto leave Rome and spend his summers inGreat Britain, Ireland, France, or Spain,staying in houses that were rented or lent tohim. In 1958, 1959, and 1960 he spent someweeks in July and August in Woodlands, a

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rented house at the end of Courtenay Aven-ue, toward the north of Hampstead Heath inLondon. The owners were a quaint couple:he was in the film business, while she prac-ticed palmistry and spiritualism. In 1961 and1962 Mon signor Escrivá returned to thesame area of London but stayed in anotherhouse, 21 West Heath Road, rented out by aMr. Hoskin, a war tribunal judge of Russian-Jewish origin. In those summers he com-bined rest and study, as well as giving im-petus to the people of Opus Dei not only inBritain and Ireland but also in continentalEurope: he traveled to different cities inFrance, Spain, and Germany in 1960, and in1962 he went to Austria, Switzerland, andFrance.

In the summer of 1963 he spent some timein a house called Reparacea in Navarre innorthern Spain, between San Sebastian andPamplona, and in 1964 he went to Elorrio, atown near Bilbao. He asked Don Alvaro and

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Father Javier Echevarria to suggest plansand programs for work on other mattersthan their usual ones during the holidayperiod. When he left Rome he deliberatelydisconnected from his regular work and del-egated as much of the task of governing as hecould. But his mind kept working.

Viktor Frankl, a Viennese psychiatrist whowas a disciple of Freud and Jewish like him,said after visiting Monsignor Escrivá in VillaTevere, “This man has an absolute atombomb in his mind.” During those summers,as well as reading, studying, and writing, heconceived numerous initiatives that he eithernoted down himself or had someone elsenote down.

Traveling on foot

He barely had time to learn any sportother than walking, but he had done a greatdeal of that in his life from sheer necessity:

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unable to afford a bus or trolley, he hadpounded the streets doing a dawn-to-duskapostolate. When quite old, he could walkthree hours in the morning and, if necessary,another three in the afternoon. As a newlyordained curate in Perdiguera, while the vil-lage was taking its siesta he would go out in-to the open countryside to pray alone orteach the sacristan’s son his catechism. Lateron, traveling all over Europe and preparingthe ground in countries where Opus Dei wasto come, he always went around the cities onfoot so that he really got to know them andcould pray for them. As a result, his legs werestrong and muscular, though his arms wereso thin it was difficult to give him an intra-muscular injection.

“Father, that’s cheating!”

From 1965 on Monsignor Escrivá spentAugust outside Rome, though still in Italy.

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He took up a cheap sport, le bocce, an Italianbowling game requiring more skill thanstrength. Played on bare earth in the opencountry, it raised great clouds of dust, soMonsignor Escrivá always changed all hisclothes to play, taking off his cassock, wear-ing an old shirt, old trousers, and black ten-nis shoes.

He was not particularly good at it, but itwas a game for four people, two on a side,which gave it the excitement of competition.Monsignor Escrivá usually played with Javi-er Cotelo, an architect who normally droveMonsignor Escrivá’s car, against Don Alvaroand Father Javier Echevarria, who alwayswon. Monsignor Escrivá did his best to han-dicap these habitual winners. Sometimes,when it was their turn to bowl, he nudgedthem a little to put them off balance.

“That’s not fair, Father! That’s cheating!”one would protest.

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“But, Alvaro, that’s part of the game! Don’tyou pride yourself on how well you can do it?Well, you have to have some handicap!”

Other times, if his ball was so far from thepremium ball that it hadn’t a chance, hewould pick it up and, making a “magic pass,”say, “You thought the ball was there? Well, itisn’t. It’s … here!” And he moved it nearer.Often the two Javiers would keep playingwhile Monsignor Escrivá and Don Alvaro fol-lowed the game from the sidelines.Monsignor Escrivá cheered for Cotelo like afan, precisely because he was not gifted andnearly always lost. When now and then hedid win, Monsignor Escrivá would teaseFather Javier, “You’re no good, Javi! You’repast it!”

One day the two pairs had been playing along time. Only one ball was left—MonsignorEscrivá’s. With a bit of luck, he could reachmaximum score. He threw. To everyone’ssurprise, especially his own, the ball landed

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beside the premium ball. With a guilty ex-pression he declared, “I’ll never do thatagain—that was worse than my usual cheat-ing. Shall I tell you what I did?”

The other three looked at him. MonsignorEscrivá lowered his voice, as if ashamed ofwhat he was going to say. “Before throwingthe ball, I prayed earnestly to my guardianangel for a good strike. But now I realize it’swrong to involve my angel in a game that hasnot the slightest importance.”

1965: Castelletto del Trebbio

In 1965 a friend of Don Alvaro’s calledSignor Scaretti gave them the use of a houseon a farming estate in Castelletto delTrebbio, about twenty kilometers fromFlorence, on condition they left before mid-August when he was planning to go therewith his family.

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The house was old, dilapidated, and farfrom comfortable. It had no telephone ortelevision. It was reached by a rough, un-paved track up a steep hill and surroundedon all sides by fields full of crops. Like mostof Tuscany, the area had a continental cli-mate, very cold in winter and very hot insummer.

Monsignor Escrivá, Don Alvaro, FatherJavier, and Javier Cotelo spent several weeksof July and August there. Four women of theWork, Marga Barturen, Victoria Postigo,Dora del Hoyo, and Rosalia Lopez, had goneahead to take care of the domestic arrange-ments and turn the ramshackle house into acheerful home. Signor Scaretti had notedthat there were some beautiful pieces of Ca-podimonte porcelain, valued at forty millionlira (about US $30,000) in the dining room.As soon as he arrived, Monsignor Escriváasked the others to wrap them up carefully

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and put them away to avoid the risk ofbreaking them.

A stranger in another person’shome

Conscious he was using a building, fur-niture, and fittings not his own, he took greatcare to avoid any damage. If they moved anyof the furniture to facilitate their work orstudy, he would ask Javier Cotelo to “make adrawing of the room as we find it, so as to beable to put everything back in the sameplaces when we leave.” He was careful thatfurniture did not mark walls and replacedthe lightbulbs as necessary.

He did not mind feeling like a stranger inanother person’s home, since it helped himlive detachment and poverty, and he tookcare of other people’s things as if they werehis own. One summer in London he hadfound a column of ants going from the

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garden into the sitting room and out over thebalcony on the other side. Asking Dora andRosalia for the vacuum cleaner, with the helpof Father Javier Echevarria he exterminatedthe “troops.” Years later, during a summer inPremeno in the north of Italy, he helped in asimilar operation, armed with a big stickwhile Father Javier Echevarria and JavierCotelo burned the ant hill after first pouringgasoline on it.

A scorpion hunt

In Castelletto del Trebbio the enemieswere scorpions with a nest near Father Javi-er Echevarria’s room. Monsignor Escrivájoked, “Javito, your heart is obviously madeof stone, because scorpions always gostraight to where you are.” When FatherJavier Echevarria one day told him he hadjust killed one, Monsignor Escrivá assumedan air of deep concern and said, “Look, I

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don’t know if it’s true, but I’ve heard thatscorpions always go in pairs. That’s a popu-lar saying. So let’s go to your room for a mo-ment to look for the other one. We don’twant you to be stung. Not that it would stingyou out of revenge, but they do come intwos.”

They found the second scorpion. Mon si-gnor Escrivá was delighted. “You see, I toldyou so. The trouble is that you city ladssimply don’t know about the adventures ofcountry life.”

For those weeks Monsignor Escrivá organ-ized a schedule, with time to pray, work, andplay sports, as well as go for walks and ex-cursions. He was working on revising a textcalled The St. Gabriel Instruction that hehad written about supernumeraries in OpusDei and the apostolate with married people.He began writing it in May 1935 and finishedin September 1950. There were no photo-copiers then, only a poor-quality cyclostyle,

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which was a sort of stenciling machine, andthe printing press in Villa Tevere did not yetexist. So they had made typewritten copies todistribute where the Work was being estab-lished. Some of the typists had made errorsand even dropped some words. The samething had happened with the St. Raphael In-struction about the apostolate with youngpeople and the St. Michael Instruction con-cerning the numeraries and associates.Monsignor Escrivá had the whole set re-called while preparing just one text thatwould be printed.

Monsignor Escrivá spoke with Don Alvaroand Father Javier Echevarria about the needto “be self-critical, and do our work reallywell because we cannot offer up shoddy workto our Lord.” He insisted a lot during thosedays on “the asceticism of little things.” Hewas taking notes on his reading for a pro-posed book on the contemplative life, to be

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called Dialogue. It was well along, but henever finished it.

He also studied the documents of the Se-cond Vatican Council and prayed about thebig themes still to be debated— the priest-hood and consecrated life. He was gratefulfor the document Lumen Gentium, some ofwhose points echoed the spirit of Opus Dei,which thus became part of the solemn teach-ing of the Church. Monsignor Escrivá spentmuch time in the little oratory they had setup in Castelletto del Trebbio, thanking Godfor the Church’s stamp of approval on whatfor so long was criticized, misunderstood, orrejected.

As there was no television set and the dailypaper arrived late, every day on returningfrom their walk Monsignor Escrivá askedDon Alvaro’s permission to turn on the radioso they could listen to the one o’clock news.He wanted to keep up with world affairs,nearly always making some comment of a

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spiritual kind and encouraging whoever waswith him to pray for such and such a countryor situation or person.

We’d prefer to go to confessionto a priestof the Work

After nearly a week in Castelletto delTrebbio, Monsignor Escrivá asked to seeMarga Barturen, director of the little house-keeping team. Father Javier Echevarria waspresent during the conversation. MonsignorEscrivá reminded her of the advisability ofgoing to weekly confession and said, “You’refree to go to the parish priest of the nearestvillage, or if you prefer you can go to achurch in Florence.”

Later that day Marga came back and said,“Father, we’ve been thinking it over, andwe’ve come to the conclusion that we’d

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prefer to go to confession to a priest of theWork.”

“But who?” asked Monsignor Escrivá. “Theonly ones here are Don Alvaro, Don Javier,and myself. And as you know, the Fatherdoes not hear the confessions of any of his

children except in case of necessity.2 As forDon Alvaro and Don Javier, they are on thegeneral council and hold posts of govern-ment, and I don’t wish them to exercise this

pastoral mission with people of the Work.3

So I repeat, you have all the freedom in theworld to go to confession to whomever youlike.”

“Yes, Father,” persisted Marga. “We knowthat the grace of the sacrament comes to usno matter whom we go to. But to care for ourinterior life, we’d prefer to bare our con-sciences to someone who is practicing thesame spirituality as ourselves, without hav-ing to go into long explanations.”

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“That’s very true,” replied MonsignorEscrivá. “But I insist you can go to any priestaround here or in Florence. And withoutwanting to make you conceited, I should tellyou that with your life of piety, you will do alot of good to whoever hears yourconfessions.”

Marga stood her ground. “Father, we’drather go to a priest of Opus Dei.”

“Well …” said Monsignor Escrivá finally,“as there isn’t a center of the Work aroundhere, we’ll have to see what we can do.”

As soon as she left the room, MonsignorEscrivá said to Father Javier Echevarria,“You’ll have to organize things so as to beable to hear your sisters’ confessions. Thisvery important task is one of the ruling pas-sions which priests in Opus Dei should have.To carry it out as God wills, invoke the HolySpirit, and try to serve each soul generously,knowing it is worth all the blood of Christ.”From then until the end of their stay, he

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never made the slightest reference to thesubject, illustrating the extreme care withwhich the sacramental seal and the seal ofspiritual guidance should be treated.

The sun was oppressive, sometimes evenhotter than in Rome. But Monsignor Escrivádid not complain, even though he wore a

black cassock all the time.4 Once a week theywent down to Florence, city of the Medicisand Savonarola, on the Arno River. Mon si-gnor Escrivá loved art, but they did not go tothe museums or walk about the city lookingat the splendid buildings. They spent most ofthe time praying in the Church of SantaMaria Novella or the Church of the HolyCross, beside Dante’s monument. SantaMaria Novella was the principal church ofthe Dominicans in Florence and the HolyCross of the Franciscans. At this stage of theSecond Vatican Council, the spiritual needsof these ancient religious families were up-permost in his mind.

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After some weeks in Castelletto delTrebbio, they went to Piancastagnaio, an es-tate near Orte that had no telephone or tele-vision either. It was up for sale, and the own-er let them have it for a few days.

Monsignor Escrivá was keen to find ahouse with some land for the students of theRoman College of the Holy Cross to haveduring the holidays. For some years they hadgone to the estate of Salto di Fondi, on thecoast near Terracina. But what had oncebeen a quiet beach was now invaded by tour-ists and not an ideal place for spiritual form-ation and relaxation.

As soon as they arrived at Piancastagnaio,they realized that they were near sulphursprings that gave off a disagreeable smell.Monsignor Escrivá made no reference to thesmell, but when the time was up, he said,“After having been there for just a few days, Irealize it’s not the place we’re looking for.”

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Summer 1966

In the summer of 1966 they returned toCastelletto del Trebbio. As before,Monsignor Escrivá reminded his daughtersof their freedom to go to confession whereverthey wish ed. Instead of Marga Barturen,now living in America, Blanca Fontanheaded the housekeeping team. The re-sponse was unanimous; they preferred to re-ceive spiritual guidance from a priest of theWork. Father Javier Echevarria again wasentrusted with this task. “Be punctual,”Monsignor Escrivá said, “and be availablewhenever they ask for confessions: don’t failthem.”

Monsignor Escrivá spent much time in theoratory. He wished to ponder the best way ofputting into effect the conclusions of the re-cent general congress of Opus Dei. But aboveall he was concerned about the Church andthe authority of the Pope in this postconciliar

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time of tension, conflict, abusive interpreta-tions, and biased articles.

The Council had opened the door to an ap-propriate canonical formulation for OpusDei as a personal prelature. Though new initself, this extended a form already knownand used in the Church: personal jurisdic-tions. In 1929 Monsignor Escrivá hadalready seen this as the key to Opus Dei’ssituation, as he wrote in his Intimate Notes;he mentioned this to Pedro Casciaro in

1936.5 Now he was asking God for guidanceto be able to present a sound, well-docu-mented petition to the Holy See to becomethe personal prelature of Opus Dei. It wouldhave to be at the opportune time, when thedust had settled. On his walks with DonAlvaro and Father Javier Echevarria, he saidmore than once, “I offer my life to God so wecan achieve a definitive solution, although Imay not live to see it if our Lord asks me forthat sacrifice.”

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In ecclesiastical circles and the media, theword postconciliar was much abused at thetime, used to represent whatever was novel,modern, progressive, and, above all, the op-posite of what had been. In those conversa-tions on the grounds of Castelletto delTrebbio, Monsignor Escrivá said, “We havebeen in a ‘postconciliar period’ since the firstcentury, since the Council of Jerusalem. The‘postconciliar period’ is an imprecise and in-correct term to use in reference to Vatican II,because this last Council has continued andratified all the previous ones. There can beno discontinuity between the previous ecu-menical assemblies of the Church and theone which ended last year.” Years later hewould say the same in front of thousands ofpeople. In the summer of 1966 these werethe first reflections of a man who refused tobow to fashion.

Monsignor Escrivá made use of all pos-sible means to pray for the Church. For

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August 4, feast of St. Dominic Guzman, heorganized a trip to Bologna to celebrate Massin the Church of St. Dominic, where the holyfounder of the Dominicans was buried. Onthe way there and back, he urged his threecompanions to pray a lot for the religious.“The religious state has been and continuesto be absolutely necessary in the Church,” hesaid.

Father Javier Echevarria normally helpedMonsignor Escrivá when he celebrated Mass.The Mass at St. Dominic’s made such a deepimpression on him that years later he wrote,“I remember vividly how devoutly he celeb-rated that Mass. I say this because, whileevery one of his Masses was a jolt for thosepresent, in that Church of St. Dominic wecould feel our Father praying in a very spe-cial way for the religious, lovingly and grate-fully and, I would say, with special affection.”

Abrainville, France

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A few days after August 15, they left Cas-telletto del Trebbio by car and went toAbrainville, a town near Etampes, where thepeople of Opus Dei in France had foundthem a house in the countryside. The lasttime Monsignor Escrivá had been in France,he had drunk no wine but only mineral wa-ter; when someone asked him if he dislikedFrench wine, he answered, “Even thoughFrench wines are very good, the only thingI’m interested in, here in France, are souls.”

After lunch every day they went fromAbrainville to Paris. There, in a center of theWork called Dufrenois, he spent a while withhis sons. He made an occasional visit to anantique market and a second-hand clothesmarket, and not much more.

On August 30, he went to Couvrelles nearSoissons. Couvrelles is a fine old house, notvery big but well pro portion ed, with aseventeenth-century façade, surrounded bywoods and with a small lake at the back. It

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was to be an international conference centerfor cultural discussions, lectures, intensivecourses of doctrinal formation, retreats, andshort courses. The house keeping staff wouldrun a catering school and hold activities formarried people.

Monsignor Escrivá consecrated the altarsat Couvrelles. Sitting on stone steps leadingup to the house, sons of his from France,Germany, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland,Italy, and Spain listened to him say, “No onecan keep the treasure of the faith or thetreasure of a vocation for himself alone!”

1967: Three weeks in GaglianoAterno

In 1967 they found some land for salenear Rome in the Via Flaminia area calledSaxa Rubra, meaning “red rocks.” The per-manent campus of the Roman College of theHoly Cross, Cavabianca, would be built there

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with space for 200 people, sports facilities,and gardens. There would be an independentresidential annex for the housekeeping staffcalled Albarossa. The financing and con-struction of these buildings was one ofMonsignor Escrivá’s “last three acts ofmadness.”

The spread of the Work all over the worldand the growth in the number of vocationsmeant a greater number of students at theRoman College every year. They were livingon top of each other in Villa Tevere, whichneeded to be used for the purpose for whichit had been built, as the center for the gov-ernment of the Work, the general council formen and the central advisory for women.

In April that year Monsignor Escrivá wentto Lourdes, and from there to Pamplona,Molinoviejo (near Segovia), Pozoalbero inJerez, Lisbon, and Fatima. The crisis in theChurch had become more acute, as Pope

Paul VI said during his visit to Fatima.6

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Monsignor Escrivá embarked on a round ofprayer and preaching that would occupy himunceasingly until his death.

He had never liked to receive media atten-tion, but now he gave interviews to some ma-jor newspapers and magazines: Time, LeFigaro, The New York Times, L’Osservatoredella Domenica, and others.

Huge gatherings were planned for earlyOctober in Pamplona, when MonsignorEscrivá would meet with the Friends of theUniversity of Navarre in open-air get-togeth-ers of over 35,000 people on the universitycampus. Meanwhile he spent three weeks inAugust in Gagliano Aterno in the Abruzzi re-gion of Italy.

The house, lent by a Baroness Lazzaroni,had a family oratory, with a commemorativestone saying St. Francis of Assisi had beenthere. Monsignor Escrivá read the text butmade no comment. Shortly afterwards he ar-ranged to meet two of his spiritual sons,

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members of the general council, in GaglianoAterno. One was Giuseppe Molteni, a laymanwith a doctorate in chemistry and another intheology, who was general administrator ofOpus Dei at the time; Monsignor Escrivácalled him Peppino. As they were gettingready to go out Monsignor Escrivá took himinto the oratory and showed him the inscrip-tion; later he joked, “Peppino, my son, it’simpossible to find anywhere in Italy, eventhe remotest corner, where either St. Francisof Assisi or Garibaldi hasn’t been. You can’tdeny that you Italians are a bit over the topwith these memorials!”

“Certo, certo,” responded Peppino. “It’s acustom we have all over Italy, and we do it tomake each different place into somewherespecial: Leonardo da Vinci was here, Tor-cuato Tasso was here, or Dante, orGaribaldi…. Così facciamo patria!—that’show we make our homeland!”

Monsignor Escrivá burst out laughing.

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Life in that old house was restricted, asthere was hardly any space to stroll. Now andthen they went out for a drive. As they ap-proached the closed gate, near the gatehousewhere the caretakers lived, MonsignorEscrivá would ask one of the Javiers to openand close the gate. He explained, “We’re giv-ing them enough bother with attending tothe upkeep of the house. As an act of charity,and so that they can see we don’t want togive them any more work, every time we goout I want one of the two of you to get therefirst. That way we’ll leave this couple andtheir children in peace.”

He always said a few words of greeting tothe caretakers, with the car stopped, whilethe gate was being opened or closed.

“How are you? How’s the work going?Sorry to give you extra work these days weare here. But I remember you every day inthe Holy Mass, I pray for your family and forwhatever your concerns are.”

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To begin with, the caretakers were some-what reserved, but Monsignor Escrivá wonthem over. Gradually they began the conver-sation themselves.

In the village of San Felice d’Ocre in theAbruzzi region there is a conference center ofOpus Dei called Tor d’Aveia. The students ofthe Roman College were spending their holi-days there for the first time. MonsignorEscrivá went there several times to visitthem and his daughters who were doing thecooking and housekeeping.

One day he spoke to Blanca Nieto: “Direct-or, you need to have a tremendous apostolicspirit! In this village, yes, this very one, youhave to make friends with all the women andall their daughters, big and little. And try togive them a deep under standing of Chris-tianity. I want this center to be a focus ofapostolate for the whole village. And then thewhole area will benefit. If you’re apostolic,you’ll find that the rivalries between one

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village and another, which are so typical ofLatin countries, will cease. With your char-ity, your service, and the interest you take ineveryone here, you’ll reach out to the neighboring villages, after leaving a deep impres-sion on the women who live here in the vil-lage of San Felice d’Ocre.”

After spending time with the women, hewent to see his sons. It was around this timethat male fashions were beginning to bemore colorful. Monsignor Escrivá joked witha young American wearing a loud orangeshirt with green check trousers, “But my son,are you going to a fairground?”

Even though he thought football was an“almighty chaos,” he encouraged them to or-ganize matches to let off steam. Some dayslater, how ever, he found one with his arm ina splint and another on crutches. Heclutched his head in astonishment and cried,“Lord help us! What have you done? I toldyou to exercise and do sport, but you’ve gone

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too far! I don’t say that these things can’thappen, a dislocation or something like that,and I’m not telling off this lad, who looksvery noble with his arm in a sling. But I dosay you shouldn’t take more risks than ne-cessary, especially if you see you aren’tstrong enough, or you can’t reach, or it’s toodifficult. Be prudent for me, including whenyou’re doing sport. If not, the Father, who isfather and mother to each of you, will be farmore worried about you than you couldimagine.”

Afterward he said privately, “How toughthey are! I’m delighted to see them sohealthy and so strong!”

English people’s reserve

Later on they had a sing-along with gui-tars and maracas. He asked them forapostolic news from their different countries.He encouraged the South Americans to

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develop and deepen their education and cul-tural background, saying gently, “What I’mabout to say is not criticism, but sadly, inyour countries, sometimes, the secondaryschooling is not very thorough and your uni-versity studies are a bit weak…. Do I makemyself clear?”

He urged the English to have “the daringto get into other people’s souls.” He toldthem, “You’ve been brought up to have a tre-mendous respect for other people’s privacy,and that’s a very praiseworthy virtue, but,my children, that respect must not be used asan excuse for not offering the help which weare obliged to give to others as Christians.While still being very English, you have toget into other people’s lives fearlessly, goingagainst the grain if necessary. In that wayyour country, which has given such great ser-vice to humanity, can continue to give thatservice through the real Christian spirit youare called to spread. Don’t forget, my English

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children, that your country is a crossroads,and from it you can do great good or greatevil. You can’t fall into the mistake of neg-lecting your own countrymen. If you don’tcare for the people you live with, how muchless will you care for those who live in othercountries, which you used to call the colon-ies. And you’ve an obligation to continuehelping those people!”

The days in Gagliano Aterno passedquickly. Monsignor Escrivá was working onwhat would later be the statutes of Opus Dei.What he did not suspect was that within twoyears he would have to call an extraordinarycongress to debate and approve the statuteshe was now drawing up. In that summer of1967 no one could have guessed that a verygrave threat was taking shape against theWork.

1968: Sant’Ambrogio Olona

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A year later, in mid-July 1968, MonsignorEscrivá and Father Javier Echevarria went tosay good-bye to his friend Cardinal AngeloDell’Acqua, the Pope’s vicar for the dioceseof Rome. They were going to the north ofItaly for a few weeks, having been lent ahouse near Varese outside a village calledSant’Ambrogio Olona. The cardinal waspleased. “That’s wonderful! I’m from SestoCalende, which is very close to Sant’Am-brogio, and I expect to be there for somedays’ holiday in August. I’ll come and see youwithout fail.”

As they left, Cardinal Dell’Acqua spoke toFather Javier, who had been waiting outside.Taking advantage of the fact that MonsignorEscrivá was a little distance ahead, the car-dinal said, “Take good care of him for me! Itdoes me so much good to talk to him! Eachof my conversations with Mon signor Escriváis a real tonic for my soul. Arrivederci!”

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The villa in Sant’Ambrogio Olona hadthree stories. There was a French gardenwith rose bushes in geometric flowerbedslined by boxhedges with narrow pathsbetween them. On many afternoonsMonsignor Escrivá spent a while on theesplanade in front of the house in conversa-tion with his daughters who were lookingafter the running of the house, Begoña Mu-gica, Dora del Hoyo, Rosalia Lopez, andMaria Jose Monterde.

As soon as they arrived on July 18,Monsignor Escrivá asked, “Have you thoughtabout a schedule?”

“If it’s okay with you,” Maria Jose said,“we thought we could follow more or less thesame as in Rome.”

“Whatever suits you best. You sort it out,and let us have a written copy.”

Maria Jose soon gave him a sheet of paperwith the times of breakfast, lunch, afternoontea, and dinner, when the house keeping

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staff needed to do the cleaning, and when thestaff could use the oratory.

Monsignor Escrivá read the page carefully.Then he asked for a pen and wrote, “Don’tkill your selves cleaning the house!”

A cigarette holder for DonAlvaro

In conversations in Sant’AmbrogioOlona, Monsignor Escrivá kept coming backto two subjects: work well done and faithful-ness to the Church.

One day Don Alvaro, Father Javier Eche-varria, and Javier Cotelo went to Varese todo some shopping, while Monsignor Escrivástayed home to work. In the afternoon, hesaw Maria Jose and Begoña and told them,“The others have gone to Varese to get a ci-garette holder for Don Alvaro. This son ofmine practices poverty to such an extremethat his cigarette holder was all scratched

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and burned—it looked horrible! So with thatexcuse I sent them off to enjoy themselves.”

It was the feast of St. Mary Magdalene, asaint he felt great admiration for because she

was “madly in love” with Jesus Christ.7 “Whoknows what she was really like!” he said.“Com pared with some of today’s women,she might well pass for a good person…. Wealso are full of sin—indeed we are. Wemustn’t be discouraged, but rather turn toGod our Lord at once. We ask him for helpand he forgives us—he always forgives us!”

Two days after his arrival he had asked fora bigger table than the one in his room. Find-ing a table-tennis table in the cellar, theycovered one half neatly with wrapping paperand set it up in his room on its own legs. Hewrote an important doctrinal document onthis improvised table, in the form of a letterthat began “Fortes in fide—strong in theFaith.” It was a powerful letter putting every-one in Opus Dei on guard at this time of

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desertions, rebellion against authority,fraudulent theology, deceptive morality,within the Church itself.

“I neither can nor want to, noram I goingto write it”

On this table Monsignor Escrivá alsoworked on his notebooks of “Intimate Notes”that began in 1930 and were something like adiary. After each date, he had written spiritu-al reflections, details about his interior life,and even supernatural experiences.

These notes had begun in 1926, but lateron he burned the first notebook covering thetime immediately before and after October 2,1928. When Don Alvaro or Father Javierasked why, without going into details hecalled those years “the history of God’s mer-cies.” As to the first notebook, he said, “Atthe time God did wonderful things through a

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poor instrument,” and he thought that “inlater years, anyone who read about thosethings would think that the priest to whomsuch immense favors had been granted musthave been a very holy person or someone ofvery deep spirituality. And I know myselfvery well, although not completely. I knowwhat I am: a poor man, a sinner who lovesJesus Christ madly: but a very great sinner.”

Don Alvaro and Father Javier insisted thathe should rewrite that notebook during thesummer. “Even if you only write what hasstayed vividly in your memory, Father,” theysaid, “it would mean such a lot for all of uslater on; it would be something of great valueto us.”

He stood firm. “No and no. If I refuse torewrite it, it’s not because the very many fa-vors of God, which really took place, havebeen wiped from my memory. Indeed not.It’s because I would be afraid I might add abit of my own human interpretation and

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deviate even minimally from the truth of ex-actly how things happened.”

This was a recurrent theme of their con-versations in Sant’Ambrogio Olona. But hesaid, “It’s useless for you to go on. I’ve saidclearly that I neither can nor want to, nor amI going to write it.” Concerning the first mo-ment, the “zero plus one,” of Opus Dei,Monsignor Escrivá always said the absoluteminimum, as if modesty kept him from lift-ing the veil on certain graces.

The Prague Spring

That summer of 1968 saw the crushing ofthe “Prague Spring.” Soviet tanks destroyedthe beginnings of freedom in Czechoslovakia.Monsignor Escrivá followed the situationhour by hour, listening to news bulletins onthe radio. He was visibly shattered for theCzechoslovakian people. After Mass, evenbefore breakfast, he wondered aloud, “What

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will have happened, what will be happeningnow in Czechoslovakia?” The night before hemight have been up praying “for that countrywhich is suffering the brutal onslaught ofCommunist tyranny…. Let’s hope thateverything ends without bloodshed!”

Later, when he was calmer, he said, “It is areal shame that so many countries are shrug-ging their shoulders and say nothing, in spiteof the clear abuse of power by the SovietUnion. I don’t understand it. I can’t under-stand how the West can be so passive whenanother sovereign nation is invaded in thename of ideology. I understand that we’re ina ‘cold war’ situation and a certain strategicbalance has to be maintained, a certain giveand take. But this tolerance seems to me tobe simply a farce. What makes it even worseis that the aggressor state sits on the SecurityCouncil of the United Nations with a right ofveto and with a vote accepted by othercountries.”

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What mattered for him were truth, free-dom, justice, and the dignity of man. “Thisomission, this public washing of hands, thisnonintervention in something which goesagainst the mind and conscience of everyonewho loves freedom, perhaps will later beused to justify a certain sort of colonizationwithin what we call the ‘free world.’ Underthe banner of economic might, this is a col-onization of underdeveloped countries whoare offered, and in fact given, help and ma-terial assistance. But in exchange, conditionsare imposed which go against authentic de-velopment, against the true progress of thepeople. And above all, they go against thenatural law and the most basic moral law.”

Even when the press, radio and television,in condemning the invasion of Czechoslov-akia, extolled the spirit of the Prague Spring,Mon signor Escrivá was not deceived. “Theuprising of Dubcek and all the Czechoslovakswho follow him may be a good indication, a

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crack in the Soviet bloc. But we need to praya lot, because those who lead this movementstill call themselves Marxists. So even if theydid break the umbilical cord with Moscow,there wouldn’t be real freedom in the neworder they built either. There cannot be realfreedom where Marxism exists.”

Turning to Our Lady under the title “Starof the East,” Stella Orientis, he entrustedthese people to her care, “and all the peoplebehind the Iron Curtain, where the Christianfaith is harassed and persecuted, so that thesun of true freedom may shine once againand they may recover the rights they are de-prived of, rights that are part of humandignity.”

One morning, walking with Don Alvaroand Father Javier Echevarria, he said, “Thesedays I’m praying a lot for Czechoslovakia.I’m remembering the bishops and priests ofthat country in a special way because they’remore at risk in the terrible persecution which

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communism has always wrought. May be it’sbeing done in a more refined, subtle waynow, with out making any martyrs, but it’sdeliberately undermining and destroying thepersonality of Catholics. The lay people whodeclare themselves Catholic must be suffer-ing the same harassment and hostility. I’mpraying a lot for them. The discriminationthey’re subjected to at work or in their pay orin their social life will have an impact ontheir families, and that’s very sad. I’ve no ob-jection to your asking permission in spiritualguidance to offer special mortifications forthese people. They’ve been suffering foryears, but now they’re undergoing evenmore, and with greater violence.”

One day Maria Jose Monterde drove intothe village of Sant’Ambrogio to buy somefruit. Returning, she saw the car MonsignorEscrivá used parked with him, Don Alvaro,Father Javier, and Javier Cotelo inside, win-dows down because of the heat. She could

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hear the voice of the radio newscaster. A fewdays before the house radio had brokendown, so now they were using the car radioto hear the news.

Father Javier’s jigsaw puzzle

Monsignor Escrivá wanted to pay a quickvisit to Switzerland to see the people of theWork there. A few days later they went, butnot to see his children. As the feast of the As-sumption drew near, he suggested a pilgrim-age to the shrine of Our Lady at Einsiedeln.

Some days before traveling, he gave FatherJavier Echevarria some written papers to putin order. After a few seconds, Father Javierreturned. “Father, there’s a page missing. Itmust be somewhere here.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not here. Look for it, be-cause I’ve given them all to you.”

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Father Javier went over the papers againand verified that a page was missing. He re-turned to Monsignor Escrivá.

“Father, I’ve searched for it and that pageis missing.”

“Well, it isn’t here. You must have it. You’llhave dropped it on the way.”

Father Javier looked at the wastepaperbasket beside Monsignor Escrivá’s desk,which was full to the brim. “Mightn’t it be inthe bin? Maybe you tore it up by mistake.”

Monsignor Escrivá continued writing anddid not answer. Father Javier picked up thebasket and took it into the room he was us-ing as his office. In a few minutes Mon si-gnor Escrivá came in and found him puttingtogether a jigsaw puzzle of bits of paper thatlittle by little revealed the lost page.

“Javi, my son, I’m sorry!” exclaimedMonsignor Escrivá. “You were right. And tocrown it, look at all the extra work I’m givingyou. I’m the one who should have searched

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more thoroughly; you’ve taught me a lessonso that next time I won’t be so sure ofmyself.”

And there he stayed, almost timidly help-ing Father Javier by cutting pieces of adhes-ive tape to stick the pieces of paper together.“And besides forgiving me,” he added, “Iwant you to offer up this nuisance for me.You can see how much I need you to help meto work and improve!”

The trip to Einsiedeln was very short,thirty-two hours there and back. He said, “Ican’t deny it: we’ve really been through themill. But we went to see Our Lady, so it wasworth it!”

As summer passed, Monsignor Escrivá re-marked, “I wonder whether Cardinal AngeloDell’Acqua is in his house at Sesto Calendeby now? It’s odd that by this time in Augusthe hasn’t shown any signs of life.”

At the end of August they left the house inSant’Ambrogio Olona. A few days later, a

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postcard mailed in Sant’Ambrogio arrived atVilla Tevere. It was from CardinalDell’Acqua, explaining that he had had topostpone his holidays due to work, but thatas soon as he arrived he had gone to visitthem, hoping to have a long conversationwith his friend Josemaría. He added thatMonsignor Escrivá had become as elusive asan uccel di bosco, a wood cock, notoriouslydifficult to locate.

1969: Villa Gallabresi, Premeno

For the summer of 1969 they rented asmall house in the country, also in the northof Italy, in Premeno near Milan. This was asmall village in the Intra district, less than akilometer from Lake Maggiore.

The house, Villa Gallabresi, was surroun-ded by a strip of garden with tall pines. Asthe house was a little isolated and unprotec-ted, before going there Monsignor Escrivá

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asked that the oratory be installed on thesecond floor, for greater security. Therewould be four bedrooms on that same floor:his own, Don Alvaro’s, and the rooms ofFather Javier Echevarria and Javier Cotelo.

The sitting room, dining room (which alsoserved as a common workroom), kitchen,and laundry were on the ground floor. MariaJose Monterde, Begoña Mugica, Dora delHoyo, and Ines Cherubini, who were doingthe housekeeping, lived on the top floor. Acentral staircase joined the different levels.The fact that the staircase was very steep andthe steps rather high enabled Father JavierEchevarria to make a discovery aboutMonsignor Escrivá’s interior life. After a fewdays in the house, he noticed that MonsignorEscrivá was going up and down the stairsvery often. Father Javier soon discoveredwhy: Monsignor Escrivá was practicing hishabit of “escaping” for brief moments to thetabernacle.

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The area was very humid. Each daydawned with the house shrouded in mist andfog, and each brought a few hours of rain.Sometimes the fog was so dense that nothingcould be seen beyond the pine trees in thegarden. When the fog lifted after two or threehours, Lake Maggiore appeared in the dis-tance, a beautiful blue. This dampness af-fected Monsignor Escrivá: his knees becameswollen, and his shoulders, elbows, wrists,and knees were all painful. In spite of this hedid not lessen his brief, frequent visits to Je-sus Christ in the tabernacle.

The summer of 1969 was filled with in-tense work and prayer. Monsignor Escrivá,Don Alvaro, and Father Javier were pre par-ing the material for the extraordinary con-gress of Opus Dei announced in June. Thebasic text was the statutes of the Work. Manypeople thought that this congress of OpusDei was to carry out the indications of Vatic-an II that every ecclesial institution should

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revise its constitutions and regulations. Monsignor Escrivá had this faculty already in his

own right as founder.8

His motive for convoking this congressarose from definite proof of a new, severe at-tack against the very structure of Opus Deiand its setting in the Church. The extraordin-ary congress was to study and safeguard thejuridical path of the Work.

Back in 1960 and in 1962 he had taken “of-ficial” steps in the Vatican, clarifying thatOpus Dei was not in fact a secular institute,even though it was one in Church law; andthat the juridical framework that best suitedit was a prelature. There was now a new at-tack. A commission had been set up to re-view the juridical status of Opus Dei. It in-cluded several people “notoriously hostile tothe Work.” Monsignor Escrivá presented apetition to the Holy See naming these peopleand giving examples of their “manifestationsof belligerent prejudice.” He rejected the

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authority of the commission for this reason.Pope Paul VI himself took the responsibilityfor dismantling it.

A witch hunt

Even so, the activities of those two orthree churchmen antagonistic to Opus Deihad created a climate of distrust against theWork in some Vatican circles. One of thoseclerics, a man of considerable influence, em-barked on a witch hunt, seeing Opus Dei be-hind everything that happened. MonsignorEscrivá’s trips up and down the creaky stairsof Villa Gallabresi were understandable.

As in previous summers, they played theItalian bowling game and went for walks onthe outskirts of villages near Lake Maggiore:Intra, Arona, Lantino, and Stresa. Sometimes they stopped at brica-brac stalls.Monsignor Escrivá liked to pick up knick-knacks that could be used for a joke or

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present. In Arona he found a little woodenAlpine soldier costing 220 lira, or abouttwenty cents. “Look!” he said. “Shall we get itfor Umberto as a joke? I’m sure he’ll like it alot!” Umberto Farri, a lawyer, had had an en-thusiasm for military life since he was achild.

Another day they found a little huntingdog which moved its head and had a pheas-ant in its mouth. Monsignor Escrivá said,“This could be for Paco Vives—he’s so keenon the hunting of the good old days.”

He picked up a yellow rubber duck andburst out laughing. “There you have our Pep-pino’s duckling!” He used the Italian wordfor duckling, anatroccolo, pronouncing it inimitation of the Lombardy accent and Mil-anese intonation of Giuseppe Molteni,“Peppino.”

In this relaxed way, in day to day life,Monsignor Escrivá taught them to be alwaysthinking of others, to love each other like a

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real family and also to save some lira by buy-ing these little figures in advance, and muchmore cheaply than they could in Rome.

One day he chatted with the housekeepersand some women visiting from Milan. DonAlvaro joined them as Monsignor Escriváwas asking them to pray for the Church. Herecalled having recently read the expression“a social priest” in a newspaper. His com-ment was, “When you qualify the word ‘gold’or ‘silver’ with another word, it’s usually be-cause they are not pure gold or pure silver. Apriest is a priest and that’s that. His missionis exclusively spiritual: the care of souls. Andas soon as he goes beyond that, it’s a bad

business.”9

Monsignor Escrivá was heartbroken at thedesertion of so many priests who wereabandoning their calling. “You have to praymore, because there are priests who don’twant to pray, or to guard their senses or tomake an examination of conscience … and

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disaster strikes! In the Work, everyone,young and not so young, everyone has topray, guard their senses, and do their exam-ination of conscience, because otherwise we

would be courting disaster!”10

The optimum viewpoint

Monsignor Escrivá suffered an alarmingloss of vision that summer, especially in hisright eye. At first he thought it was tempor-ary and did not say anything about it, but asthe problem continued, he mentioned it toDon Alvaro and Father Javier. “I’m finding itdifficult to read because I can hardly see.Quite often my sight becomes quite blurred,like a fog. Celebrating Holy Mass is when Inotice it most. I think I need to get it seen to,don’t you? Maybe I should see an optician.And in the meantime I’ll try and be patientand cheerful! For the moment, I’ll try to keepon working and reading, and the day I find I

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can’t, I’ll offer up the limitation, the annoy-ance, to our Lord.”

They went to Milan on July 28 with Calo-gero Crocchiolo, a medical doctor who was inthe Work, driving, and there he visited anoptician called Professor Romagnoli, whodid a thorough examination. He concludedthat Monsignor Escrivá was developingcataracts.

“I could only relax if I could for-get about the Work”

A few days later, July 31, they returned toMilan on business, taking a car ferry acrossLake Maggiore.

It was already quite late when they gotback, but Mon signor Escrivá wanted to seehis daughters be cause he had bought somesweets for them. He also wanted to tell themthat he was going to Einsiedeln as he had theyear before.

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Maria Jose and Begoña noticed that hewas not looking very well. They said, “Father,you look quite tired.”

“We’ve been working in Milan,” he ex-plained briefly. “But anyway, I relax morewhen I’m working than when I’m not. Notworking wears me out.”

“Even so, Father, you haven’t stoppedsince you came from Rome. What can we doto help you rest?”

“I’d only be able to relax if I could forgetabout the Work. But I don’t want to forgetabout the Work! Or about God! Well, I can’t

forget about God, because I’d die.”11

He did not talk about the work on his deskduring those days: the final juridical formulaof Opus Dei. But those around him couldeasily detect his concern. It was his “specialintention.” He told his daughters, “So youwant to know about the special intention?We’ll only achieve it by prayer—a lot of pray-er. We don’t want to have to make vows.

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How will a person join the Work? By enter-ing into a civil contract. It’s true, my daugh-ters, don’t look so surprised; they’ll make acivil contract. I love freedom. I don’t wantanyone to be forced. The sense of honor ofmy daughters and sons is enough for me tohave complete trust in your self-giving. We’llreturn to the founder’s original idea. We’vehad to do things another way, but the timewill come when our own way will be opened

up for us.”12

On August 4 they set out on a pilgrimageto the shrine of Our Lady of Einsiedeln. Thelittle group returned to Villa Gallabresi onAugust 6. Monsignor Escrivá was radiant, ashe always was when, as he said, he had “beento see Our Lady.”

“I haven’t brought you any chocolate fromSwitzerland this time,” he said. “But we’vebrought you a surprise, which I think you’regoing to like. At least it will last longer than

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chocolate.” The surprise was a piece of cos-

tume jewelry for each of them.13

That summer he got a message from VillaTevere saying Pope Paul VI had sent him atelegram and a gold-plated bronze medal, asa token of affection and congratulations onthe twenty-fifth anniversary of the first or-dinations to the priest hood of men of OpusDei: the engineers Alvaro del Portillo, JoséMaría Hernandez de Garnica, and José LuisMuzquiz. This kind gesture from the Popebrought tears of gratitude to his eyes. Re-cently he had been weeping a lot, though hetried not to let anyone see him.

On August 26, just before leaving VillaGallabresi, Father Javier Echevarria went in-to Monsignor Escrivá’s room. Maria Joseand Dora were tidying up, and he turned toleave. But then he said from the doorway,“The Father is suffering a lot, for reasons wecan’t go into now. We know very little, but

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I’m telling you this so you pray more—even

more!”14

“I laugh because I have God’spresence”

Monsignor Escrivá was indeed suffering.Two years later in Rome, on March 25, 1971,he told a small group in a get-together, “Ilaugh, I even laugh out loud all by myself, be-cause I have God’s presence. If I didn’t—thethings I could say! But two years ago I wept alot. You can’t imagine how consoling thosetears during Mass were, even though theyhurt my eyes. My serenity now, like my tears

then, are all God’s doing.”15

1970: Villa Gallabresi again

The year 1970 was a difficult one forMonsignor Escrivá. The hostility and mis-trust in ecclesiastical circles were like a cold

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cloud. Monsignor Escrivá was overwhelmedwith anguish. On May 1, he suddenly decidedto cross the Atlantic to Mexico, to prostratehimself at the feet of Our Lady of Guadalupe.There he prayed for nine days, until he hadmoral certainty that Our Lady had heard hisplea and was obtaining the solution. Kneel-ing in a little balcony high up in the Basilicaof Guadalupe, or down below, gripping theiron railing, Monsignor Escrivá asked forspecific, very important things for theChurch and Opus Dei.

Clama, ne cesses!

That summer, back in Premeno, his workfor those weeks in August consisted of study-ing in depth the conclusions of the ex-traordinary congress held in Rome the previ-ous year.

On the morning of August 6, just beforevesting for Mass, he said to Father Javier

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Echevarria, “This very morning, somethinghas happened to me, and I want you to knowabout it. A while ago in my room, beforecoming to the oratory, while I was beggingour Lord in my head and in my heart to en-able the Work to fulfill its mission with soulsas he intends it to do on this earth, I felt theLord putting in my mind some words ofScripture. These words have filled me withconfidence and given me a new impetus toincrease my prayer of petition, to perseverein prayer, and to encourage my children nev-er to stop praying—not even for an instant!Prayer is the only weapon Opus Dei has.What I heard within me was Clama, necesses! ‘Cry aloud, spare not!’ These wordscame to me without my having thought of orsought them. I don’t know … I’m verymoved…. I feel in my soul just as I did at thebeginning of the Work.”

Celebrating Mass that day, he joined hispalms together and rested his forehead on

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his fingertips, closing his eyes and becomingtotally absorbed. He did the consecrationvery slowly, speaking the words one syllableat a time over the host and the wine. He gen-uflected, kissed the altar, and recited thetexts with singular devotion.

Clama, ne cesses! was from the prophecyof Isaiah: “Cry aloud, spare not, lift up yourvoice like a trumpet; declare to my peopletheir transgression, to the house of Jacob

their sins.” 16

Three months earlier, on May 8, after de-ciding to make the long pilgrimage to theshrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, he had an-other unexpected locution: Si Deus nobis-cum, quis contra nos? “If God is with us, whocan be against us?” These words were of St.Paul’s Letter to the Romans. But not quite.The Letter to the Romans read, Si Deus pronobis, quis contra nos? (Romans 8:31) “IfGod is for us, who is against us?” But he had

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heard Si Deus nobiscum, quis contra nos? “IfGod is with us …”

And now Clama, ne cesses! God was tak-ing him by the hand, and whispering to himwhat he had to do.

Contraband tobacco?

They made several excursions from VillaGallabresi to Castello d’Urio, a conferencecenter of Opus Dei near Lake Como.Monsignor Escrivá had several get-togethersand conversations with his children in Cas-tello d’Urio.

They also went to Switzerland. As soon asthey could see Switzerland on the horizon, atIl Ticino, they prayed for the apostolates ofthe Work there. On the way back, as DonAlvaro and Father Javier both smoked,Monsignor Escrivá suggested they buy cigar-ettes, “because it will be cheaper here than inItaly.” Father Javier went into a tobacconist,

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where he was told that border controls re-stricted cigarettes to one carton per person.“Well, as there are four of us, buy four,” saidMonsignor Escrivá. When they got to theborder crossing, the carabinieri asked “Ex-cuse me, signori, have you anything todeclare?”

“I don’t think so; we’ve got no more thanthe allowance.”

“But what exactly have you got?”“Four cartons of cigarettes.”“I’m sorry, that’s too many. You can’t take

a quantity like that.”There followed an exasperating argument

with the youngest, most inquisitive carabin-iero, who seemed to enjoy the idea of catch-ing three clergymen red-handed. At thisstage Monsignor Escrivá, quiet until then, in-tervened, saying to Father Javier Echevarria,“Leave it, Javi. If he says we can’t take fourcartons, let’s go back to where you boughtthem, even though it’s a waste of time and

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possibly a surrender of your rights. But atleast we will avoid upsetting this carabin-iero, and we won’t have to stay here arguingabout a few packets of cigarettes.”

Back at Villa Gallabresi, MonsignorEscrivá told Father Javier, “Look here, Javi-er, I don’t mind being a laughingstock to de-fend a just, worthwhile cause. But when it’san insignificant matter, we need to actprudently so as not to leave priests in a badlight, as happened today at the frontier.Anyone who witnessed the whole businesscould have got the wrong impression that wewere trying to smuggle something, breakingthe law and not fulfilling our duty. Someonecould have been scandalized by that false im-pression. In the future, try and be moreprudent, especially when some action, nomatter how innocent or correct it is, mightbe misconstrued; even if it’s just one personand they’re mistaken anyway.”

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They went to Milan several times, as theyhad the previous summer. On one trip theyvisited the cathedral, a jewel in stone with aGothic façade, 130 pinnacles, and 2,300statues decorating the exterior columns. Assoon as they went in, Monsignor Escriváasked an attendant, “Excuse me, Signore,can you tell me where the Blessed Sacramentchapel is?”

“What?”“Where’s the Blessed Sacrament chapel?”“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. First it was

here, then they moved it somewhere else,and now I don’t know where it is.”

Monsignor Escrivá tried to conceal thesorrow this reply caused him. He could notcomprehend that anyone could be workingin a cathedral without knowing where “theMaster of the house” was. They made a quicktour of the cathedral to find the Blessed Sac-rament chapel. Monsignor Escrivá wentstraight toward the altar and fell to his

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knees, close to the tabernacle, saying, “Lord,I’m no better than anyone else, but I need totell you, with all my strength, that I love you!I love you for all the people who come hereand don’t tell you so. I love you for everyonewho will come in the future and won’t say

so.”17

He stayed kneeling on the cold stone floorand praying until Don Alvaro tapped him onthe shoulder.

August 23, 1971: Caglio

Caglio was a small mountain village nearLake Como and about eighty kilometers fromCastello d’Urio. There they rented a smallhouse called Villa Sant’Agostino, for severalweeks of July and August in 1971. As usual,they installed the oratory in the best of theupstairs rooms for security reasons. The bed-rooms were on the same floor. Down stairs

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there was a dining room, kitchen, and sittingroom that doubled as a work room.

Monsignor Escrivá and Don Alvaro wereexhausted when they arrived. It had been ayear of very demanding work during whichcertain “good people” of the Vatican, one es-pecially, had continued to fuel an atmo-sphere of mistrust against the Work. In theworst moments, Monsignor Escrivá con-stantly repeated a prayer he wrote to leaveeverything in God’s hands. “My Lord and myGod, into your hands I abandon everythingpast, present and future: big and little, greatand small, temporal and eternal.” It was theprayer he taught Sofia Vavaro on herdeathbed the following year (see Chapter 12).

Monsignor Escrivá’s relaxation was toplunge into intimacy with God. The onlywork he had brought with him to study wasthe five books of the Pentateuch. The daythey arrived, they watched the news on tele-vision after dinner. Father Javier Echevarria

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told them, “On this channel there’s a filmnext: ‘The Song of Bernadette,’ starring Jen-nifer Jones. It’s a very old film—I saw it yearsago—but as far as I can remember it wassensitively done.” They started to watch it,but after three quarters of an hour, justwhen, as Javier Cotelo said, “We had reallygot into it,” there was a violent storm and theelectricity was cut off. With a cigarette light-er, Father Javier went in search of candles,and they chatted by candlelight for a while.Don Alvaro went to the window to see ifthere was light in the gatehouse, but dark-ness reigned, and he reported, “There’s nosign of this being fixed.” Monsignor Escriváwas talking about the film, but when heheard Don Alvaro’s remark, he said, “Allright, let’s wait a few minutes more. And ifthe electricity doesn’t come back on, we’ll doour examination of conscience and offer upthis little setback for the apostolates of theWork. It’s nothing much, but the spiritual

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life, like human life, is made up of littlethings like this.”

That summer he again went to see hisItalian daughters and sons in Castello d’Urio.Other outings were more utilitarian in char-acter: they visited furniture factories in thearea, where Monsignor Escrivá noted prices,types of furniture, transport costs, and so on,and asked for catalogs and business cards.Cavabianca, the final premises of the RomanCollege of the Holy Cross, was under con-struction at the time, and he was thinking ofits furniture and fittings. When the timecame to acquire the furniture, he gave thecatalogs and addresses he had collect ed toHelen Monfort and the interior decorationteam, so that they could “buy good-qualitythings at factory prices, with plenty ofchoice.”

Monsignor Escrivá and his companionsusually went for walks around the city ofComo. They always went into the cathedral

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to spend a while there: Monsignor Escriváwanted to keep Jesus Christ company in thetabernacle. Afterwards they would sit on abench in the nave and, rather than walkingaround like sightseers, would observe themarvelous works of art: the tapestries fromFerrara, Florence, and Antwerp; the SacraConversazione by Luini; the Chapel of theCrucified Christ; the “Wedding of theBlessed Virgin Mary”; the domed cover onthe baptismal font; and the decoration of thetransept dedicated to the Assumption. Nowand then Monsignor Escrivá noticed an or-namental detail such as the paneled ceilingthat could be copied for an oratory of theWork. Then he would say to Javier Cotelo,“See those panels? Make a quick sketch sowe remember the combination of gold andcolors later on.”

Four years later, with César Ortiz-Echagüeand other architects in Rome, he was tryingto settle on the best position for an organ,

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and the matter was becoming quite complic-ated. Monsignor Escrivá suggested, “Howabout putting it at the front and to one side,near the altar?” He had seen this solution inthe cathedral in Como, where there were twofine sixteenth-century organ cases, one oneach side at the front of the central nave.

The watermelon seller

One morning before going down the hillinto Como, they stopped at some roadsidefruit stalls—not a market but a few countrypeople who set up their rustic stalls on a fewplanks. Monsignor Escrivá took particularnotice of a man selling watermelons. He wasa rough-looking man, short, lean, andswarthy, who advertised his merchandise ona crude placard: Cocomeri, 100 lire per kilo.

“Shall we buy a watermelon and take it toyour sisters? That will save them having togo and buy it themselves. Go on, Javi,

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although you’re such a townsman, see if youcan get a nice ripe one.”

Monsignor Escrivá was always amused byFather Javier’s seriousness and used to pro-voke him on purpose or put him into unusu-al situations like this, with everybody aroundlooking on. Father Javier got out of the car,went over to the stall, and began talking, notto the salesman but to his son, a plump littleboy.

“Hello, sonny!” he said. “Since you’re theexpert, can you pick me out a nice ripewatermelon?”

The boy’s father pointed, saying, “Takethat one.” The child trotted round, picked upthe water melon, and gave it to Father Javierwithout a word.

“Do you think it’s ripe?” Father Javierasked.

“My father said so.”While the man was weighing the water-

melon, Father Javier continued talking very

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simply to the child. “Excuse me saying so,but you look a little plump—do you eat noth-ing but watermelons?”

“Oh, no, I eat pasta and pizza as well.”“Well, you certainly have a good time here,

learning from your father. You have to lovehim a lot and help him so he doesn’t get sotired.”

“Right.”“At the same time, offer up everything you

do to Baby Jesus.”“Yes.”That same evening, when Monsignor

Escrivá was alone with Father Javier, hesaid, “Javi, the next time we stop to buysomething at this watermelon stall, be a bitmore affectionate towards that little boy, notjust tossing him a few sentences on your wayout. You have to realize that maybe that childwill never have any Christian example orteaching given him in his whole life. Maybeyou’re the only priest who will ever even

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speak to him about right and wrong, orabout God and Our Lady. And besides, hisfather’s there too and will hear what you sayto his son, so you can awaken an interest forthe things of God in him too. If you put yourmind to it in those few minutes of conversa-tion, you can find a way into his life, andleave the imprint of God on his soul.”

A few days later they stopped by the stallagain. Mon signor Escrivá winked at FatherJavier, saying, “Go on, as you were successfulthe first time, you try again. See what youcan do!”

Monsignor Escrivá was passionate aboutGod, and everything, no matter how trivial,led him to God. The caretakers at the Cagliohouse were a married couple with three chil-dren. One morning, while walking in the gar-dens around Villa Sant’Agostino, MonsignorEscrivá saw the man working in the garden,with his youngest son, about four, clinging tohis trouser leg. Mon signor Escrivá looked at

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the child, seeing his eyes round with admira-tion, not missing any of his father’s move-ments. Later, he commented, “I was movedby that child’s eyes; I felt a holy envy of him.And I asked our Lord for that same sense ofsonship for us, so that we always wish to belike that, contemplating our Father God withadmiration, sure that he does things‘divinely,’ because, in his providence, hetakes care of the whole field we have to workin.”

1972: Civenna, and a pair ofheavy boots

For the summers of 1972 and 1973 theyfound a house in Civenna, a mountain villagein the north of Italy near the city of Lecco, inthe lakes region and near the Swiss border.In 1972 Monsignor Escrivá took a lot of workwith him: he continued to revise the statutesof Opus Dei and prepared two books of

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homilies which would be published underthe titles of Christ Is Passing By and Friendsof God. Friends of God was publishedposthumously, as were The Way of theCross, Furrow, and The Forge. The day afterthey arrived, they went out for a walk on anuphill mountain track. They had hardly gone100 meters when Monsignor Escrivá called ahalt. “With these city shoes we won’t get veryfar. We’d better go back, get the car, and goto the nearest place where we can buy properwalking boots.”

“The nearest place is Lecco, and that’sabout twenty kilometers away.”

“Well then, let’s go to Lecco!”When they got there Monsignor Escrivá

suggested going to the market before goingto a shoe shop. “There must be boots for thelocals there, and it will be much cheaperthan buying them in a proper shop.”

He was right, and each bought a pair ofboots for 10,000 lira, about $7. Amid the

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shouting and bustle of the market, as if itwere the most natural thing in the world,Monsignor Escrivá sat down on an emptywooden fruit-box, took off his shoes, tried onthe boots, walked about a bit, stamped, andsaid to the stall holder with a beaming smile,“They’re a perfect fit! I’m going to keep themon.”

One day the housekeeping team threwaway two of Don Alvaro’s vests because theywere very worn. While walking aroundComo, they spotted a sale in a shop offering“four vests for 3,000 lira.” MonsignorEscrivá urged them to take advantage of theoffer. He also asked Father Javier Echevarriato buy candy for his daughters in the Work.When he saw him coming out of the candyshop carrying a very small bag, he teasedhim. “But Javi, my son, haven’t you overdone it a bit? Your sisters are going to thinkyou’re an absolute Scrooge! Next time, tryand be a bit more magnanimous.”

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“Alvaro, will you treat us?”

Except on really long car trips,Monsignor Escrivá and his companions sel-dom stopped for refreshments away fromhome. So unusual was it that when it didhappen, Father Javier Echevarria noted it inhis diary. One hot August morning, aroundmidday, after a long walk around Lecco, theycame across a kiosk selling granita di caffè,a delicious drink of iced coffee. Javier Coteloremarked that Monsignor Escrivá’s sis-ter—Aunt Carmen to everyone in theWork—used to treat her “nephews” or“nieces” to a granita di caffè when they wentshopping in Rome in hot weather. On behalfof everyone Monsignor Escrivá addressedDon Alvaro, “Alvaro, will you treat us to agranita di caffè, just this once?”

This particular part of Brianza was gener-ally cool and damp, with frequent rain, fog,and storms. One day Giuseppe Molteni drove

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from Milan to Civenna with Carlos Cardonato work on some of the homilies MonsignorEscrivá had been revising. It was pouringrain and storms swept across the whole re-gion. During the drive, Guiseppe, enamouredwith his Brianza, kept repeating like a sales-man, “And yet, Carlos, behind those cloudsthe sun is shining!”

Carlos told Monsignor Escrivá about thisas soon as they arrived. “So that I wouldn’tlose heart every time there was a thunder-clap, Peppino would say, ‘And yet, Carlos,behind those clouds the sun is shining.’ AndI would answer: ‘Well, if you say so, it mustbe so. But, lord, how it hides!’”

Monsignor Escrivá roared with laughter.“Peppino, you’re a scream! But you’d betterreach an agreement with your fellow coun-trymen, because they keep saying the rainand fog are the region’s wealth. Anyway, inpraising your country you’ve stated a notabletruth that can be applied to the spiritual life.

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There are times when we fail to see the light,maybe through our own failure to corres-pond to grace. On other occasions, our Lordpermits this darkness to try our faith andloyalty. Years ago I said that on the road toGod, once we have seen our vocation withthe light of grace, we have to go forward withfaith and fortitude, maybe leaving shreds ofclothes, or even skin, on the thorns of thewayside briars. But we have to carry on inthe certainty that God is the same as alwaysand cannot fail. If we are faithful to him,after the darkness and the storm comes thecalm, and a marvelous sun will shine stillmore brightly for us. My children, havingheard the voice of God you cannot lookback.”

As Civenna was just over four kilometersfrom the Swiss border, and less as the crowflies, they could get Swiss television chan-nels. Their house had a color television set,and the first time they turned it on

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Monsignor Escrivá was as surprised aseveryone else. “Isn’t it good?” he exclaimed.“I had no idea the image would be so clearand the color so natural. The color’s so at-tractive that you’re captivated no matterwhat program is on.”

After the television set had been turnedoff, he reflected aloud, “All this progress,great and small, has to bring us to give greatglory to God. All noble human work, donewell and used properly, is a fabulous instru-ment for serving society and sanctifyingourselves. I suppose the same thinghappened to you as to me a moment agowhen we were watching television: it waseasy to raise one’s heart to God, thankinghim for the technical perfection of the imageand the color. And then there’s an idea whichis always going around my head. I thought ofthe good and the evil which can be done withtelevision and with all the media. Good? Yes,because it’s a wonderful vehicle for reaching

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out to so many people, capturing their atten-tion in such an attractive way. Bad? It’s thattoo, because images and words can be usedto spread bad doctrine and false morals. Andpeople swallow these errors and falsehoodswithout realizing it, they welcome it like puregold. That’s why I insist so much that theapostolate through the media will always bevery important. And Catholics who have aprofessional vocation to the media, journal-ists, people working in the press, radio, andtelevision, have to be present and active: tobe absent would be a shameful act ofdesertion.”

One morning the telephone rang early. Itwas Giuseppe Molteni, asking to speak toDon Alvaro.

“Hello, is something the matter, Peppino?”“Yes, Don Alvaro, I’m sorry for calling so

early, but Cardinal Dell’Acqua is dead.”“Good Lord! Where? What happened?”

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“It was quite sudden. He was in Lourdes.We haven’t heard many details. But as Iknow how much the Fatherloves—loved—him, I thought it was better forme to telephone and give you the newsrather than your hearing it suddenly on theradio or seeing it in the paper.”

“Thank you very much for telling us, Pep-pino. You’ve really given me a shock. It’s go-ing to be a terrible blow for the Father, be-cause they were very fond of each other. I’lltell him right now so we can begin to pray forhis soul.”

It was indeed an unexpected and heavyblow for Mon signor Escrivá. In the followingdays his sorrow could be seen in his face.Cardinal Angelo Dell’Acqua had been a goodfriend of his and a great ally in the RomanCuria. He said, “I feel as if a brother haddied. He was like a brother to me. But ithurts even more because he was a loyal ser-vant of the Pope and the Church, and God

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our Lord doesn’t have many of them. I knowhow much he suffered at the hands of certainpeople who did not understand his self-giv-ing and self-denial, or his fidelity to the au-thority of the Church. He will have found hisreward in heaven. From now on I will appealto him as an intercessor.”

A lonely death for a Pope

He returned to the subject when theywere talking together in the sitting room orwalking around Lecco. He recalled how thecardinal had told him of Pope John XXIII’slong death agony, riddled with cancer and ingreat pain. Pope John had known CardinalDell’Acqua as a young priest and affection-ately called him “Angelino.” When the car-dinal went to visit the Pope, now old andsick, the Pope’s face would light up. ThePontiff would confide, “Angelino, I’m suffer-ing so much…. I’m offering it all to the Lord

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for the Church, and especially for the SecondVatican Council.” Amid the comings and go-ings of doctors, secretaries, camerlengos,and monsignors, it was dreadful to see thePope’s loneliness, on the human plane, in hislast hours.

“Come here, Angelino, come nearer,” thePope asked. Dell’Acqua approached his bed.The Pope took his hand and pressed it. “Likethat I feel better! Like that it’s easier to bearthe pain which is sometimes so bad that itwears me out. … I’m in terrible pain. I thinkof God our Lord, I think of the Church andthe Council, and I offer all my sufferings forits fruits.” When it was time to say good-bye,John XXIII kept his friend a little longer, likea child afraid of being left alone. “Angelino,Angelino mio, don’t leave me! Stay with me alittle longer!”

Monsignor Escrivá recalled his manywarm conversations with Cardinal Dell’Ac-qua. “He often said to me, ‘If I were asked to

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testify at the beatification process of Pope Pi-us XII or Pope John XXIII, I would necessar-ily have to speak of the great affection theyboth had for Opus Dei. Each of them told meso explicitly, and I consider it a debt in con-science to ensure that their affection shouldbe recorded in history.’”

In the autumn of 1972, Monsignor Escriváset out on the first of his catechetical jour-neys throughout Spain and Portugal, goingto Navarre, Biscay, Madrid, Andalusia,Valencia, Catalonia, Lisbon, Oporto, andFatima. This was a novel way of preaching,combining mass communication, to reachthousands of people at a time, with the atmo-sphere of a family get-together. He madethree exhausting forays to Central and SouthAmerica not long afterwards, in 1974 and1975, so his last summer holiday was in 1973.

1973: Monsignor Escrivá con-soles Pope Paul VI

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The situation in the Church was so seri-ous that Pope Paul VI decided to move for-ward the Holy Year Jubilee of 1975, declaringit open on June 10, 1973. This was an at-tempt to stir the consciences of Catholics. OnJune 22, before the cardinals of the RomanCuria, the Pope decried “the doctrinal confu-sion and lack of discipline which are over-shadowing the shining beauty of the Spouse

of Christ, the Church.”18 The Pope was dis-traught at the deterioration, deviation, andanarchy. Monsignor Escrivá thought it wastime for him to visit the Holy Father and of-fer him consolation. On the 25th of thatmonth, he went to see him in a private audi-ence that lasted an hour and a quarter, wellbeyond the time set by Vatican protocol.

As soon as Monsignor Escrivá came intothe Pope’s presence, he dropped to his kneeson the marble floor. Paul VI reached out andraised him. When both were seated,Monsignor Escrivá took out his pocket diary,

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in which he had made some notes of what hewanted to say. He had encouraging newsabout the perseverance of thousands of menand women in the Work and about theapostolates thriving in so many countriesand areas of social life. As for vocations tothe priesthood, that year like every year since1944 a new batch of laymen—each with twodoctorates, civil and ecclesiastical—were tobe ordained.

In July Monsignor Escrivá and his com-panions returned to Civenna, staying in thesame house as the year before. One morning,though the day had dawned cold and bleak,with heavy dark clouds and squally showers,they went to Lecco to walk there. MonsignorEscrivá walked for two or two and a halfhours, but Don Alvaro less. He sat on abench to wait for them. When MonsignorEscrivá joined him, he found him very pale,with dark shadows under his eyes, and shiv-ering with cold.

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“Alvaro, you don’t look well! What’s thematter?”

“I had a bad night,” replied Don Alvaro,“and now I’m feeling really cold. As theGrandmother would say, I’m a bit under theweather.”

“Let’s go. We’ll go home at once!”On the way to the car, Monsignor Escrivá

told Father Javier, “Javi as soon as we getback, could you telephone Castello d’Urio forJosé Luis Pastor to come and see your broth-er, please? Tell him to come as soon as hecan, but without alarming him.”

Driving home, he scolded Don Alvaro.“Why didn’t you say something before com-ing out? I get upset when you do things likethat. I know you were thinking of the rest ofus, and we’re grateful, but you ought to havetold me you weren’t feeling well, and we’dhave been quite happy to stay at home.Alvaro, my son, don’t ever do it again!”

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“I thought it was just a passing indisposi-tion, because I was tossing and turning allnight. But don’t worry, Father, I don’t thinkit’s anything serious.”

Don Alvaro had a somewhat weak consti-tution, and had had several major opera-tions. He worked full time and hard at twojobs: in Villa Tevere to serve the Work, andin the Vatican to serve the Holy See. Whatkept him going was his spirit.

Don Alvaro’s “passing indisposition” didindeed get worse. He ran an intermittenthigh fever for weeks. It made him perspireprofusely, soaking sheets and mattress sothat the bed linen had to be changed severaltimes a day and during the night as well.Monsignor Escrivá and the two Javiers tookturns staying with him. José Luis Pastor, thedoctor, diagnosed a serious kidney infectionand suggested going to Spain and consultingDr. Gil Vernet from Barcelona to see if an op-eration was needed.

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When Don Alvaro recovered a little, theydecided to make the trip. Before they leftthey had to be vaccinated at the airport sincethere had been an outbreak of cholera inItaly and a vaccination certificate was re-quired to leave the country. On September 1,the day before they intended to travel, thefour of them went to Milan airport. Therewas a long line of people all waiting for thesame thing. One of the medical staff recog-nized Monsignor Escrivá and approachedhim courteously, saying, “Monsignore, for-give us! Come this way please, and you willgo through immediately, you won’t have towait.”

Monsignor Escrivá refused. “No, thankyou. I’m very grateful, but I’d rather stayhere and wait for my turn.”

As the official kept insisting, MonsignorEscrivá explained, “I’m really very grateful toyou, but I don’t wish to take anyone else’splace—they’re not here just for the fun of it.

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They must have other things to do, maybeeven more urgent ones than mine.”

Next day, when the airplane took off andflew over Milan and Brianza, MonsignorEscrivá “stormed” the tabernacles ofchurches he could see from above. He sensedthat he might never return.

It was the last holiday he took.

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18

Rome, How You Shine!

The flat roof of Villa Vecchia, rising above allthe other buildings of Villa Tevere, affords aview over the Cimino, Mario, and Sabinehills around Rome. Monsignor Escrivá had aplaque set there with a Latin inscription: Oquam luces Roma, quam amoeno hinc ridesprospectu! Quantis excellis anti quitatismonumentis! Sed nobilior tua gemma atquepurior Christi Vicarius, de quo una civegloriaris!—MDCCCCLI. This can berendered, “O Rome, how you shine! Howbeautiful you look from here, in splendidpanorama! How you stand out with yourmany monuments of antiquity! But your

noblest and purest jewel is the Vicar ofChrist, in whom you alone glory! 1951.”

The date carved at the end of the inscrip-tion, 1951, was when Monsignor Escrivá feltso uneasy—“like a roaring lion,” as he putit—with forebodings of hostility on the partof people with power to influence opinion invery high places, even reaching Pope PiusXII himself. They were plotting to expel thefounder, divide the men and women of theWork into two separate institutions, andbreak up Opus Dei. This plaque, with thepassing of the years, became a sort of testi-monial to unshakable fidelity.

Monsignor Escrivá also said, “I feel com-pletely Roman, since Roman means univer-sal, catholic, and because it leads me to havea tender love for the Pope, il dolce Christo interra, the sweet Christ on earth, as St. Cath-erine of Siena, whom I count as a most be-loved friend, liked to repeat…. Being Romandoes not mean being narrow, it means being

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genuinely ecumenical: it implies a desire to

enlarge one’s heart, to open it to everyone.”1

He had wanted to ‘Romanize’ Opus Deifrom very early on and so, even withoutmoney to do it, set out to establish theheadquarters in Rome. He also set up theRoman College of Our Lady near Rome, inCastelgandolfo, and the Roman College ofthe Holy Cross at Cavabianca. Men and wo-men of the Work would come to acquire de-grees in the humanities, canon law, andtheology, as well as for all sorts of courses.Yearly at Easter time, crowds of universitystudents—in the early years in the hundreds,now in the thousands—gather as pilgrims tosee Peter, videre Petrum, and to have a get-together with the prelate of Opus Dei.

“This is where the Pope’s handrests”

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Whenever a daughter or a son of his inthe Work came to Rome, whether for a fewdays or to stay and work, Monsignor Escriváinquired, “Have you been to St. Peter’s yet?You haven’t? Well, ask someone to take youas soon as possible. Shall I tell you the routeI usually take? First of all I go to the chapelof the Blessed Sacrament and make a visitthere, and a spiritual communion. Then Igreet Our Lady at the altar of Our Lady ofPerpetual Succor. Then, beside the Altar ofthe Confession, I kneel down and say theCreed. Maybe everyone else is standing, but Ifind I have more devotion when I say it onmy knees. By the way, before you leave writea postcard to your parents. They’ll be de-

lighted to get one with a Vatican postmark.”2

Monsignor Escrivá wanted everyone in theWork to be imbued with the spirit of Rome,which he interpreted as catholicity of soul, auniversal mentality, and, above all, loyal af-fection for the Pope, “no matter who he is.”

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Ubi Petrus, ibi Ecclesia, ibi Deus—“WherePeter is, there is the Church, and there isGod,” he used to say, to show the doublereason, theological and human, for his lovefor the Pope. “We want to be with Peter be-cause the Church is where he is and God iswith him; God is not present where the Popeis absent. This is why I wanted the Work tobe in Rome. Love the Holy Father verymuch. Pray a lot for the Pope. Have a lot ofaffection for him. He needs the affection ofhis children. And I can understand that verywell. I know it from experience because I ammade of flesh and blood, not stone. So I likethe Pope to know that we love him, that wewill always love him for this one reason: be-

cause he is the sweet Christ on earth.”3

On July 11, 1949 a young man in Opus Deicalled Miguel Angel Madurga arrived inRome. Monsignor Escrivá took him and an-other man to visit the four main Roman ba-silicas. At St. Peter’s, cutting through

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corridors and rooms that he seemed to knowwell, they came to the throne room and thebalcony from which the Pope would give hisblessing to the people. Monsignor Escrivámade some affectionate remarks about PiusXII. He approached the papal throne andpointed to the right arm. “This is where thePope’s hand rests,” he whispered. Then he

bent and kissed it.4

With that kind of warmth, he encouragedothers. “Our greatest love, our highest es-teem, our deepest veneration, our fullestobedience and our warmest affection mustalso be for the Vicar of God on earth, thePope. Keep very close to the Roman Pontiff,il dolce Christo in terra! Follow his teach-ings, pray about them, and defend them both

in speech and writing.”5

Monsignor Escrivá’s lifetime covered sev-en papacies: those of Leo XIII, Pius X, Bene-dict XV, Pius XI, Pius XII, John XXIII, andPaul VI. He knew the last three personally,

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and all three received him in audience sever-al times.

Each of these occasions was a singularevent, celebrated as a special day by those atVilla Tevere. At these meetings, which heprepared for well in advance in his prayers,Monsignor Escrivá spoke simply and sin-cerely like a son to his father. But far fromgetting used to them, he could not help be-coming emotional. Tears filled his eyes, hegot a lump in his throat, and his voicetrembled in the presence of the Vicar ofChrist. Don Alvaro went with him on some ofthese visits and was surprised that this manwho governed Opus Dei with a firm handand could dominate huge mixed crowds froma stage was so moved. “He was always sodeeply moved that he found it hard to

speak.”6 Mon signor Escrivá himself ex-plained the reason while telling a group ofhis sons about the visit Pope Paul VI hadmade the day before to the ELIS Center,

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directed by people of Opus Dei in Tiburtino,a working-class district of Rome. “I wasdeeply affected yesterday. I always getmoved, whether it was Pius XII, John XXIII

or Paul VI, because I have faith.”7

Pope Pius XII

Pius XII bestowed the Decretum Laudisor “Decree of Praise” on Opus Dei and gave ithis pontifical approval. In 1949 he temporar-ily turned over to the Work an old house andsome land near Lake Albano in Castelgan-dolfo that had been used by a CountessCampello for works of mercy. The gardenhad run to seed and the house was infestedwith vermin. To make the place habitable thefirst thing needed was a thorough cleaningand disinfecting. In 1957 Pius XII appointedMonsignor Escrivá a consultor of the Con-gregation of Seminaries and Universities andmember of the Ponti fical Academy of

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Theology. That same year he entrusted theprelature of Yauyos in Peru to Opus Dei.

“Wherever no one else wants togo, we will go”

Yauyos and Huarochiri formed a vast,rugged territory in the Andes, with ascattered population of illiterate, impover-ished Indians. Under the leadership ofMonsignor Ignacio de Orbegozo, a priest ofOpus Dei, a handful of people of the Workdeveloped a bold social and educational pro-ject. The mule and two-way radio were theirmeans of communication and teaching inthese remote areas over 15,000 feet abovesea level.

Years later, Monsignor Escrivá, speakingabout Yauyos to two young Peruvians visit-ing Rome, told them, “In a few years’ timeyou’ll have many native priests, who will bevery well trained and educated and will do a

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wonderful job. But ‘missions’ are not nor-mally our thing. Our vocation is actually tostay in the middle of the world, in the heartof society. Taking responsibility for Yauyoswas something I agreed to when the Vaticansuggested it, so that no one could ever say Ihad denied the Holy Father anything. Theyshowed me a map with better situations inother countries, for me to choose from. Isaid, ‘Wherever no one else wants to go, we

will go.’ That’s how we chose Yauyos.”8

Pope John XXIII

At the death of Pius XII on October 9,1958, Monsignor Escrivá mourned for himand prayed and got others to pray for theconclave that was to elect a new Pope. Hetold his children, “You know the love wehave for the Pope … no matter who he is. Wealready love the next Pope. We are ready toserve him with all our hearts, ex toto corde

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tuo, ex tota anima tua; and we are going to

love the new Pope like that.”9

After five o’clock on October 28,Monsignor Escrivá, watching television, wasdisconcerted to see smoke from the chimneyof the Sistine Chapel in a strange grey plume.A few seconds later, white smoke appearedclearly. He dropped to his knees, praying de-voutly and intensely, “Oremus pro Beatis-simo Papa nostro … let us pray for ourblessed Pope. May the Lord preserve himand give him life and make him happy onearth, and not let him fall into the hands ofhis enemies.” Then he gave the joyous newsto his daughters and sons over the intercom:“Habemus Papam! We have a Pope!” Every-one in the house was to celebrate the eventas a big feast day, he said.

Cardinal Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, whotook the name of John XXIII, had alreadymet the Work. In 1954 he had visited twocenters in Spain, La Estila in Santiago de

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Compostela and Miraflores in Saragossa. Inhis diary for July 23, 1954, he called OpusDei “an interesting and edifying institutionwhich is new to me.”

The Vatican “head-hunts” DonAlvaro

Pope John’s pontificate was notable forthe calling and setting up the Second VaticanCouncil. He would have liked MonsignorEscrivá to participate, but he understoodthat the president general of Opus Dei couldnot neglect the governance of the Work foryears. Instead, he entrusted several posts toDon Alvaro del Portillo, in the preparatorystages as well as during the council itself, ap-pointing him consultor of the Sacred Con-gregation of the Council, judge and censor ofthe Supreme Congregation of the Holy Of-fice, president of the ante-preparatory Com-mission for the Laity, member of four other

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commissions, and a council adviser. WhileVatican II was in progress, from 1962 to1965, Don Alvaro was addition ally appoin-ted secretary of the Commission on the Dis-cipline of the Clergy and Christians, and con-sultor on com missions regarding bishops,religious, doctrine, the Code of Canon Law,and other matters.

From 1959 on, for practically the whole ofPope John XXIII’s pontificate and a goodpart of that of Pope Paul VI, Don Alvaro hadto divide his time between his duties in theWork and those entrusted to him directly bythe Holy See. He spent almost more time atthe Vatican than in Villa Tevere. Mon signorEscrivá never protested. “That’s all right,” hesaid. “That’s what the Holy Father has de-cided. We have to serve the Church as the

Church wants to be served.”10 While con-scientiously respecting whatever was confid-ential, they talked almost daily about VaticanII.

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Three other people in Opus Dei were coun-cil Fathers: Monsignor Ignacio de Orbegozo,prelate of Yauyos, Monsignor Luis Sanchez-Moreno, auxiliary bishop of Chiclayo, also inPeru, and Mon signor Cosme do Amaral,auxiliary bishop of Oporto, Portugal. In addi-tion, a large number of bishops, experts,theologians, and canon lawyers from all overthe world involved in the work of the councilcame to Villa Tevere to visit MonsignorEscrivá and seek his opinion on matters un-der debate.

From his backwater in Villa Vecchia,Monsignor Escrivá followed the progress ofthe council very closely. He prayed hard andgot others to pray. In July 1962 he wrote aletter encouraging everyone in Opus Dei tooffer up their daily work, “for the happy out-come of this great enterprise, the SecondVatican Ecumenical Council. I know that thisis our Holy Father’s main intention, and Iwant us too to contribute from our patch,

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with our prayer, penance, and work, whichwe sanctify and which sanctifies us…. Theseare our great weapons, and the only means

Opus Dei has.”11

One afternoon Don Alvaro had a high tem-perature. The commission he was working inhad to reach some important decisions, andhis presence was needed. However, he wasclose to collapse and should undoubtedlyhave been in bed. Monsignor Escrivá lookedat him, worried and hesitant. If he listened tohis heart he would say, “Go to bed at once,”but in the circum stances he told him, “DearAlvaro, I think you should go, my son.”

When Alvaro had left, he turned toFrancesco Angelicchio and said, “You think Ihave no compassion for the man, don’t you?But there are some things which have to bedone even though they shorten our lives. Ifear for his health. I need him. We need him.

The Work needs him.”12 Among the things

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that had to be done, in his view, was “servingthe Church as she wishes to be served.”

ELIS Center

Pope John XXIII appointed MonsignorEscrivá a consultor of the Commission forthe Authentic Interpretation of the Code ofCanon Law, turned over the land at Castel-gandolfo to the Work in perpetuity, raisedthe school at Pamplona to the rank of uni-versity, and asked Opus Dei to undertake asocial project in the Roman district ofTiburtino, with funds raised by a worldwidecollection for Pius XII’s eightieth birthday.This project was the ELIS Center (Edu-cazione, Lavoro, Istituzione, Sport—Educa-tion, Work, Training, Sport) for youngpeople.

“It is destined to open uphitherto

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unknown horizons”On March 5, 1960 Monsignor Escrivá went

to the Vatican for an audience with PopeJohn. During the conversation, the Popesaid, “The first time I heard about Opus Dei,I was told that it was an impressive institu-tion which was doing a lot of good. Thesecond time I heard about it, I was told thatit was a very impressive institution whichwas doing a terrific amount of good. Thewords entered my ears, but love for Opus Dei

lodged in my heart.”13

Monsignor Escrivá told the Pope about thedelays that lasted twenty years until the HolySee gave its approval for Opus Dei to havenon-Catholics and non-Christians as “co-operators.” “Everyone, Catholic or not, hasalways found a warm welcome in our Work.As you can see, I have not learned ecumen-ism from Your Holiness but from the

Gospel,” he said.14

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In a second audience, on June 27, 1962,Pope John said, “Monsignor, the Work opensup before my eyes infinite horizons which I

had not discovered before.”15 MonsignorEscrivá in a letter to his children reported, “Ihave stored every detail of this meetingbetween a son and his father in my mind andheart…. My mind keeps going back to thataudience, and I can recall every little detail ofit: not only the day and time it took place,but also the paternal benevolence and attent-iveness in the Pope’s eyes, the slightest ges-ture of his hands, the affectionate warmth ofhis voice, the deep, serene joy that shone inhis face…. He holds all of us in his heart. He

knows us and understands us perfectly.”16

While Pope John XXIII was dyingMonsignor Escrivá prayed for him intensely.He altered his timetable during those days,saying Mass first thing in the morning to of-fer it up for the Pope if he was still alive or as

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immediate intercession for his soul if he had

died in the night.17

When the Pope died, whenever Mon si-gnor Escrivá met one of his sons in his com-ings and goings around the house he wouldremind him by way of greeting, “Pray for theconclave!” or “Are you praying a lot for thenew Pope?”

Pope Paul VI’s immediate circle

The task awaiting the new Pope was notan easy one. Pope Paul VI did not always findamong his immediate collaborators the un-derstanding and courage needed to supporthim in his delicate task. At one point duringPaul VI’s pontificate, Mon signor Escrivátold some of his older sons, “The trouble is

within … within and high up.”18

He remembered Pope Paul VI, when hewas still Monsignor Montini, as “the firstfriendly hand I found here in Rome; the first

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affectionate word for the Work which I heard

in Rome was spoken by him.”19 As Pope, hereceived Monsignor Escrivá in protracted, af-fectionate audiences on several occasions.During one he presented him with a chalicewith the pontifical emblem embossed inivory, identical to one he had given PatriarchAthenagoras of Constantinople a few weekspreviously. He came to Tiburtino for the sol-emn inauguration of the ELIS Center, now inoperation with a big residence hall, a cater-ing school, and a parish church nearby, alsoentrusted to priests of the Work.

When Monsignor Escrivá asked Pope Paulto bless everyone there in the new buildings,the Pope replied, “Benediciamo insieme”(Let’s give the blessing together). MonsignorEscrivá was so moved he dropped to hisknees and bowed his head. As Paul VI wasleaving, Monsignor Escrivá knelt again out-side the door on the wet ground—it had beenraining—to kiss his ring. The Pope took hold

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of his elbows, raised him firmly, and em-braced him, saying, “Tutto, tutto qui è OpusDei!” (Everything here is Opus Dei!)

“No authority on earth …”

Monsignor Escrivá had for years been im-portuning the Holy See for a clear canonicalformulation, based on the ordinary law ofthe Church and not on privilege, that wouldguarantee the lay nature of Opus Dei, includ-ing the right of people in the Work to do anyhonest job and hold and express their ownideas in social, political, cultural, artistic,and all other matters.

On May 25, 1962 he wrote a long letter tothose who held positions in the governanceof Opus Dei. “In my view … it is not just aquestion of faithfulness to God’s will but alsoof justice towards all of you…. So that yourdecision might be a conscious and free one,before being admitted to the Work, each of

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you was told as a matter of justice that youwere not going to be religious, nor similar toreligious. You were told that you would re-tain your own personality and your state asordinary lay people …; and that on coming toOpus Dei you would not change your state inlife, but would continue in your current one.You were told, finally, that your professionalvocation and your social duties would con-tinue to be an integral part of the divine vo-cation you had received.

“How could I now commit the crime of ob-liging you to follow a different vocation?There is no way I could require this of you,nor could I employ disloyal arguments whichwould violate your freedom of conscience, toask you to renew your commitment to theWork by embracing a vocation different fromthe one we have received from God.

“I cannot do this to you, and nor can any-one do it to me…. Besides being a wicked ac-tion on the human plane, it would be a grave

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fault against Christian morality, divine posit-ive law, and even natural law…. I love andrevere St. Francis, St. Dominic, and St. Igna-tius to the depths of my soul, but nobody inthe world can force me to become a Francis-can, a Dominican, or a Jesuit, any more thananyone can oblige me to get married…. Inthe spiritual life it is God’s grace, his will,that counts; his desire is what points out away and a mission…. Who could ever modify

a God-given vocation?”20

Urged on by “a grave commitment to de-fend the integrity of our spirituality, our sec-ular vocation and our condition as ordinary

Christians,”21 Monsignor Escrivá repeatedthese and other arguments to Cardinal An-gelo Dell’Acqua, acting secretary of state, in

writing from Paris22 and face to face inRome, asking him to pass his words on to thePope. Seeing the danger that members ofsecular institutes could be equated with reli-gious in the Second Vatican Council, he said,

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“There is no authority on earth that can ob-lige me to be a religious or to get married,because it would be an attack on the freedomthat the Church defends in Canon Law, andwould be severely punished. According toCanon Law any decision of that sort, apartfrom being punish able with excommunica-

tion, would be absolutely invalid.”23

On October 10, 1964 during an audience,Paul VI gave Monsignor Escrivá to under-stand that the canonical solution for theWork would be published soon in one of thecouncil documents; and so it was. In theDecree on Priests, Presbyterorum Ordinis,of December 8, 1965, “personal prelatures”for “specific pastoral works” were author-ized. This was the appropriate form for OpusDei, although it was another seventeen yearsbefore Pope John Paul II was to establishOpus Dei as a personal prelature.

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An unexpected proposal fromFather Arrupe

A little-known incident on January 18,1966 high lights the cordial relationsbetween Monsignor Escrivá and Father Ar-rupe, the general of the Society of Jesus, andshows how difficult it was for some religiousto understand the secularity of people of theWork. Father Arrupe had visited Villa Teveretwice, and each time Monsignor Escrivá vis-ited Borgo Santo Spirito, the headquarters ofthe Jesuits, in return. The visits included a

long lunch and lasted some time.24On thisoccasion the party included Father Bajot andFather Iparraguirre, with Father Arrupe, andDon Alvaro and Father Javier Echevarria,with Monsignor Escrivá. At a certain pointFather Arrupe said to Monsignor Escrivá,“Monsignor, I believe we could organize anapostolic activity together, between the Je-suits and Opus Dei.”

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There was a sudden silence in the littledining room. Nearly forty years of misunder-standings and jealousies originating with afew energetic Jesuits were dissolved.Monsignor Escrivá smiled at Father Arrupeand then spoke very slowly.

“Father Arrupe,” he said, “I’m truly grate-ful to you for the suggestion, but it’s not pos-sible, because you have to practice a discip-line and follow norms that have nothing todo with the lives of people of Opus Dei. If wewere to start an initiative of that kind, itwould most probably damage both institu-tions, as each would see its own spirit dimin-ished: on Opus Dei’s side by having to adaptto the religious way of life, and on yours, byhaving to adapt to the secular activity ofpeople who, though not worldly, live andwork in the world, busying themselves withtemporal affairs. I think we can both work inthe service of the Church, closely united bythe Communion of Saints.” Promising Father

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Arrupe “a lot of support: mine, and that of allthe people in the Work, who will always prayand make sacrifices for the Society of Jesus,”he concluded: “I think you will understand itperfectly if I tell you we are like two brotherswho have different professions: one a doctorand the other a lawyer. They cannot set up ajoint practice together, because one job has

nothing whatsoever to do with the other.”25

Vatican II concluded on December 7, 1965.The many deviations that followed betrayedthe letter of the council’s documents andproduced widespread damage. Priests andreligious who abandoned their calling causedmuch harm. But even more harmful were themany priests and religious whose mindswere no longer Catholic but who stayed onwithin the Church, under the passive gaze ofcertain intimidated and weak superiors andpastors who preferred to say nothing ratherthan provoke disobedience.

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“This Pope and the next one”“A flock is healthy when the shepherds

take care of the sheep,” Monsignor Escrivásaid to a group of his daughters, “when theyset the dogs on the wolf; when they don’tdrive the flock to places where there arepoisonous plants, but places where the sheepcan feed on good pasture. It’s the same withsouls. They need shepherds who are notdumb dogs, because dogs that don’t bark areuseless: they have to bark and raise thealarm.

“I beg you to pray very much for theChurch, for the present Pope and for the nextone, who will be a martyr from the start.Pray for the Christian people to have somedefense against all these heresies and er-

rors.”26

As rebellion moved on to questioning whatthe Pope said, Monsignor Escrivá sent a longletter to his children in the Work, urgingthem “to defend the authority of the Pope

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from all possible attack, as his authority can

only be conditioned by God.”27

Vatican II: A pat on the back forOpus Dei

His realistic vision did not mean he wasopposed to or disagreed with the council. Itsdocuments set the stamp of approval onwhat he had been teaching since 1928: theuniversal call to holiness, the sanctifyingvalue of work, the apostolate of lay people,the freedom of the laity in temporal affairs,and unity of life.

During an audience with Paul VI,Monsignor Escrivá reminded him, “YourHoliness has spoken recently about sancti-fied and sanctifying work …”

“Yes, I did,” responded the Pope.“Well, Holy Father, for saying the same

thing, years ago, I was reported to the Holy

Office.”28

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When the council ended, MonsignorEscrivá told his children, “Thirty years ago,some people accused me of being a hereticfor preaching some aspects of our spirit …it’s now clear that we were ahead of thetimes, and it has become clear because

you’ve prayed a lot.”29 Pope Paul VI himselfsaid to him one day, “God has given you thecharism of placing the fullness of the Church

out there in the street.”30 Among the Churchauthorities who pointed him out as a manahead of his time were Cardinals Ugo Poletti,Joseph Frings, Franz König, Giacomo Ler-caro, Sebastiano Baggio, Sergio Pignedoli,Marcelo Gonzalez Martin, Mario Casariego,

and others.31

“The traitors are within”

But these were stormy times in theChurch. On November 25, 1970 MonsignorEscrivá told the directors of the general

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council of the Work, “I am suffering desper-ately, my sons. We are living through a timeof madness. Millions of souls are confused.There is a great danger that in practice allthe sacraments are being emptied of theircontent—all of them, even baptism; and thevery commandments of the law of God arelosing their meaning in people’s con-

sciences.”32

Three years later, at a work session withthe directors of the central advisory, he said,“Pray for the Church, my daughters. Thesituation is very serious. It’s as if our motherwere at the point of death. Although youknow the Church cannot die, because ourLord has promised it cannot, and his word isinfallible. Even so, I have to tell you thatthings are very bad and I would not be agood father or a good shepherd if I didn’t sayso. I often prefer not to make you suffer and

keep such painful things to myself.”33 And amonth later, again speaking with his

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daughters: “My daughters, I feel anguishdeep in my soul for the Church, this goodmother of ours who is being treated so badly.

The traitors are within her.”34

“Pray for the Church, which issick”

He increased his prayer and mortificationand asked everyone for prayers for “theChurch, which is sick,” as well as total fidel-ity to the Pope. “Love the Holy Father, thepresent one and the next one, who will findeverything shattered to bits. Love him andsupport him in everything he says whenever

it is about universal doctrine.”35

He ordered thousands of rosaries and dis-tributed them to his visitors, asking them to“wear them out” praying for the Church. Heset out to travel around Europe, making pen-itential pilgrim ages to shrines of Our Lady.

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These were uncomfortable journeys by car,with his health already failing.

Monsignor Escrivá on stage:Christianityand dynamism

The diabetes he had suffered from, whichwas suddenly cured in 1954, had led to sub-sequent complications: kidney insufficiencyand heart trouble that caused poor circula-tion. He had synovitis in his elbows andknees, cataracts in both eyes and double vis-ion. Yet he embarked on three separaterounds of public catechesis involving longjourneys: in 1970 to Mexico, in 1972 to Spainand Portugal, and the third, divided between1974 and 1975, to Central and South Amer-ica. Each was exhausting. He came with nonotes, no prepared text, no rehearsal. Hecalled it “jumping into the bullring without acape.” Leaving his self-imposed enclosure in

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Rome, he traveled the world talking aboutGod and only about God. He did not preachsermons. In these get-togethers MonsignorEscrivá answered questions. People raiseddoctrinal and moral dilemmas, yet it was afamily conversation.

Mon signor Escrivá’s combination ofChristianity and dynamism engaged people,moved consciences, and initiatedconversions.

“And a thousand lives if I hadthem”

Often he cried out, “I’m suffering over

souls!”36 In March 1975, three months beforehis death, he said to his sons, “When I be-came a priest, the Church seemed to be assolid as a rock, without a single crack. Itsunity was clearly visible: it was a block ofenormous strength. Now, looking at it from ahuman point of view it looks like a building

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in ruins, a heap of sand which is meltingaway, being stamped upon, scattered, anddestroyed. The Pope has said more than oncethat it’s destroying itself. Hard words, ter-rible words! But that cannot really happenbecause Jesus promised that the Holy Spiritwould be with the Church always, until theend of time. What can we do about it? Pray.

We can pray.”37

For years, and with increasing intensity,Monsignor Escrivá had offered his life toGod (often adding “and a thousand lives if Ihad them”) “so that the time of trial may beshortened” in the Church. He renewed thisas his conscious intention every morningwhen he celebrated Mass.

A message for the Pope’s doctor

At 9:25 on the morning of his death, be-fore leaving for Villa delle Rose in Castelgan-dolfo by car, he sent for two of his sons who

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were members of the general council: Gi-useppe Molteni and Father Francisco Vives.He in formed them that Dr. Ugo Piazza, amedical doctor and friend of the Pope,wished to talk to someone in the Work, as hehad just been diagnosed as having an incur-able cancer and given only a few months tolive. Monsignor Escrivá sent them to offerDr. Piazza whatever service they could givehim, and entrusted them with a specific mes-sage for him to give Pope Paul if he shouldsee him or speak to him: Dr. Piazza was totell the Pope “that every day, for years, I havebeen offering the Holy Mass for the Churchand the Pope. You can assure him—becauseyou have heard me say so many times—thatI’ve offered my life for the Pope, no matterwho he is. We keep quiet and try to workhard and peacefully, even though there aresome people in the Church who don’t look on

us kindly.”38

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After they left, he spoke to the central sec-retary, Carmen Ramos, on the house tele-phone and gave her the same message, ask-ing her to pass it on to Dr. Piazza’s daugh-

ter.39 This was not his usual behavior. Whenhe wished to say something to the Pope, heeither wrote him or asked for an audience.Perhaps he just wanted to send the consola-tion of a friendly, supportive message to aPope who was suffering. In any case, whenhe celebrated his last Mass at 7:53, he hadmade a heroic offering of his life and hisdeath for the Pope and the Church.

Tears that burn

His pain for the havoc in the Church waseven more intense while he was celebratingMass. Disregarding the presence of FatherJavier Echevarria, who used to serve hisMass, he would often cry openly, even sob-bing aloud. “At a certain age,” he commented

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on one occasion, “a man’s tears burn his

cheeks.”40

Sometimes at breakfast he would lay asidethe news paper, hold his head in his hands,and start praying, asking God for pardon. Hefelt responsible for the infidelity of so manyecclesiastics and the disorientation of somany Christian, “because I don’t pray or

mortify myself enough.”41 Privately he in-sisted that Don Alvaro should give him per-mission to do twice as much corporal morti-fication as before. One day, preaching a med-itation to the general council, he said, “I amconstantly in Gethsemane, in the agony in

the garden.”42

“Josemaría, you used to be sojovial!”

On New Year’s Day, 1971, he met withsome of the directors of the Work. He spokeabout his deep concern for the Church. And

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then: “Pray too for me to be good, faithful,and cheerful—and that I may be able tosmile! For the last two years, I’ve found itvery hard to smile. Now, when I’m shaving, Ilook at myself in the mirror and I hardly re-cognize myself. I say to myself: ‘Josemaría,you’re not the man you were. You used to beso jovial!’ They’ve taken away my smile. I’venever been a depressed or sullen sort of per-son. But, my daughters, you can’t imaginehow hard it is! It hurts so much when thereare people whom you love but at the sametime you sometimes find repellent! You can’timagine what it is to feel love and repug-nance in your heart at the same time. Pray,

keep on praying for the Church!”43

In the spring of 1971, speaking once againof the Church, he declared to a small groupof women in the Work, “I don’t mind tellingyou that I’m very peaceful now, but someyears ago, when you could see this cata-strophe falling on the Holy Church, I could

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not go up the altar steps without bursting in-to tears like a baby. My eyes got inflamedand I had to go to the optician. I’ve neverbeen one for crying, but they were sweettears, although they hurt my eyes: God sentthem to me.” Then, quoting the words of thelocution clama, ne cesses—“cry aloud, sparenot”—that he had heard the year before inPremeno, but without describing what hadhappened, he added, “I don’t cry any more,but I have clamored ceaselessly since August6, 1970, in the absolute conviction that Godwants it. And I say the same to you: Cry out,

pray, plead from the bottom of your heart!”44

“This psalm will end in glory”

But he felt sure that “the end of all thesesufferings of the Church is in sight: after thenight comes the dawn, and the splendid light

of the sun.”45 Sometimes, as if scrutinizing

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the future, he said, “This psalm will end in

glory—yes, in glory.”46

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19

A Luminous Twilight

You will sing it for me, withouttears

It was an early afternoon in March 1957. Tenor twelve young men were having coffee andchatting in the Galleria del Fumo withMonsignor Escrivá. They had had lunch andwere having a brief get-together before start-ing work again. Someone had drawn one ofthe blue canvas curtains to shade the room alittle from the brilliant sunlight streamingthrough the windows, and someone else, orperhaps the same person, had put on a

record, a song by Nila Pizzi that had won atthe San Remo Festival. It was a lively, catchynumber, and Monsignor Escrivá loved it.

Aprite le finestre al nuovo sole:è primavera, è primavera,Lasciate entrare un poco d’aria pura …Open the windows to the new sun:Spring is here! Spring is here!Let in a little fresh air,with the fragrance of gardens and mead-

ows in flower.Spring is here, it’s the feast of Love!

Then Monsignor Escrivá surprised themall. “I’d like to hear that song when I’m dy-ing,” he said.

When he spoke of his own death, he didnot appear to imagine it as something quickthat would take him by surprise, but as along drawn-out process, a difficult ordeal. Heimagined death as a violent tearing apart ofbody and soul, a final combat for which he

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was always prepared. “It’s all about winningthe last battle,” he said.

Sitting in an armchair with his back to thesliding window of the gallery, he listened tothe song and now and again joined in,singing in Italian:

The first red rose has bloomed.Spring is here, spring is here!The first swallow has returnedAnd glides through the clear sky,Bringing good weather.Boys and girls in love,Open the windows to the new sun,To hope and joy—Spring is here, it’s the feast of love!

He scanned the faces of the people there inthe Galleria del Fumo: Don Alvaro, FatherJavier Echevarria, Father Joaquin Alonso,Father Julian Herranz, Giuseppe Molteni,Juan Cox, Dick Rieman, Bernardo Fernan-dez, Father Severino Monzo. And there hestopped. Father Severino was a tall, robust

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young man, a priest with a doctorate in eco-nomics and canon law, and also a very goodsinger. Monsignor Escrivá gave him a mis-chievous smile and, like someone making anappointment, said, “You’ll sing it for

me—without tears.”1

Not so much as a black tie

He had told his sons more than once thatafter his death he did not want “so much as a

black tie” around.2 Pizzi’s springtime tunefitted in with his idea of death: the impas-sioned meeting of two people in love. Heonce said, “Recently, while I was sayinggood-bye to a young married couple, somewords came to my lips: ‘Pray for me to be agood son of God and to be cheerful untildeath … though dying, for us, is like gettingmarried.’ We ought not to wish for death, butwhen we are told ecce sponsus venit, exiteobviam ei!—‘Come on out, the Bridegroom’s

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here for you!’ we will ask Our Lady to inter-cede for us at that very difficult time whenthe body is separated from the soul—which isextremely painful, because the soul wasmade to be united to the body—and we’ll goout joyfully to meet him who has been the

love of our life!”3

Monsignor Escrivá clearly had a nuptialidea of death. He was fond of singing “hu-man love songs with a divine meaning,” andhe must have prayed more than once takingthese lines as his starting point. They wereadmittedly trite, but they were astonishinglysimilar to the greatest love song ever written,the Canticle of Canticles.

There are instantaneous deaths,but not sudden ones

In August 1941 Father Escrivá preached aretreat to a group of young women in theoratory of the Diego de Leon students’

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residence in Madrid. Encarnita Ortega andNisa Gonzalez were among them. More thanthirty years later Encarnita rememberedfragments of a meditation that had surprisedher. “Death for a Christian, for a person ofOpus Dei, is never sudden,” said FatherEscrivá. “Something you don’t expect is sud-den, and we are constantly looking for andexpecting God. For us, a sudden death is as ifour Lord surprised us from behind, and we

turned round and fell into his arms.”4

One day in December 1965 he went withDon Alvaro to see a set of liturgical vest-ments for Masses for the Dead which Mer-cedes Angles was embroidering. She hadtransferred onto a new piece of black silk themulti-colored flowers of an old Manilashawl. Monsignor Escrivá joked about thevestments being “so flowery and festive” des-pite being for Masses for the dead. Then headded, “It’s very pretty. Besides, it’s right for

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it to be as joyful as that. For us, death isn’t

sad.”5

When the workmen were still buildingwhat was to be the crypt, an oratory withspace for several burial niches, MonsignorEscrivá asked to have it decorated “in acheerful style, with nothing frightening!” Hesuggested symbols of peace, joy, fertility, andimmortality, in soft tones with touches ofgold to lighten the atmosphere of the roomso that people could pray there happily. Hekept repeating, “We Christians don’t die, wejust move house.”

One day he went down to the crypt. In thecenter of the floor was a rectangular spacewith a cover on it; this was to be his tomb.He came close to it, then gathered up his cas-sock and started jumping on the cement cov-er, saying, “You might as well make the mostof the opportunity now! Later on when I’m inthere, you won’t be allowed to do this! I’ll

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jump and skip on it too, while I can—after

all, I’ll have plenty of time to keep still!”6

On December 5, 1968 Monsignor Escriváwent to visit Marisa Tordella, a young mar-ried Italian woman with two very small chil-dren. She was gravely ill, and had asked to beadmitted into Opus Dei just a few monthspreviously. Marisa said, “Father, I’m atpeace. I trust our Lord to help me right up tothe last minute. I think a lot about my chil-dren, because they’re so small! But I’ve askedOur Lady to take care of them when I’mgone.”

Those outside could hear the murmur of alively conversation and even laughter.

Marisa’s husband joined him as soon as hecame out. “You must be wondering whatyour wife and I were talking about to makeus laugh so much,” said Monsignor Escrivá.“Shall I tell you? We were talking about

death!”7

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Over one of the doors where he workedwas an inscription in old Spanish which re-minded him of the tension between time andeternity: Oh cuán poco lo de acá. Oh cuánmucho lo de allá—“How little what is here.How great what is there.”

In bed at night he used to say a prayer hehad composed. “Lord, how often you’ve for-given me! Lord, I appeal not to your justicebut your mercy. You’ve forgiven me so often!Grant me a happy death: whenever youwant, as you want and wherever you want;right now if you like! But, if possible, give mespatium verae poenitentiae, a time for truecontrition: may I have a little more time tolove you more! Grant that I may get rid ofthe residue of evil from my life. May I be ableto wipe out the last traces of it with more

love of God.”8

“A little more time to love you more.” Heoften told his children, “It’s uneconomical todie young.”

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“I live because I do not live”

On October 12, 1968 he was in theZurbaran Residence in Madrid with about200 women university students. One of themsaid passionately, “For people, one must beprepared to do whatever is necessary, to giveof oneself completely, to give up one’s life!”On the stage of the auditorium, MonsignorEscrivá turned rapidly in the direction of thevoice, then replied, “Give up one’s life? No,indeed! We have to live, and go on living! Idon’t agree that death is the answer. I’mquite old but I don’t wish to die—althoughwhenever God wants, I’ll be delighted to goto that encounter: in domum Domini ibimus!With his mercy we will go to God’s house.”

Then, softening his tone, he went on. “Prayfor me to be cheerful, even when I am dying.May those around me see me smile as I havealways seen my children smile at the hour oftheir death, knowing that vita mutatur, non

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tollitur, life is changed, not taken away; thatit’s nothing more than moving house, leavingbehind the things of this world to go andmeet love: a love which doesn’t ever betrayus, which satisfies without cloying, which islight, total harmony, delight, the love ofloves.

“You’ll say, ‘Then do you wish to die, Fath-er?’ Absolutely not! That would be againstthe spirit of Opus Dei. I’ve been preachingfor forty years that we don’t desire death.Wishing for death is mere cowardice. Wehave to desire to live, to work for our Lordand love all souls deeply. In the time of St.Teresa of Avila, people in love— the mysticsas well as those who sang about humanlove—to demonstrate the intensity of theirlove, used to cry ‘I die because I do not die.’There’s a famous poem which goes

Come, death, so furtivelythat I do not feel you cominglest the pleasure of dying

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should bring me back to life again.“I disagree with that way of thinking, and I

say the opposite: ‘I live because it is not Iwho live; it is Christ who lives in me.’ MayChrist live in me, my daughters. If you wantto do something for me, ask God our Lordthat Christ may live in me. Even though I’mso old, I’d want to live for many more years,to be able to love all souls, everyone, andshow with deeds that I’ll never bear a grudgeagainst anybody. Living and working! Age

doesn’t matter: we’re always young!”9

A house of cards

In the years 1902–1913, in the peacefulrural backwater of Barbastro and Fonz whereJosemaría Escrivá spent his childhood, thenorm was for a child to live happily unawareof suffering and sorrow. Yet his three young-er sisters died in the space of four years.Rosario on July 11, 1910, aged nine months,

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when Josemaría was eight, Lolita on July 10,1912, at the age of five, when Josemaría wasten, and on October 6, 1913, Asuncion, nick-named Chon, who was eight.

His sisters had died from the youngest up-wards, as if death were ascending a ladder.With the logic of children, he told his motherone day, “It’s my turn next.” The convictiondid not make him gloomy, but it did makehim grow up faster. One afternoon his sisterCarmen was playing cards with friends. Thegame over, they built a tall house of cards.They were keeping very quiet and holdingtheir breaths, when Josemaría walked in. Hecame up to the table and with a sweep of hishand brought down the house of cards.

“Why did you do that?” the girls ex-claimed. Josemaría hesitated a moment,then said, “That’s what God does withpeople: you build up a castle and when it’s

almost finished, God knocks it down.”10

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Seeing with God’s eyes

Did he have an intuition that his end wasnear? It seems he did. Speaking to hisdaughters in the Work, he began to makereferences to his death. “Years ago I did notsay these things, but now it pleases God thatI speak like this. I have to be ready, so as to

hear him when he calls me.”11

On one occasion he told his sons, “I’m nolonger needed. I’ll be able to help you betterfrom heaven. You’ll do things better than I.

You don’t need me.”12

Often he endorsed the person who was tosucceed him. “When I die, my children, Iwant you to love the Father very much, nomatter who he is, even though it could passthrough your mind that he’s not intelligentenough or holy enough, or a thousand otherthings that might occur to you and which youhave to reject immediately, because they areevil. Love him very much, my children: it’s

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very hard to carry this burden!”13 And again,“In this blessed Rome, I sometimes hear thatthe founder of a particular institution hasdied and the institution then undergoes atremendous upheaval. I assure you that inthe Work there will be no such thing. Of that

I’m certain.”14

“I want to see you face to face”

During the last years of his life, CarmenRamos was central secretary for the womenof Opus Dei worldwide, and often discussedmatters of governance with MonsignorEscrivá. She regularly took notes of what hesaid. From October 1974 to June 1975 she re-corded his exact words.

Later Carmen realized that in those lastnine months he consistently added a fewwords on a more personal note. He asked forprayers for the Church; he inquired afterpeople, and he said what he never normally

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said face to face: “I love all of you so much,my daughter!” He felt an urge to “thank youfor the way you look after me.” And beforehanging up, he would say good-bye in cheer-ful, warm tones: “God bless you, my daugh-

ter!”15

On January 1, 1975, the year he died, hespent a while with his sons on the generalcouncil in the Commissions Room in VillaTevere. He asked for champagne to bebrought in to toast the New Year. “This yearwhich is beginning now, I will be much

closer to our Lord than ever,” he said.16

On January 29, he left for Venezuela toembark on his third catechetical journey inSouth America. He was exhausted. For sometime his sight had been failing, and with hisright eye he could barely distinguish shapesand found light very bothersome. Very fewpeople knew because he did not complain.He walked briskly, wore dark glasses insunny places and around the house, and

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going up or down stairs made sure that Fath-er Javier was in front and Don Alvarobehind.

As they were about to leave on this thirdpreaching trip to Latin America, word camefrom the airport that the flight was delayedbecause of fog. Monsignor Escrivá was in thedining room of Villa Vecchia with DonAlvaro. He asked to see Carmen Ramos andMarlies Kücking, and chatted with them for awhile. In a voice that cracked and was faint,he confided, “My daughters, I’m not keen, Ihave no desire to go on this journey. I’m go-ing to South America again because it is theexpress will of God that I should go. But Imyself don’t have the strength. I’m also go-ing because I love my children, and I makeGod’s will my own; but if it were not so, Iwouldn’t be making this journey.”

He held a glass of water in which a tabletwas dissolving. Holding it out to Don Alvaro,

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he said, “Alvaro, look and see if it’s dissolvedyet, I can’t see it.”

“It’s a cloudy day, Father, and quite dark

in here … but no, it hasn’t dissolved yet.”17

The problem was the cataracts diagnosedin Milan by Dr. Romagnoli. MonsignorEscrivá had chosen as a sort of leitmotif forhis prayer this year the words of the Gospel:Domine, ut videam! “Lord, that I may see!”Occasionally in the oratory, gaze fixed on thecrucifix on the altar, he would say sadly: “I

can’t see you! I can’t see you, my Jesus!”18

From Psalm 26 he took the words vultumtuum, Domine, requiram—“thy face, Lord,do I seek,” and repeated them constantly,from at least December 1973 on. Sometimes,even during a meal, he would exclaim, “Lord,

I want to give you a hug.”19

“People in love try to see each other,” hesaid. “They only have eyes for their love. Isn’tit only natural for this to be so? The humanheart feels this urge. I cannot honestly deny

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that I’m moved by a desire to contemplatethe face of Christ. Vultum tuum, Domine, re-quiram. I will seek your face, O Lord. I liketo close my eyes and think how the time willcome, whenever God wills, when I will beable to see him, not as in a glass darkly …

but face to face.”20

Another time he told some of his sons, “Isimply can’t stop learning. I’m dying to seeJesus, to know his face. I hunger to meet myGod. Yesterday I wrote down something I’dread, and I recited it over and over again: os-tende faciem tuam et salvi erimus—‘show usyour face, and we shall be saved.’ Grant meto see your face, and then I’ll be in heaven,

I’ll be saved, I’ll be safe!”21 He once said,“When I’m doing the prayer on my own, I of-ten shout it out, even though I’m doing men-tal prayer! I hunger to see the face of Jesus

Christ! But let it be. The time will come.”22

The final folly

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Several times during his catechetical tourof Spain and Portugal in 1972 he said he stillhad “three follies to accomplish.” But he onlymentioned two: Cavabianca, the site of theRoman College of the Holy Cross, and theShrine of Our Lady of Torreciudad near thePyrenees in Huesca in northern Spain. Oneday in Portugal a son of his asked, “What’sthe third one?”

Monsignor Escrivá smiled broadly. “To diein time!” he answered. “Because the time will

come when I will just be a nuisance here.”23

And one day in 1966 he had said, “I beg ofGod that I may be able to dress myself rightup to the last day. It’s more reasonable, andmore in keeping with the spirit of Opus Dei,that I should die peacefully in bed, like abourgeois. But if I had my way I would like

to die with even my shoes on!”24

And he did. He died in his office, with hisshoes on.

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“Having done his prayer, he setoff”

On that last day, June 26, 1975, he got upvery early, as he always did, and put on hisnew cassock because he was going out. Hedid half an hour of prayer as usual.

He celebrated a Mass in honor of Our Ladyin his oratory at 7:53 a.m. The oratory had abeautiful reredos in Carrara marble repres-enting the Holy Trinity. Father Javier Eche-varria served the Mass. After his thanksgiv-ing, he had a frugal breakfast with DonAlvaro and Father Javier while lookingthrough the newspaper. He spoke to two ofhis sons in Opus Dei, Father Francisco Vivesand Giuseppe Molteni, and asked them topay a visit to Dr. Ugo Piazza, Paul VI’s doctor(see Chapter 18). At 9:35, with Don Alvaroand Father Javier, he left for Castelgandolfo;Javier Cotelo was driving. The heat wasalready oppressive. They said a part of the

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Rosary, then chatted. Cotelo told about somenephews of his who had visited Rome.

The sitting room decorated withfans

They arrived at Villa delle Rose in Castel-gandolfo at 10:30 a.m. Monsignor Escriváwanted to say good-bye to his daughters inOpus Dei—graduates from all over the worldwho were doing further studies in the RomanCollege of Our Lady—because he planned totravel to Asturias in northern Spain in acouple of days. As soon as he met them, hesaid, “I was very keen to come and see you.We’re spending these last few hours in Rometrying to finish off all the work in hand, soI’m really not at home to anyone except you.”

He spoke about how all the baptizedshould have “a priestly soul”: taking God topeople and people to God. He also insistedon love and loyalty to the Church and the

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Pope, “no matter who he is.” Then he askedthem for news. Several talked about theapostolate of Opus Dei in their countries.

“I always say the same thing,” was hiscomment. “You have lots of work ahead ofyou!”

After about twenty minutes, MonsignorEscrivá began to feel unwell. He went downto the priest’s room, a small office, with DonAlvaro and Father Javier, and rested a while;when he felt a little better he got up to leave.They urged him to stay and rest longer, buthe refused.

On his way out, he pointed out to Chus deMeer and Elisa Luque some details thatcould be improved in the priest’s office. Thenhe went to the oratory for a moment to bidour Lord farewell. Chus, Elisa, Conchita, andVale went down to the garage to see him off,and he said, “Forgive me, my daughters, forbeing a nuisance!”

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Javier Cotelo drove fast. Mon signorEscrivá had asked to be taken home by theshortest route. He seemed tired but peaceful,and his expression was contented, evencheerful. He said little, and the others con-versed sporadically. Most likely he was con-tinuing his thanksgiving for the Mass he hadcelebrated that morning, as was his custom;from midday on he would begin to preparefor the Mass of the following day.

It was three minutes before twelve whenthe car stopped in the garage of Villa Tevere.They went directly to greet our Lord in theBlessed Trinity oratory. Monsignor Escrivágenuflected on his right knee in a profoundgesture of adoration. He looked at the taber-nacle, which was in the shape of a Eucharist-ic dove.

“Javi, I don’t feel well”

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They went up in the wooden elevator toDon Alvaro’s office, where MonsignorEscrivá worked. As soon as he entered theroom he called out, “Javi!” Father JavierEchevarria was out on the landing, closingthe door of the elevator. Monsignor Escrivásummoned all his strength to call again:“Javi! … I don’t feel well.” Then he collapsed.The midday sun was pouring in through thewindows, and the Angelus bells were ringing.

“Ego te absolvo—I absolve you.”

Don Alvaro, realizing the gravity of thesituation, gave him absolution while holdinghim in his arms. As he made the sign of thecross over him he recalled how exactlythirty-one years before, on June 26, 1944, asa newly ordained priest he had heard FatherEscrivá’s confession and given him absolu-tion for the first time. Since then, how oftenhad he made that same gesture, saying ego te

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absolvo a peccatis tuis—“I absolve you fromyour sins”!

Soon afterward he administered theAnointing of the Sick. Monsignor Escriváhad often begged him forcefully, “When I’m

dying, don’t deprive me of that treasure!”25

For an hour and a half a titanic struggle tookplace in Don Alvaro’s office, with cardiacmassage, artificial respiration, injections,oxygen, and electrocardiograms. Several ofhis spiritual sons, Father Dan Cummings,Fernando Valenciano, Umberto Farri, Gi-useppe Molteni (Peppino) as well as DoctorsJosé Luis Soria ( Joe) and Juan Manuel Ver-daguer took turns applying these remedies asMonsignor Escrivá de Balaguer lay on thefloor.

Father Javier Echevarria came in and outbringing medical assistance as needed, thenstood back a bit. Catching Don Alvaro’s eye,he burst into inconsolable tears.

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Kneeling on the floor beside MonsignorEscrivá’s body, Joe Soria bent down until hewas touching his face. He lifted one eyelidand then the other. Monsignor Escrivá’s pu-pils were completely dilated. There was nocontraction, no reaction to the stimulus oflight. He whispered, “No pupil reflex.”

He kept on scrutinizing the eyes for somesign of life. “It was like diving into the Fath-

er’s interior,”26 he said later.As they tried to keep Monsignor Escrivá’s

heart beating, Don Alvaro telephoned Car-men Ramos and asked her to get everyone inLa Montagnola and Villa Sacchetti to go tothe different oratories in the house and pray“for a very urgent intention.” But from a hu-man point of view, there was nothing to bedone. Monsignor Escrivá’s heart hadstopped.

Now there were other things to do. ThePope was informed via Cardinal Villot, thesecretary of state, of Monsignor Escrivá’s

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death. Others got a board on which to carryMonsignor Escrivá’s body to the oratory ofOur Lady of Peace. Don Alvaro removed therelic of the lignum crucis, the True Cross,which Monsignor Escrivá was wearing roundhis neck. “I will wear this lignum crucis untilwe elect a successor to the Father,” he toldthose present.

As he took off Monsignor Escrivá’s shoes,he was unable to hold back his tears.

Father Javier Echevarria emptied thepockets of his cassock: his small pocket di-ary, crucifix, rosary beads, a handkerchief,and a whistle which a girls’ club had senthim. Father Carlos Cardona, Father JulianHerranz, and Father Javier Echevarria thendressed him in liturgical vestments: theamice, lace alb, cincture, stole, and chasuble.Meanwhile Jesus Alvarez had ordered acoffin, prepared the grave in the crypt forburial, and called a friend who was a sculptor

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to come and make a death mask ofMonsignor Escrivá’s face and hands.

When all these tasks were finished, every-one left except Don Alvaro and Father Javier.Several women came into the oratory andcleaned Monsignor Escrivá’s face, removingthe bits of plaster left by the mask, andcombed his hair. They used a set of combsand brushes he had been given years before,but which he had given to his daughters withthe same excuse as always: “I don’t needthem, and what would I be doing with these

luxuries?”27 They decorated the oratory withfresh gladioli and red roses. MonsignorEscrivá’s body was laid out on a white sheetand a funeral pall on the floor, in the style ofthe nobility who in death refused to be liftedup on a platform or catafalque. At oncepriests started saying requiem Masses decorpore insepulto (before the burial), oneafter the other all afternoon, evening, night,

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and the following day up to the funeral Massitself.

As soon as Vatican Radio officially an-nounced the death of the founder of OpusDei, a constant, peaceful flow of peoplebegan to pass through Villa Tevere to pray.The news traveled fast by radio, telephone,cable, and telex. Those in France, Germany,and Spain heard quickly, but delays on thetelephone lines meant that Ireland, Aus-tralia, Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguayheard the news several hours later. Since thepeople of Opus Dei in Spain were the “first-born” in the Work, the counselor of Opus Deithere, Father Florencio Sanchez Bella, re-ceived a call early from Don Alvaro.

Don Alvaro’s tribute

From dawn next day Don Alvaro stayednear the body of Monsignor Escrivá as it layin the chapel, moving only to greet cardinals

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and bishops who had come to pray.28 At mid-morning he rose from the side bench, wentto the center of the nave, knelt besideMonsignor Escrivá’s head, and bent down asif to kiss him, but he did not: he rested hisforehead on the forehead of MonsignorEscrivá. He stayed in that position for sever-al seconds, asking “to be a faithful executorof his wishes” and “that I may be capable ofcaring for the Work as you would” in thisperiod of mourning and appointing asuccessor.

Rising, he took three red roses from one ofthe bouquets and placed them at MonsignorEscrivá’s feet. Words of St. Paul came to hislips—a tribute he could never have expressedin the lifetime of Monsignor Escrivá, becausehe would not have allowed it: Quam speciosipedes evangelizantium pacem, evangelizan-tium bonum! “How beautiful are the feet ofthose who preach the Gospel of peace, of

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those who bring glad tidings of good

things!”29

Don Alvaro knelt there beside MonsignorEscrivá’s body, repeating his tribute interi-orly. He recalled Psalm 18: et ipse tamquamsponsus procedens de talamo suo, “he comesforth like a bridegroom leaving his cham-

ber.”30 Death for him meant the culminationof love.

And he will rise up like a giant

The same psalm goes on: Exsultavit utgigas ad curren dam viam, “like a giant he

rejoiced to run his course.”31 Don Alvaro re-membered how Monsignor Escrivá had en-joyed this verse and how vigorously he usedto recite it. This was how he had always seenhim, as a giant, ut gigas.

He saw him again now, still a giant.Monsignor Escrivá reposed peacefully like awarrior who had bravely fought his last

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battle. But there was something disconcert-ing in this still ness. Monsignor Escrivá wasnot made to lie inert. He was one of thosewho live and die on their feet, since theyhave no time for resting.

Don Alvaro raised his eyes, and caughtFather Javier’s glance. His eyes were swollenand red from crying. He gave the youngerman a faint smile, conveying confidence.“Nothing will happen in the Work. Nothingat all. There will be no disquiet, no orphan-hood, no vacuum … because the Father, likethe patriarchs of ongoing families, not only‘engendered sons and daughters’ but en-gendered sons capable of being Fathers. Andso he will always be the Father of all the chil-dren and the Father of all the fathers.”

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CHRONOLOGY

DATE EVENT

1902

January 9: JosemaríaEscrivá born in Barbastro, thesecond child of José Escrivá andDolores Albas who were mar-ried in Barbastro on September19, 1898.

His older sister Carmenwas born on July 16, 1899. Hisfather had a textile business anda chocolate factory. He wasfrom Fonz and his family camefrom Balaguer. His mother wasfrom Barbastro, and her family

came from the highlands ofAragon.

January 13: He is baptizedin the parish cathedral of theAssumption and given thenames of Jose, María, Julian,and Mariano. Years later he willjoin the first two names togeth-er as a sign of his love for OurLady and St. Joseph. He will usehis fourth name, Mariano, quiteoften in his correspondenceduring the Spanish Civil war.

April 23: Josemaría receivesConfirmation.

1904

Josemaría becomes seri-ously ill and doctors give up ontreatment, but he unexpectedlyrecovers. His parents attribute

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his cure to the intercession ofOur Lady of Torreciudad, andtake him on a pilgrimage ofthanksgiving to the shrinewhere the ancient image of OurLady of Torreciudad isvenerated.

1906Josemaría begins nursery

school at the Daughters ofCharity school in Barbastro.

1908Josemaría Escrivá starts

school with the Piarist Brothersin Barbastro.

1910Josemaría’s youngest sister

Rosario dies aged nine months.

1912On April 23, Josemaría

Escrivá makes his First Com-munion, a little younger than is

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usual at the time, in accordancewith the new decree of Pius X.On June 11 he sits the commonentrance for the baccalaureatein the Huesca Institute. His sis-ter Dolores (“Lolita”) dies at theage of five.

1913Death of Josemaría’s sister

Asuncion or “Chon,” aged eight.

1912–15Josemaría sits exams of his

first three years of baccalaur-eate in Lerida.

1915

His father’s business col-lapses. The whole family movesto Logroño where Mr. JoséEscrivá gets a job in a textilestore.

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1917–18

Josemaría goes to San Anto-nio school and finishes his bac-calaureate in the Logroño Insti-tute. He has the first inklings ofhis vocation. At the end of 1917some footprints in the snow of aDiscalced Carmelite arouse inhim a strong desire to love God.Forgoing the study of architec-ture he decides to become apriest so as to be more availablefor whatever God wills for him.

1918

Young Josemaría Escrivábegins his studies of theology inthe seminary of Logroño as aday pupil.

1919

Josemaría’s brother Santi-ago born. Josemaría realizesthat God has heard his prayer:on deciding to become a priest

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he prayed for his parents tohave another son to take hisplace at home.

1920

Josemaría moves to Sara-gossa to further his study oftheology at the PontificalUniversity. He lodges in the St.Francis of Paola seminary.

1922

Cardinal Soldevila, arch-bishop of Saragossa, appointsJosemaría Escrivá to the post ofseminary inspector of St. Fran-cis of Paola and confers on himthe tonsure and minor orders.

1923Escrivá begins to study law

at the University of Saragossa.

1924June 14: Josemaría ordained

sub-deacon.

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November 27: His fatherJosé Escrivá dies suddenly inLogroño.

December 20: Josemaría isordained deacon.

1925

March 28: JosemaríaEscrivá is ordained priest in thechurch of the San Carlos semin-ary where he has spent so manyhours in prayer—sometimesspending the whole night therealone during his years as a sem-inarian. He celebrates his firstMass in the chapel of Our Ladyof the Pillar on March 30 for therepose of his father’s soul. Thenext day he takes up his firstpastoral mission, as a locumpriest in the parish of Per-diguera, a small town of 870

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inhabitants in the province ofAragon at the foot of the Alcubi-erre mountain range. He will al-ways remember fondly his first“cure of souls” as a priest.Returning to Saragossa on May18, he takes charge of the chap-laincy of the Church of St. PeterNolasco. He carries on with hislaw studies. To support his fam-ily—his mother, his sister Car-men, and brother Santiago—hegives private classes andteaches at the Amado Institute.

1927

Father Escrivá takes his lawdegree in January. He works inFombuena parish from April1–17. April 19: he moves toMadrid. From June 1 he isChaplain of the Foundation forthe Sick in Madrid and carries

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out a tireless apostolate: he pre-pares thousands of children forconfession and communion;visits the sick and the disabledin their homes or in hospitals;administers the sacraments tomany souls who are dying; andperforms works of mercy in thepoorest areas of Madrid.Besides all this, he teaches Ro-man law and canon law in theCicuendez Academy. He beginswriting his Intimate Notes.

1928

On October 2 Father Escriváis on retreat in the headquartersof the Pauline Fathers (Garciade Paredes Street, Madrid).When sorting some notes in hisroom, he sees Opus Dei, a wayto holiness in ordinary workand the fulfillment of Christian

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duties. From that moment on-ward, he redoubles his prayerand mortification, intensifieshis apostolate, and begins tolook for people who can under-stand and practice this idealthat God has made clear to him.

1930

February 14: While FatherJosemaría Escrivá is celebratingMass in the private oratory ofthe Marchioness of Onteiro (Al-cala Galiano Street, Madrid),God causes him to see thatthere are to be women as well asmen in Opus Dei. The firstpeople of Opus Dei come one byone as the result of thefounder’s prodigious apostolatewith people from every walk oflife: men and women, priestsand lay people, students and

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workers, the healthy and thesick. The first person to respondfully to God’s calling to OpusDei is Isidoro Zorzano, an en-gineer, who asks to be admittedto the Work on August 24,1930.

1931

Father Escrivá has to leavethe chaplaincy of the Founda-tion for the Sick in May. He be-comes chaplain to the EnclosedAugustinians of St. Elizabeth onSeptember 20. He visits pa-tients in the General Hospitalon Sundays with groups ofstudents.

1933

The first apostolic work ofOpus Dei, the DYA Academy,opens its doors in December ina flat in Luchana Street in

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Madrid. Months later, inSeptember 1934, the academyand the residence move to 50Ferraz Street. Hundreds of stu-dents are to receive Christianformation in these centers. Sothe task entrusted by God toFather Escrivá on October 2,1928 takes off.

1934

December 11: Father Escriváis appointed rector of the RoyalFoundation of St. Elizabeth bythe president of the Republic.His book Spiritual Considera-tions is published in Cuenca,followed by Holy Rosary.

1936

July 18: Outbreak of civilwar all over Spain. For the firstfew months of the conflict Fath-er Josemaría Escrivá stays on in

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Madrid, in great danger of hislife. He takes refuge in differenthouses, not daring to stay any-where very long. Later on hehides in a psychiatric hospitalbelonging to Dr. Angel Suils, inArturo Soria Street.

1937

In March Father JosemaríaEscrivá moves to the Honduranlegation where he is protectedby its diplomatic immunity.Towards the end of August, heobtains a document from thelegation which allows him a cer-tain amount of freedom. To-gether with other young men ofOpus Dei he gets ready to goover to the other side, where re-ligion is not persecuted and itwill be possible to develop theapostolates of the Work. He

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leaves Madrid on October 7, go-ing to Valencia and then Bar-celona. From there they set outon November 19 to cross thePyrenees, on a long and danger-ous trek to Andorra. He is ac-companied by José María Al-bareda, Tomas Alvira, FranciscoBotella, Pedro Casciaro, MiguelFisac, Juan Jimenez Vargas,and Manuel Sainz de los Terrer-os. From Andorra they go toFrance, and finally arrive backin San Sebastian in the Nationalzone of Spain on December 12.

1938

From January onwardsFather Escrivá lives in Burgos.From there, he visits the differ-ent battlefronts to carry on theapostolic work which the CivilWar has interrupted. Father

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Escrivá has people he loves,friends and sons of his in OpusDei, on both sides of the CivilWar. Despite the uncertainty ofthe mail, he writes letters tomany people, encouraging themto keep up their Christian spirit.Hundreds of letters from thistime survive.

1939

Father Escrivá returns toMadrid on March 28. He ob-tains his Ph.D. in law at theCentral University. The firstedition of The Way, a spiritualbest-seller, is published. It willeventually spread all over theworld, selling over four millioncopies.

1939–46Opus Dei spreads all over

Spain: Valencia, Barcelona,

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Valladolid, Saragossa, Bilbao,Seville, Santiago.

1940–44

Several bishops from differ-ent dioceses ask Father Escriváto give retreats to priests andseminarians: his preaching isheard by thousands duringthese years. He also gives re-treats to several religious com-munities. In this period afterthe Spanish Civil War there is ageneral lack of understanding ofthe “universal call to holiness”which the founder of Opus Deiis preaching.

1941

March 19: Bishop LeopoldoEijo y Garay of Madrid grantsapproval of Opus Dei as a“Pious Union.”

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April 22: Doña Dolores Al-bas dies in Madrid while herson Father Josemaría is inLerida preaching a retreat todiocesan priests. Several peopleof Opus Dei who live in theDiego de Leon residence lookafter the founder’s mother asshe is dying.

1943

February 14: While celebrat-ing Mass in a women’s center ofOpus Dei in Jorge ManriqueStreet in Madrid JosemaríaEscrivá founds the Priestly Soci-ety of the Holy Cross, insepar-ably united to Opus Dei.

July 15: Isidoro Zorzano diesof Hodgkin’s Disease.

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October 11: Opus Dei re-ceives the nihil obstat from theHoly See as a diocesan founda-tion, which is formally estab-lished on December 8 in thediocese of Madrid. Two youngdoctors in law who are in OpusDei, José Orlandis and SalvadorCanals, move to Rome on Fath-er Escrivá’s instructions.

1944

June 25: The bishop of Mad-rid ordains the first threepriests of Opus Dei: Alvaro delPortillo, José María Hernandezde Garnica, and José LuisMuzquiz. Father Escrivá pub-lishes his doctoral thesis, LaAbadesa de las Huelgas.

1945In February, Father Escrivá

visits Sister Lucia, one of the

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Fatima visionaries, in Tuy. Sheencourages him to set up OpusDei in Portugal.

1946

The apostolic work of OpusDei begins in Portugal, Italy,England, Ireland, and France.

June 23: Father JosemaríaEscrivá arrives in Rome.

July 16 and December 8: Pi-us XII receives him in privateaudience.

1947

February 24: Opus Dei ob-tains the Decretum Laudis fromthe Holy See. From that mo-ment Father Escrivá can acceptmarried people into the Work.

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March 29: A general meet-ing of the Barbastro town coun-cil declares Father JosemaríaEscrivá a “favorite son ofBarbastro.”

April 22: He is appointeddomestic prelate by Pope PiusXII. He acquires a villa in thedistrict of Parioli in Rome,which becomes the headquar-ters of Opus Dei. That sameyear work to adapt and enlargethe building is started, lastinguntil 1960.

1948

June 29: Father Escrivá es-tablishes the Roman College ofthe Holy Cross. Thousands ofprofessional men from differentcountries belonging to Opus Deiwill study there over the years.

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October 11: The cause ofIsidoro Zorzano’s beatificationis initiated in the diocese ofMadrid-Alcala.

1949

From Rome, the founderoversees the spread of Opus Deiall over the world. The firstpeople of Opus Dei reach the USand Mexico.

1950

June 16: Pius XII grants hisdefinitive approval to Opus Dei.From now on, diocesan priestscan join the Work. Cooperatorstoo are admitted—people whowish to cooperate materially orspiritually with the apostolatesof Opus Dei, whether they areCatholic or not, even non-Chris-tians. In this Father Escrivá an-ticipates the ecumenical spirit

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of the age, twelve years beforeVatican II.

1951

A year of particular harass-ment against the Work: on May14, Monsignor Escrivá consec-rates the families of people ofOpus Dei to the Holy Family.On August 15 he goes to Loretoto consecrate the Work to theMost Sweet Heart of Mary. Ageneral congress of Opus Dei isheld at Molinoviejo (Segovia),Spain. Escrivá is awarded theCross of Alfonso X by the Span-ish government.

1952

October 26: Josemaríamakes a new consecration ofthe Work, this time to theSacred Heart of Jesus. The workof Opus Dei begins in the

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German Federal Republic. Thefoundation which later becomesthe University of Navarre is setup in Pamplona.

1953

Escrivá goes to Spain andcelebrates the silver jubilee ofthe Work on October 2. Decem-ber 12: establishment of the Ro-man College of Our Lady, wherewomen of Opus Dei will takefurther degrees in philosophyand theology and receive in-tensive formation in the spiritof the Work. They will go on todevelop the work of Opus Deiall over the world.

1954

April 27, feast of Our Lady ofMontserrat: Monsignor Escrivá,who has suffered from a seriouscase of diabetes mellitus for the

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previous ten years, suddenlygoes into a brief coma (ana-phylactic shock) and appears todie. When he recovers con-sciousness, his illness is cured.This same year he receives theCross of St. Raymond ofPeñafort.

1955

April 22: Monsignor Jose-maría Escrivá sets out fromRome to visit Milan, Como,Zurich, Basle, Lucerne, Berne,Freiberg, St. Gallen, Bonn, Co-logne, Munich, and Vienna.Later this year he travels againto Switzerland, France, Belgi-um, Holland, Germany, andAustria. In Vienna on December4, he invokes Our Lady with theaspiration Sancta Maria, StellaOrientis, filios tuos

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adiuva—“Holy Mary, Star of theEast, help your children!” whichhe will use from then on to en-trust the apostolate with EastEuropeans to her. In Decemberhe obtains a doctorate in sacredtheology at the LateranUniversity in Rome.

1956

Monsignor Escrivá contin-ues his rapid trips aroundEurope carrying out what hecalls “the early history” of theWork in Switzerland, France,Belgium, Germany, and variouscities in the north of Italy. InAugust a general congress ofOpus Dei is held in the Swisstown of Einsiedeln. Among oth-er conclusions, it was decidedthat the general council of theWork should reside in Rome.

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The Spanish government con-fers on Monsignor Escrivá theCross of Isabel la Catolica.

1957

June 20: Carmen Escrivádies. She contributed hugely togiving a warm atmosphere, at-tractiveness, and love to thecenters of the Work, especiallyin the difficult early years. Herbody is interred in Villa Tevere,the headquarters of Opus Dei inRome.

July 23: Monsignor Escriváis appointed consultant to theSacred Congregation of Semin-aries and Universities and anhonorary academic member ofthe Pontifical Academy of Ro-man Theology. The Holy See

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entrusts the prelature of Yauyos(Peru) to Opus Dei.

1958–62

Monsignor Escrivá spendsthe summers in England andalso visits Ireland, personallypromoting the spread of OpusDei towards the English-speak-ing world.

1958

In August the work of OpusDei begins in Kenya, the firstAfrican country; and in Decem-ber in Japan, the first country ofthe Far East.

1960

March 9: Monsignor Jose-maría Escrivá has his first audi-ence with Pope John XXIII.October 21: he is given an hon-orary doctorate by theUniversity of Saragossa.

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October 25: He chairs a meetingcalled to establish theUniversity of Navarre and is ap-pointed its chancellor. He re-ceives other civil awards such asthe Cross of Carlos III, mem-bership of the College of Aragonand “favorite son” of Pamplona.

1961

Monsignor Escrivá appoin-ted consultant of the pontificalcommission for the authenticinterpretation of the code ofcanon law. In November a gen-eral congress of Opus Dei isheld in Rome.

1962

October 11: Second VaticanCouncil begins. MonsignorEscrivá asks all his children forprayers for the council.

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1963The work of Opus Dei begins

in Australia.

1964

January 24: MonsignorJosemaría Escrivá has his firstaudience with Pope Paul VI.Opus Dei spreads to thePhilippines.

1965

November 21: Paul VI in-augurates the buildings of theELIS Center, a center for theprofessional training and quali-fication of workers which theHoly See entrusted to Opus Deiin the time of Pope John XXIII.

December 8: The SecondVatican Council is brought to aclose. Monsignor Escrivá hasmaintained a close relationshipwith many of the council fathers

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during the time of the council.He has the joy of seeing thecouncil endorse as doctrine ofthe Church what he has beenteaching since October 2, 1928:the universal call to holiness,which is addressed to lay peoplein the midst of the world andthrough their ordinary work.

1966

In June an ordinary generalcongress of Opus Dei is held inRome.

September 7: MonsignorEscrivá is proclaimed “favoriteson” of Barcelona.

1967

In October MonsignorEscrivá gives the homily “Pas-sionately Loving the World” onthe campus of the University of

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Navarre before thousands ofpeople. The homily is a com-pendium of the spirituality ofOpus Dei which Vatican II hasjust sanctioned.

1968

Conversations withMonsignor Escrivá is pub-lished: a collection of interviewswith journalists from differentcountries. The University ofPiura (Peru) is founded;Monsignor Escrivá is its firstchancellor.

1969

The founder of Opus Deiconvenes a special congress ofOpus Dei in Rome, with his ex-press desire young people fromdifferent countries take part.Among the 87 men and 105 wo-men (who hold their meetings

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separately) there is a wide rangeof nationalities and ages. Thecongress lasts from September1–15 in its initial phase. Work-shops and meetings follow inthe countries where Opus Dei isestablished. Over 50,700 peopleof the Work participate,

presenting 54,871 writtencommunications. Meanwhile,Monsignor Escrivá follows thecongress’s progress with hisprayers. He goes to the Marianshrines of Our Lady of the Pil-lar, Torreciudad, Fatima, andGuadalupe. He also went on pil-grimage to Lourdes, Sonsoles,Our Lady of the Pillar, Our Ladyof Mercy, Einsiedeln, andLoreto. The second stage of the

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Congress is held from August30 to September 14, 1970.

1970

April 7: Monsignor Escrivágoes on pilgrimage to Torre-ciudad. He prays to Our Lady inthe same shrine his parentstook him to when he was twoand had just recovered from aserious illness. Here a great newMarian shrine is being built, onhis initiative, with severalhouses attached for retreats andconferences.

May 15 to June 22: He goesto Mexico on a penitential pil-grimage to the shrine of OurLady of Guadalupe in line withothers he has already made inEurope: Lourdes, Fatima, Ein-siedeln, Loreto. He prays

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specifically for the Church andespecially for the Pope.

1971May 30: Monsignor Escrivá

consecrates Opus Dei to theHoly Spirit.

1972

Monsignor Escrivá makes atour of Spanish and Portuguesecities in October and November,meeting thousands of people ina public catechesis, which hedevelops along the lines of fam-ily gatherings with thousands ofpeople.

1973

Some of MonsignorEscrivá’s homilies publishedover the last few years are com-piled in a single book under thetitle Christ Is Passing By. Otherbooks follow after his death:

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Friends of God, In Love withthe Church, The Way of theCross, Furrow, and The Forge.

1974–75

Monsignor JosemaríaEscrivá undertakes two longjourneys of catechesis in LatinAmerica: Brazil, Argentina,Chile, Peru, Equador,Venezuela, and Guatemala.

1975

March 28: Escrivá quietlycelebrates the golden jubilee ofhis ordination to the priest-hood. He goes to Spain for thelast time from May 15–31, mak-ing a pilgrimage to the shrine ofTorreciudad which has not yetbeen officially opened. He doesso with no fanfare whatsoever:he inaugurates one of the

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confessionals by going toconfession.

May 25: In Barbastro TownHall, he receives the city’s goldmedal.

June 26: Just before mid-day, on returning from Castel-gandolfo, where he had beenhaving a get-together with theteachers and pupils of the Ro-man College of Our Lady, hedies of a sudden heart attack inthe room where he usuallyworked in Villa Tevere. Nextday he is buried in the crypt ofthe Oratory of Our Lady ofPeace in Villa Tevere, theheadquarters of Opus Dei inRome. At the time of theFounder’s death, there are

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about 60,000 people of OpusDei living and working in 80different countries.

September 15: A generalcongress of official representat-ives of all the people in OpusDei meeting in Rome unanim-ously elect Monsignor Alvarodel Portillo as Monsignor Jose-maría Escrivá’s successor. Thefounder of Opus Dei’s reputa-tion for holiness, and privatedevotion to him, are spread allover the world by means of asimple prayer card and anewsletter.

1982November 28: Pope John

Paul II makes Opus Dei a per-sonal prelature, exactly as the

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founder had wanted for manyyears.

1990

April 9: Pope John Paul IIorders the publication of the de-cree on the heroic virtues ofJosemaría Escrivá who fromthen on is recognized by theChurch as “the Venerable Ser-vant of God.”

1991

Sister Concepcion Boullon’scure having been examined andapproved by the Medical Com-mittee and the Committee ofTheological Consultors of theCongregation for the Causes ofSaints and by the Ordinary Con-gregation of Cardinals and Bish-ops, on June 6 Pope John PaulII proclaims the decree declar-ing the cure to be miraculous.

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1992

May 17: The beatification ce-remony of Josemaría Escrivá inSt. Peter’s Square in Rome.John Paul II presides and ac-cording to the estimate ofL’Osservatore Romano300,000 people from all overthe world take part.

In November, Dr. ManuelNevado, aged 60, suffering fromchronic radiodermatitis, anddamage to his hands caused byrepeated exposure to x-rays, iscured after praying for BlessedJosemaría’s intercession.

1994

The canonical process onthis miracle takes place betweenMay and July, in the Arch-diocese of Badajoz, Spain,where Nevado lives.

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1997

On July 10, 1997, the Medic-al Committee of the Congrega-tion for the Causes of Saints un-animously establishes the fol-lowing diagnosis: “a cancerousstate of chronic radiodermatitisin its third and irreversiblestage,” and therefore with a cer-tain prognosis of “infaust”(without hope of a cure). Thecomplete cure of the lesions aredeclared by the medical com-mittee to be “very rapid, com-plete, lasting, and scientificallyinexplicable.”

1998

On January 9 the Commit-tee of Theologians gives its un-animous approval for attribut-ing the miracle to BlessedJosemaría.

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2001

On September 21 the cardin-als and bishops of the Congreg-ation for the Causes of Saintsconfirm these conclusions. OnDecember 20 the Holy See au-thenticates a second miracle at-tributed to Blessed Josemaría,thus clearing the way for thecanonization.

2002

On February 26 the date forthe canonization is announced.On October 6, 2002, before acongregation of over 300,000from every corner of the globeoverflowing St. Peter’s Squareand down to the River Tiber,Pope John Paul II canonized St.Josemaría Escriva, the saint ofthe ordinary.

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INDEX

AAcaso, Fernando, 272–73Acerbis, Teresa, 206, 207Act of Contrition, 173Acts of the Apostles, 81, 133Africa, 47, 63, 187, 373agnosticism, 44, 119agricultural schools, 40, 41Albareda, José María, 16, 369Albas, Dolores. See Escrivá, DoloresAlbas, Pily, 138Alcalde, Tasia, 188Alexis, St., 29Alonso, Joaquin, 350Alphonsus Liguori, St., 96Altabella, Pedro, 267

Alvarez, Begoña, 79, 91, 187, 193Alvarez, Jesus, 153, 361Alvira, Tomas, 58, 369Amat, Montse, 136Andes University, Chile, 42Andres, Concha, 28, 73anecdotes, 71Angelicchio, Francesco, 8, 89, 99, 336angels, 146, 148, 197

guardian, 38, 55, 132–33, 141, 294Angelus, 19, 141Angles, Mercedes, 351Anointing of the Sick, 102, 360Anthony, St., 261anticlericalism, 124, 238anti-Semitism, 89–91Antoniutti, Ildebrando, 109, 278apostacy, 92Apostles, 10, 81, 132apostolate, 74, 128, 303

corporate works of, 280friendship and, 40

895/1029

holiness and, 7laity and, 342of Opus Dei, 7, 8, 17, 22, 26, 84personal, 17service to, 22women of Opus Dei and, 15, 40, 41young people and, 84

appointments, 195–96Appunto reservato all’Augusta Persona

delSanto Padre, 67

Aquinas, St. Thomas, 117, 162Arellano, Marichu, 193Argentina, 8, 42, 63, 362Arrupe, Father, 67–69, 286, 340–42asceticism, 19, 296Asia, 42, 63aspirations, 54–55, 78, 81, 135, 141, 209,

221, 234, 248, 263, 288, 372associates, 296atheism, 44atonement, 141

896/1029

Augustine, St., 162Australia, 17, 63, 208, 362, 373Austria, 63, 123, 228, 292, 372authoritarianism, 225

BBabo. See Canals, SalvadorBadui, Jalil, 86Baggio, Sebastiano, 97, 343Bajot, Father, 341Balmes Street student center, Barcelona,

Spain, 80Barcelona, Spain, 9, 10, 25Bartimeus, 138Barturen, Marga, 294, 296Beascoechea, Juan Carlos, 160–61Belgium, 301Benediction, 147Benedict XV, Pope, 332bereavement, 107Bernard of Clairvaux, St., 62Bertolucci, Giuseppina, 264

897/1029

Blanco, Carrero, 202Blessed Sacrament, 63, 126, 141, 147,

239, 250, 318–19, 331Blessed Trinity. See TrinityBofill, Pablo, 51Botella, Enriqueta, 40Botella, Francisco, 143, 369Boullon, Concepcion, 376Brevi Sane, 19Buddhists, 47, 229Bueno y Monreal, Cardinal, 278Burjasot residence hall, Valencia, Spain,

90Burke, Cormac, 164Bustillo, Julia, 21, 73, 87, 186, 199, 266

CCaamaño, Rafael, 51, 70, 146, 170, 273Caballero, Manolo, 157, 288Cabrera, Juan, 50Cabrera, Maria Luisa, 105Caggiano, Cardinal, 8

898/1029

Cagigal, Jesus Alberto, 156–57, 250Caligula, 17Caliz, Eduardo, 274–75Calvinists, 229Calvo, Dora, 21, 266Calvo, Rafael, 202campaign of insults and calumnies, 10,

73–100attributing to a real scene some

spurious phrase or false episode and,86–88

“blood rites” and “human sacrifices”and, 80–81

cabalistic signs and, 81cracked copper with rivets and,

82–84cross, use of and, 80–81, 82enemies as benefactors and, 91–93,

107Escrivá, Josemaría as heretic and, 79Escrivá, Josemaría, overthrowing of

and, 94–98, 330

899/1029

Escrivá, Josemaría, trip to Greece ofand, 84–86

gossip and, 79, 93half-truths and distorted facts and,

82–84misrepresentations and, 82, 84–86Opus Dei, structure of and, 312saying one thing, then the opposite

and, 89–91slander and, 79, 80, 92strange telephone calls and, 93taking a part for the whole and,

88–89The Way (Escrivá) and, 80, 82

Campello, Countess, 333Canals, Salvador, 63, 92, 209, 370

Città Leonina, subletting in and, 13Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 15, 16Pius XII, Pope, audience with of, 16Rome, Italy, journey to and, 10Villa Tevere, making of and, 27, 28

900/1029

Cano, Flor, 272canon law, 6–11, 14–19, 21, 53, 57–58,

61, 62–67, 69–70, 74, 266, 286,299, 312, 337, 340, 371

Cantero, Alejandro, 3, 106Canticle of Canticles, 350Capovilla, Loris, 65Carballo, Rof, 9Cardona, Carlos, 56–57, 162, 192,

238–39, 247–48, 324, 361Carlists, 215Carnation Revolution, 182–83Carrasco, Fernando, 112Casa del Vicolo, Villa Tevere, 38, 250,

272Casariego, Mario, 265, 343Casciaro, Pedro, 5, 20, 69, 90, 143,

252–53, 299, 369Castelletto del Trebbio, Italy, 294,

294–98, 299–300Castelli, Leonardo, 31Catechism of the Work, 168–69

901/1029

Catherine of Siena, St., 13, 132, 330Catholic Action, 269Catholic Church. See ChurchCatholicism

conversion to, 263Protestantism and, 228–29 See also

Churchcelibacy, 236–37

Central America, 80, 344Central University of Madrid, 106, 125charity, 48, 81, 176, 217, 253, 302chastity, 243Cherubini, Ines, 310children, 44, 230Chile, 42, 63Chiqui. See Hernandez de Garnica, José

MaríaChristianity, 303

dynamism and, 344–45society and, 7spirit of, 75

902/1029

Christ Is Passing By (Escrivá), 323, 375Church, 17, 75, 217, 299

celibacy and, 236–37crisis in, 301, 327, 343–44, 345–48faith and, 223, 306freedom and, 340Opus Dei and, 7, 8, 16, 22, 74papacy and, 331–32Peter, St. and, 13, 331politics and, 213poverty and, 51prayer for, 123, 342, 343–44, 356service to, 45suffering for, 75

Church of Our Lady of Angels, Madrid,Spain, 281

Church of Santa Maria Novella, 298Church of the Holy Cross, 298Church of the Holy Spirit, Madrid,

Spain, 266Ciriaci, Cardinal, 65citizenship, 214

903/1029

Città Leonina apartment, Rome, Italy,12–24, 26, 63, 186, 266

domestic management of, 15Escrivá, Josemaría and, 12–13, 15, 18oratory in, 12, 13, 27poverty and, 13subletting in, 12women of Opus Dei in, 21, 22

Civenna, Italy, 323–27class. See social classclergy. See priests

celibacy and, 236–37confession and, 240–42dignity of, 240Escrivá, Josemaría and, 284holiness, universal call to and, 16laity and, 212loneliness and, 232–33loneliness of, 58–59in Opus Dei, 58–61, 63Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 17

904/1029

vocations and, 328Colombia, 42, 63Commission for the Laity, 335Communion, 124, 140, 141, 251Communism, 46, 90, 309Confalonieri, Cardinal, 65confession, 88, 102, 144, 203

interior life and, 297priests and, 240–42public, 4seal of, 240–42, 297n2working summers and, 296–98, 299

Congregation of Seminaries andUniversities, 333

conscience, 55, 156examination of, 74, 141, 159, 258,

313, 320freedom of, 223, 229humility and, 261

consecration, 140, 150contemplation, 1, 33, 129, 131, 134, 139,

223, 232, 296, 322, 357

905/1029

contemplative life. See interior lifeconversion, 263, 345cooperators, 337corporate projects, 41correction. See fraternal correction

Cotelo, Javier, 91–93, 135, 293,294, 295, 306, 309, 310, 320, 321,324, 358

courage, 228–29Cox, Juan, 77, 350Creed, 17, 54, 147, 160, 288, 331Cremade, Juan Antonio and Pilar,

229–30Crocchiolo, Calogero, 314Cronica (internal publication), 140cross, 96, 117, 125, 219

Escrivá, Josemaría and, 77–78Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 80, 82as seal of Opus Dei, 77–78, 139

crucifix, 13, 20, 32–33, 79, 143, 239, 240cultural centers, 41

906/1029

Cummings, Dan, 360Cum Societatas (Pius XII), 19, 81Curia. See Roman Curia Czechoslovakia,

42, 307–9

Dda Vinci, Leonardo, 302de Albornoz, Carrillo, 92, 107death, 203–8

cheerfulness in, 351, 352Jesus Christ and, 357sudden, 351–53

de Borja Lopez, Francisco, 285Decretum Laudis, 8, 16, 57, 266, 371de Fuenmayor, Amadeo, 91de Gasperi, Alcide, 14De Guevara, Marquis and Marchioness,

237Delapuente, Fernando, 250Del Arco, 73del Hoyo, Dora, 21, 73, 183, 266, 294,

295, 305, 310, 315

907/1029

Dell’Acqua, Angelo, 85, 109, 213, 278,305, 310, 325–27, 340

de Lopera, Jose, 108del Portillo, Alvaro, 19, 35–36, 55, 57,

59–60, 63, 68–69, 77, 86, 105, 122,128, 134, 143, 147, 150, 160, 166,168, 170, 188, 245–46, 280, 281,341, 351, 358

Città Leonina, subletting in and, 12,13, 22

Escrivá, Josemaría, death of and,154, 350, 358, 360, 361, 362–63, 376

Escrivá and, Josemaría, health prob-lems of, 75, 314

Escrivá, Josemaría, interior life ofand, 121, 130, 133, 139, 143–44, 257–58,273, 274, 285

Escrivá, Josemaría, portrait paintedof and, 3

Escrivá, Josemaría, writing of and,307

financial difficulties and, 29–31

908/1029

freedom, love of and, 215freedom in work and, 227–28God as spectator and guest and, 131goodness of, 31Greece, trip to and, 84as guardian, 227, 270–71, 273, 274,

275–76health problems of, 203, 328–29Holy See and, 329honesty of, 31love of, 33Opus Dei, attack on structure of and,

313Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 22, 84, 94, 95,100

Opus Dei, canonical recognition ofand, 9, 16, 64, 65, 65–66

Opus Dei, carrying on of and, 282Opus Dei in Rome, Italy and, 21ordination of, 287, 315, 370papacy and, 333

909/1029

Pius XII, Pope, audience with of, 6,16

Prague Spring and, 309Rome, Italy, journey to and, 6, 10, 11Second Vatican Council and, 335–36Vatican and, 334–35Villa Tevere, making of and, 25, 26,

27, 28, 29–31working summers and, 292, 293,

294, 296, 299, 306, 307, 309, 310, 313,317, 319, 320, 324–26, 328de Meer, Chus, 137, 183de Miguel, Josefina, 19de Orbegozo, Ignacio, 333, 335detachment, 239, 244

poverty and, 249, 257working summers and, 295

Deuteronomy, 148devil, 5Diaz, Miguel de los Santos, 284

910/1029

Diego de Leon Street center, Madrid,Spain, 4n2, 40, 77, 102–3, 107, 260,267, 272, 278, 285, 287, 350, 370

dignity, 45, 47, 51, 101–2, 240, 249,270, 308, 308–9discernment of spirits, 163–65discrimination, 47–49Disney, Walt, 105diversity, 224divine sonship, 125–27do Amaral, Cosme, 335Dols, Heliodoro, 104Domecq, Alvaro, 112Dominic, St., 339Dominicans, 298Dominic Guzman, St., 300Dona, Agostino, 164donkey, image of, 59, 78, 127, 136, 143,

188, 204, 261–62, 266–67, 280Don Quixote (Cervantes), 162Dotta, Roberto, 164dreaming, 129

911/1029

Dufrenois center, Abrainville, France,300

DYA Academy, 215, 368dynamism, 344–45

EEcclesiae Sanctae (Paul VI), 67Echevarria, Javier, 95n41, 105, 122, 134,

135, 144, 206, 207, 209, 235, 240,245– 46, 273, 291n1, 293, 320, 341,346, 358

Escrivá, Josemaría, death of and,350, 358, 360, 361, 363

Escrivá and, Josemaría, health prob-lems of, 314

Escrivá, Josemaría, interior life ofand, 130, 133

Escrivá, Josemaría, portrait paintedof and, 3

Escrivá, Josemaría, suffering of and,315

912/1029

Escrivá, Josemaría, writing of and,307, 309

fraternal correction and, 322freedom and trust and, 226–27as guardian, 227, 270, 275Mass and, 300Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 85Prague Spring and, 309as secretary, 226–27, 257Villa Tevere, making of and, 225–27working summers and, 292, 294,

295, 296–97, 299, 300, 305, 306, 307,309, 309–11, 310, 315, 316, 317–18,321–22, 323, 328Echevarria, Mari Tere, 19economics, 212, 214Ecuador, 63ecumenism, 47, 229, 337Eigelstein residence, 188, 250Eijo y Garay, Leopoldo, 6, 71, 82, 266,

270, 285, 370

913/1029

ELIS Center, 333, 336Elizabeth, St., 132enemies as benefactors, 91, 107England, 13, 63, 127, 164–65, 248, 292,

295, 370, 373Epiphany, 244Epistle to the Hebrews, 122Escarré, Aurelio M., 82, 222Escola, Rafael, 81Escrivá, Ascuncion, 354, 365Escrivá, Carmen, 58, 206, 324, 354, 365,

373Escrivá, Dolores, 245, 279, 365, 370Escrivá, José, 245, 278–79, 365Escrivá, Josemaría

angels and, 55appearance of, 1–3, 255beatification of, 377birth and baptism of, 365campaign of insults and calumnies

against, 22–23, 73–100, 330canonization of, 377

914/1029

character of, 1–2, 2, 87, 169Città Leonina, subletting in and,

12–13, 15, 18as communicator, 2, 41, 101–19confession and, 284–88daily life of, 73–76, 179–210death of, 349–50, 356–63, 376detachment and, 239, 240, 244discernment of spirits and, 163–65dress of, 1, 253education of, 365, 366, 367epitaph of, 153–54as father, 153–78, 279financial difficulties and, 25–32,

34–36, 108foundational charism and, 7, 124,

163, 225, 259, 279, 282, 286, 368fraternal correction and, 87–88,

165–73, 270–75, 322freedom and, 45–47, 211–31, 308–9,

315friendship and, 3, 106, 109–10, 269

915/1029

good humor of, 18, 173–75health problems of, 8, 9, 18, 23,

31–32, 73–74, 75–76, 93, 128, 184, 257,276–77, 291, 310, 313–14, 344, 356–57,366

humanity of, 1, 2humility and, 260–90interior life of, 78–79, 129–52, 159,

257, 284–88, 307, 310Opus Dei, canonical recognition for

and, 15–19, 65, 66–67, 69–70ordination of, 367papacy, devotion to of, 13–14, 15, 22patience and, 18, 69, 74, 87photographs of, 15–16, 139–42politics and, 51, 89–91poverty and, 34–36, 243–59prayer and, 2, 4, 10, 13, 16, 17, 18, 26,

27, 54–55, 74, 75, 76, 95, 121, 122–24,129–30, 135, 136, 289, 301

preaching and, 74, 301

916/1029

as president general of Opus Dei,255, 259, 335

priesthood and, 115–16, 143,232–42, 268, 284

radicalism of, 136–37Rome, Italy, journey to and, 5–6,

9–11as saint, 4, 17, 120, 265, 266, 377as sinner, 83, 108, 151, 153, 154, 262,

265, 266, 282, 307spiritual guidance and, 284–88suffering and, 1, 2, 8, 17, 23–24, 26,

36, 51, 74, 75, 76, 315travel and, 74, 292–93vocation of, 3, 136, 284women of Opus Dei and, 40–41, 87,

179–92, 236working summers of, 291–329writing of, 18, 74, 158–59, 244, 295,

306–7, 309–11, 323, 368See also Opus Dei Escrivá, Lolita,

354

917/1029

Escrivá, Rosario, 354, 365Escrivá, Santiago, 58, 244, 277España, Eladio, 220Eucharist, 140, 141, 151examination of conscience, 74, 141, 159,

258, 313, 320

FFaelli, Carlo, 23, 128, 203, 259faith, 40, 44

Church and, 223Escrivá, Josemaría and, 14, 41, 42in Jesus Christ, 228reading about, 161safeguarding, 155Falange, 80

family, 25, 163appointments and, 195–96love of, 219Opus Dei and, 179–81parents and, 191–95

918/1029

women of Opus Dei and, 179–81,179–92fanaticism, 46, 155, 217–18Farri, Umberto, 164, 313, 360fascism, 90Fathers of the Church, 162Faulhaber, Cardinal, 90feminism, 45Fernandez, Bernardo, 350Fernandez-Vallespin, Ricardo, 143Ferraz Street residence, Madrid, Spain,

253, 281Ferreira, Firmina, 164Ferretto, Cardinal, 97Filippone, Gabriella, 168financial difficulties

del Portillo, Alvaro and, 29–31Escrivá, Josemaría and, 25–32,

34–36, 108of Opus Dei, 252Opus Dei and, 21–22, 25–32, 108personal responsibility and, 34

919/1029

poverty and, 34prayer and, 34Villa Tevere, making of and, 25–32,

34–36, 63, 74, 185Finland, 42Fisac, Lola, 40Fisac, Miguel, 369Fontan, Blanca, 187, 299The Forge (Escrivá), 94, 243, 323, 375forgiveness, 240–41, 272–75, 283, 306fortitude, 72France, 13, 63, 292, 300–301, 362, 370Francis, St., 339Franciscans, 298Francis of Assisi, St., 153, 302Franco, Francisco, 80, 88, 202, 216, 218Frankl, Viktor, 292fraternal correction, 20, 87–88, 322

Escrivá, Josemaría and, 165–73, 270freedom and, 167Gospel and, 167humility and, 270–75

920/1029

patience and, 166fraternity, 52freedom, 7

charity and, 217children and, 230Church and, 340of consciences, 223, 229contemplation and, 223courage and, 228–29diversity and, 224fanaticism and, 217–18fraternal correction and, 167grace and, 231holiness and, 212ignorance and, 45–46interior life and, 224Jesus Christ and, 213, 214, 223knowledge and, 233of laity, 342love and, 231love of, 308–9Opus Dei and, 211–31

921/1029

passion for, 211–31perfection and, 65philosophy and theology and,

222–23piety and, 223politics and, 211–18poverty and, 243prayer and, 224respect for other’s, 220, 221responsibility and, 212, 214, 220,

222, 227service and, 201, 231of spirit, 54spirit of, 162trust and, 226–27truth and, 45–47vocation and, 223, 224–25in work, 227–28

friendship, 44apostolate of, 40communication and, 106divine, 229

922/1029

Escrivá, Josemaría and, 3, 109–10,269

with guardian angels, 55women of Opus Dei and, 40

Friends of God (Escrivá), 323, 375Friends of the University of Navarre,

302Frings, Joseph, 8, 343Furrow (Escrivá), 323, 375

GGabriel, Archangel, 132Gagliano Aterno, Italy, 301–5Galleria del Fumo, Villa Tevere, 4n2,

147, 247, 349Galleria della Campana, Villa Tevere,

160, 176Galleria della Madonna, Villa Tevere,

129, 239Galleria del Torrione, Villa Tevere, 146,

170Galleria di Sotto, Villa Tevere, 32

923/1029

Gaona, Pelancho, 188Garcia, Francisco, 261García, José María, 270, 287Garcia, Victor, 58Garrido, Ciriaco, 284Geiger, Jutta, 183Germany, 63, 88, 90, 163, 188, 188–89,

228, 292, 301, 362Gil, Jose, 43Gilroy, Norman, 17God

conversation with, 131Escrivá, Josemaría, vocation of and,

3interior life and, 130, 134, 141intimacy with, 319love of, 26, 54, 76, 155, 197, 217, 219,

262Mass and, 151mercy of, 242Mother of, 9Opus Dei and, 3, 20

924/1029

papacy and, 332presence of, 130, 247, 315–16providence of, 119, 253, 322relationship with, 54, 79service of, 213as spectator and guest, 131trust in, 23, 34union with, 75will of, 10, 23, 52, 119, 258–59, 339

“God and Daring,” 36, 215Gomez, Antonieta, 19Gonzalez, Nisa, 40, 351Gonzalez Martin, Marcelo, 343Gospel, 133, 141, 158, 162, 167, 263, 274,

281, 337, 357Gouvcia, Cardinal, 8Goyeneche, Siervo, 22grace, 78, 120, 129, 134, 153, 234, 288,

324Escrivá, Josemaría and, 4, 225freedom and, 231holiness and, 4

925/1029

humanity and, 4interior life and, 339

Great Britain. See England Greece,84–86

grief, 204guardian angels, 38, 55, 132–33, 141,

294Guatemala, 63Guitarte, Jose Miguel, 221Guzman, Nisa, 60

HHail Mary, 54, 55, 143, 159health care centers, 41Heliopolis, 17Henry VIII, King, 219heresy, 22, 46, 155, 342Hereza, Maria Jesús, 40Hernandez de Garnica, José María, 19,

143, 208, 215, 287, 315, 370Herranz, Julian, 350, 361Herrera Oria, Angel, 106, 269

926/1029

hierarchy of the Church, 217historical consciousness, 20Hitler, Adolf, 89, 91holiness, 120, 217, 248

apostolate of, 7Escrivá, Josemaría, portrait painted

of and, 4freedom and, 212grace and, 4love of little things and, 247–49of married people, 61personal, 17of Pius XII, Pope, 14universal call to, 16, 17, 37, 342, 370

Holland, 228, 301 Holy Rosary(Escrivá), 368

Holy See, 58, 168confession, seal of and, 240–41del Portillo, Alvaro and, 329fraternal correction and, 270Greece, Opus Dei in and, 85

927/1029

Opus Dei, canonical recognition ofand, 6–11, 7, 15–19, 21, 61, 66, 266, 286,299, 337Holy Spirit, 129, 155, 159Hong Kong, 42hospitality, 21Hruska, Kurzio, 276–77Humanae Vitae (Paul VI), 45Humberto II, King, 14humility, 196, 213

conscience and, 261donkey, image of and, 266–67Escrivá, Josemaría as bishop and,

269–70Escrivá, Josemaría as “hindrance”

and, 279–80Escrivá, Josemaría as Marquis of

Peralta and, 277–78Escrivá, Josemaría, confessors of

and, 284–88Escrivá, Josemaría, guardians of

and, 227, 270–71, 273, 274, 275–76

928/1029

Escrivá and, Josemaría, health prob-lems of, 276–77

forgiveness, asking for and, 272–75fraternal correction and, 270–75going unnoticed and disappearing

and, 267–69Jesus Christ and, 261lowliness and, 260mangy donkey and, 261–62obedience and, 275truth and, 17

humor, 18Hungary, 27, 42hypocracy, 140

IIgnacio the gypsy, 102–3Ignatius, St., 339ignorance, 45–46Il Fabbriato Piccolo, Villa Tevere, 38Illanes, José Luis, 43–44, 184Il Pensionato, 36

929/1029

Il Ridotto, Villa Tevere, 38Immaculate Conception, 21In Love with the Church (Escrivá), 375inner locutions, 261interior life, 114

angels and, 148confession and, 297Escrivá, Josemaría and, 3, 78–79,

284–88, 307, 310examination of conscience and, 74,

141, 159, 258freedom and, 224God, presence of and, 130, 134, 141grace and, 339guardian angels, relationship with

and, 132–33holiness, universal call to and, 16love and, 137, 141Mass and, 141, 143, 144–45, 145–52norms of Opus Dei and, 141–42peregrine falcon and, 232poverty and, 257–58

930/1029

prayer and, 129–30, 135, 136, 142,159

“reverse distractions” and, 136–37saints and, 148snake at Gagliano Aterno and,

130–31Trinity and, 130, 131, 134, 141, 143,

145, 148internal documents, 168, 169Intimate Notes (Escrivá), 60, 122, 125,

235, 261, 299, 306–7Iparraguirre, Father, 341Ireland, 13, 63, 248, 292, 362, 370Isaiah, 136, 233, 317Ivory Coast, 42

JJapan, 116, 164–65, 186Jean-Marie Vianney, St., 132Jenner Street residence hall, Madrid,

Spain, 81, 220–21Jeremiah, 263

931/1029

Jesuits, 67–69, 88, 92, 285, 286,340–41

Jesus Christ, 10, 13, 36, 80, 134, 144,197, 238, 240, 268, 278, 307

confession and, 241crucified, 133death and, 357divine sonship and, 127Escrivá, Josemaría and, 46faith in, 228freedom and, 213, 214, 223humility and, 261“hunchbacked,” 73identification with, 201

932/1029

imitation of, 138love of, 3, 46, 81, 175, 233Mass and, 146, 149as moral standard, 47papacy and, 13, 111, 330, 332Passion of, 141Peter, St. and, 33pope and, 13relationship with, 234Sacred Heart of, 70scourging of, 73in tabernacle, 310, 320

Jews, 46, 47Jimenez Vargas, Juan, 369Jiménez-Vargas, Lola, 40J.J. Sister, 5–6, 9John, St., 125, 132, 274John of the Cross, St., 232John Paul II, Pope, 45, 88, 340, 376, 377John XXIII, Pope, 37, 64, 65, 326–27,

332, 333, 334–38jokes, 71

Jorge Manrique Street center, Madrid,Spain, 40, 77, 254, 370

Joseph, 87Joseph, St., 132, 141, 197, 198Joseph of Calasanz, St., 96Julia, Ernesto, 144, 171, 256, 272justice, 49–51, 154, 176, 308

KKennedy, John, 211Kenya, 42, 47, 101, 164–65, 373Kianda College, Kenya, 47Kiawki, Rainer, 164Knights Templar, 52König, Franz, 343Kücking, Marlies, 86, 114, 134, 181, 188,

197, 234, 246, 356

LLabiaga, Ramon, 160La Casetta, Villa Tevere, 38

934/1029

La Estila center, Santiago de Com-postela, Italy, 334

Laguens, Palmira, 137, 157, 183laity

apostolate of, 342clergy and, 212freedom of, 342holiness, universal call to and, 16Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 16, 17La Moncloa University Hall, Madrid,

Spain, 42–43, 165, 170La Montagnola, Villa Tevere, 38, 137,

140, 173, 185, 187, 194, 197, 199,205, 240, 244–45, 256, 275, 361

Lantini, Mario, 89Laplana, Cruz, 269Lara, Agustin, 189Larraona, Arcadio, 22, 97, 278La Sabana, Colombia, 42Latin, 39, 54, 65, 72Latin Rite, 86

935/1029

Lazzaroni, Baroness, 302leadership, 112Lebanese, 86Le Figaro magazine, 302Leo XIII, Pope, 332Lercaro, Giacomo, 343Letter to the Romans, 317Leviticus, 148Libero Istituto Universitario Campus

Biomedico, Italy, 42literacy programs, 41Llamas, Emilia, 188London, England, 127–28, 164, 292loneliness, 58–59, 124, 159, 232–33Lopez, Jose, 284Lopez, Rosalia, 21, 73, 192–93, 266,

294, 295, 305López-Amo, Laura, 40Lopez-Bravo, Gregorio, 218, 219Lorente, Ana, 140Lorenz, Loretta, 115

936/1029

Los Rosales women’s center, Spain, 19,20, 25, 34, 128

L’Osservatore della Domenica, 302L’Osservatore Romano, 377love, 1–4, 8

charity and, 48of country, 219Escrivá, Josemaría and, 33, 34family and, 52–53, 219freedom and, 211–31, 231of God, 26, 54, 76, 155, 197, 217, 219,

262interior life and, 137, 141of Jesus Christ, 3, 175, 233papacy and, 13–14, 15, 22trust and, 23

Loyola, Maria, 252Luchana Street student center, Madrid,

Spain, 80Lumen Gentium (Paul VI), 296Luque, Elisa, 358

937/1029

MMacao, 42Madonna, 25Madurga, Miguel Angel, 75, 205, 263,

332Manceras, Miguel and Antonia, 104Manzanos, Jose, 104–5Marco, Teofilo, 104Marella, Cardinal, 278marriage, 57–58, 58, 61, 82Marti, Justo, 221Martinez, Jesus, 175Martinez, Saturnino, 285Martinez de Irujo, Luis and Cayetana,

103martyrdom, martyrs, 19, 309, 342Marxism, 49Mary, Mother of God, 9, 46, 55, 85, 134,

350, 352Immaculate Heart of, 148Opus Dei and, 95as Queen of Opus Dei, 137–39, 157

938/1029

Mary Magdalene, St., 306Masia, Juan, 96Mass, 14, 77, 207, 230, 235, 253, 303,

314, 317interior life and, 143, 144–45,

145–52Jesus Christ and, 149liturgical reform and, 149–50

materialism, 44, 46maternity clinics, 40matrimony. See marriageMcIntosh, Joan, 179, 190media, 302Medina, Paquita, 137meditation, 40, 54, 83, 99, 158Memorare, 76mental prayer, 141Mercuriana, St., 19mercy, 128, 242Merlini, Dr., 27, 30Mestre, Joaquin, 261Mexico, 42, 48–49, 63, 344, 371

939/1029

Michael, Archangel, 132Middle Ages, 52Miguel, Jose, 284Miraflores center, Saragossa, Italy, 334Molinoviejo Conference center, Segovia,

Spain, 4, 19, 20, 25, 50, 60, 232,250, 263, 273

Molteni, Giuseppe, 302, 313, 324, 325,345, 350, 358, 360

monarchists, 215Montalat, Ramon, 250Monterde, Maria Jose, 305, 306, 309,

310, 314, 315Montfort, Helen, 320Montini, Giovanni Battista. See Paul VI,

PopeMontserrat, 9, 82, 222Monzo, Severino, 350Morado, Mercedes, 91, 134, 137, 138,

171, 182, 183, 184–85, 193, 196, 197,200, 205, 234

Morcillo, Casimiro, 278

940/1029

More, St. Thomas, 132, 148, 219Mortes, Vicente, 219–22mortifications, 76, 173, 248, 344, 346Mozambique, 8Mugica, Begoña, 68, 190–91, 305, 306,

310, 314Mulcahy, Olive, 156Mulieris Dignitatem (John Paul II), 45Muñoz Jofre, Emilio, 3, 144Muslims, 47Muzquiz, José Luis, 143, 215, 287, 315,

370

NNational Association of Basque Stu-

dents, 215National Movement, 80Navarre, University of, Spain, 42, 230,

267, 302, 372Navarro, Mariano, 58Nazism, Nazis, 89–91Nevado, Manuel, 377

941/1029

The New York Times, 302New Zealand, 42Nicholas of Bari, St., 132Nieto, Blanca, 303nihil obstat, 6, 7, 108, 370Noah, 103non-Catholics, 337norms of Opus Dei, 141–42, 217Norway, 42Notari, Annamaria, 157, 183Noticias (internal publication), 140Nuevi Diario, 274numeraries, 296

Ooaths, 19–20obedience, 171, 275Olaechea, Marcelino, 133, 261Old Testament, 148Olidan, Aurora, 40Olinda, 113Oñate, Antolin, 284

942/1029

Opus Dei, 64apostolate of, 7, 8, 17, 22, 26, 84battlefronts of, 53–54campaign of insults and calumnies

against, 10, 73–100, 312canonical recognition of, 6–11, 14,

15–19, 21, 53, 57–58, 61, 62–64, 64–67,69–70, 74, 299, 371

carrying on, 281–84character of, 70Church and, 7, 8, 16, 22, 74commitment to, 19–20congress of, 311–12criticism of, 63family and, 179–210financial difficulties and, 21–22,

25–32, 108, 252foundational charism and, 7, 83, 368freedom and, 211–31general council of, 19God and, 3, 7, 20, 54

943/1029

governance of, 9, 19, 66, 74, 162, 196,335, 339

guardian angel of, 38holiness, universal call to and, 16, 17hostility towards, 22–23internal publications of, 140married people in, 57–58, 61Mary, Mother of God and, 95,

137–39, 138, 157as milita, 52–53nature of, 6, 7norms of, 141–42, 217as personal prelature, 299, 340, 376as Pious Union, 6poverty and, 20, 243–59prayer and, 16, 20priests in, 58–61, 63purpose of, 2, 16, 74Romanizing of, 22, 331scope of, 6seal of, 77, 139as secular institute, 16, 18, 64, 312

944/1029

service and, 20, 198–201spirit of, 20, 25, 82, 83, 158, 166,

214, 279, 296, 353, 358spirituality of, 7, 64spread of, 13, 34, 74, 224, 301statutes of, 304, 312, 323unity of, 66vocation and, 16vocations to, 68, 71, 301vocation to, 224–25, 263See also Escrivá, Josemaría; women

of Opus DeiOrlandis, José, 90, 209, 370

Città Leonina, subletting in and, 13Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 16Pius XII, Pope, audience with of, 16Rome, Italy, journey to and, 5, 6

Ortega, Encarnita, 21, 28, 40, 59, 60, 91,113, 138, 168, 169, 173, 184, 187,196, 199, 254, 266, 271, 351

Orthodox Church, 85–86

945/1029

Ortiz-Echagüe, César, 92, 104, 210, 288,321

Our Father, 54Our Lady. See Mary, Mother of GodOur Lady of Einsiedeln, 309–10, 315Our Lady of Guadalupe, 123, 316, 317Our Lady of Peace, 53, 153Our Lady of Perpetual Succor, 331Our Lady of Ransom, 19–20, 123Our Lady of the Pillar, 9, 123, 138Our Lady of Torreciudad, 44, 104–5,

245, 281, 288, 358

PPajares, Albino, 284Palestinians, 86Pan-American University, Mexico, 42papacy, pope affection for, 331

authority of, 299, 339–40, 342Church and, 331–32del Portillo, Alvaro and, 333devotion to, 15

946/1029

Escrivá, Josemaría and, 13–14, 22,330–48

fidelity to, 344God and, 332Jesus Christ and, 13obedience to, 86prayer for, 332

Paradise, 206Paraguay, 362parents, 191–95, 216, 279parents’ initiatives, 41Parry, Lynden, 263Pastor, José Luis, 75, 158, 328, 329patience, 18, 67, 69, 72, 74, 87–88, 166Paul, St., 36, 85, 132, 262, 317, 363Paul VI, Pope, 21, 45, 65, 85, 110, 213,

230, 315, 332, 333, 335, 338Church, crisis in and, 301, 327Escrivá, Josemaría consolation of,

327–29Escrivá, Josemaría, humility of and,

265

947/1029

Opus Dei, attack on structure of and,312

Opus Dei, canonical recognition ofand, 15–16, 65–67, 340

Opus Dei, hostility toward and, 23Second Vatican Council and, 342–43

Pavanel, Scolastica, 109peace, 130Pedreño, Manuel, 280Pentateuch, 319perfection

freedom and, 65secular institutes and, 16

Perruca, Joaquin Esteban, 267perseverance, 247–49personal responsibility, 212, 214, 220,

222, 227Peru, 42, 63, 229, 333–34Peter, St., 10, 13, 33, 36, 66, 85, 132, 133,

331Philippines, 42, 374philosophy, 53, 222–23

948/1029

Piancastagnaio estate, 298Piazza, Ugo, 97, 345–46, 358piety, 54, 55–56, 75, 136, 142, 156, 297

Escrivá, Josemaría and, 141freedom and, 223norms of, 207, 217

Pignedoli, Sergio, 343Piura, University of, Peru, 42Pius X, Pope St., 113, 132, 332, 365Pius XI, Pope, 14, 332Pius XII, Pope, 1, 13–14, 37, 57, 81, 330,

332, 333accessibility of, 14beatification process of, 327Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 97–98Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 6, 16–17, 21, 61, 64, 66, 371Pizzardo, Cardinal, 291Pizzi, Nila, 349, 350pluralism, 224Poland, 42, 90

949/1029

Poletti, Ugo, 343politics, 51, 89–91

Church and, 213freedom and, 211–18Opus Dei and, 211–18

Pontifical Academy of Theology, 333Popular Action, 215Portavella, Maria, 166, 171Portugal, 13, 63, 182–83, 289, 327, 344,

357, 370Postigo, Victoria, 294Postius, Father, 285Pou de Foxa, Jose, 284Poveda, Pedro, 268–69poverty, 49–51, 153

attention to little things and, 247–49charity and, 253Church and, 51detachment and, 249, 257dignity and, 249dress and, 253, 255–56

950/1029

Escrivá, Josemaría and, 34–36,252–53

financial questions and, 34freedom and, 243interior life and, 257–58in Opus Dei, 243–59Opus Dei and, 20personal, 20, 34, 34–36, 157, 249privacy and, 257secular, 249small details and, 250voluntary, 243–44women of Opus Dei and, 190,

244–45working summers and, 295

Prague Spring, 307–9prayer

for Church, 123, 342, 343–44, 356Escrivá, Josemaría and, 2, 4, 10, 13,

16, 17, 18, 26, 27, 54–55, 74, 75, 76, 95,121, 122–24, 129–30, 135, 136, 289, 301

financial difficulties and, 34

951/1029

financial questions and, 34freedom and, 224interior life and, 129–30, 135, 136,142, 159life of, 26mental, 141Opus Dei and, 16, 20papacy and, 332personal, 4, 54, 289women of Opus Dei and, 41work and, 129, 143

working summers and, 295, 310, 316Prayers (Preces) of the Work, 141preaching, 301Presbyterorum Ordinis (Paul VI), 67,

340priesthood, priests. See clergyPriestly Society of the Holy Cross, 370Primum Inter, 62privacy, 257, 304progressivism, 223promiscuity, 94

952/1029

Protestantism, Protestants, 47, 228–29Provida Mater Ecclesia (Pius XII), 16,

21, 22, 64Providence, 117, 119, 253, 322prudence, 163, 235Psalms, 52, 71, 99, 124, 201, 261, 267,

357, 363purgatory, 112, 141, 146, 206–7

QQuiroga, Cuqui, 137Quiroga, Regina, 252

Rracism, 9, 32, 47–49, 80, 89, 91radicalism, 136–37Ramos, Carmen, 113, 163, 181, 246, 256,

346, 355, 356, 361Ranera, Josefina, 182Raphael, Archangel, 132Raphael, St., 192Real, Ciudad, 107

953/1029

Redemptorists, 96Regina Coeli, 141relaxation, 291, 292, 314–15, 319residence halls, 40, 41, 42–43responsibility, 272, 279

freedom and, 212, 214, 222, 227personal, 34, 212, 214, 220, 222politics and, 211–18

Resurrection, 229Retz, Käthe, 188Rey, Irene, 211Rieman, Dick, 211, 350Rivero, Mary, 191Robles, Gil, 215Rodriguez, Jose, 40, 164Rodriguez, Maria Jose, 110–11Rodriguez-Casado, Amparo, 40Romagnoli, Doctor, 314, 357Roman College of Our Lady, 32, 37, 169,

211, 331, 372

954/1029

Roman College of the Holy Cross, 32,36–37, 37, 172, 174–75, 199, 214,216, 282, 331, 371

Roman Curia, 63, 326Church, crisis in and, 327Greece, Opus Dei in and, 85Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 97, 98Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 8, 15–19, 21, 61, 65Romans, Letter to the, 317Roncalli, Angelo Giuseppe. See John

XXIII, Pope Rosary, 2, 14, 33, 55,95, 133, 141, 143, 166, 208, 358

Rossman, George, 164

Ssacraments, 51Sacred Congregation of the Council, 335Sagarminaga, Angel, 285Sagliembene, Francesco, 164sainthood, saints, 148

955/1029

communion of, 132, 341Escrivá, Josemaría and, 120interior life and, 132

Sainz de los Terreros, Manuel, 369Salcedo, Pilar, 44–45Sallent, Ignacio, 13Salord, Ignacio, 203Salord, Santi, 174salvation, 144Sanabria, Jose Maria, 174–75Sanchez, Gumersindo, 204Sanchez, Valentin, 285–87Sanchez Bella, Florencio, 3, 209, 362Sanchez del Rio, Carlos, 266Sanchez-Moreno, Luis, 335sanctity, 120, 122, 143, 212, 219Sant’Ambrogio Olona, Italy, 305–11Santiago, Chile, 79Santo Domingo, 42Saragossa, University of, 266, 367Scapinellli, Monsignor, 64Scaretti, Signor, 294

956/1029

Schuster, Cardinal, 96scourging, 76Second Vatican Council, 64, 67, 118, 135,

149, 212, 227, 296, 298, 299–300,312, 326, 335, 335–36, 340, 341,342–43

Second World War, 6, 9, 15, 114secretarial schools, 41secular institutes, 16, 18security, 181–82Segovia, Carmen Maria, 239Segovia, Spain, 1serenity, 217Serer, Rafael Calvo, 92Serrano, Armando, 13, 204Serrano, Helena, 105, 110, 136, 139, 140,

150, 166, 187, 190–91, 227–28, 249,256

service, 22, 196to Church, 45of country, 217, 219–20freedom and, 201, 231

957/1029

of God, 213Opus Dei and, 7, 20, 198–201spirit of, 44

SEU. See Sindicato Español Universit-ario (Spanish Student Union)Sforza-Cesarini, Virginia, 26

Sindicato Español Universitario (Span-ish Student Union) (SEU), 221

Sinferus, St., 19Sixtus, 17social class, 47, 49, 197social justice, 49–51social life, 255society, 7, 45Society of Jesus, 67–69, 88, 92, 285,

286, 340–41Soldevila, Cardina, 284, 367Soria, José Luis, 360South America, 80, 344, 356South Korea, 42Soviet Union, 307–8Spain, 301, 327, 344, 357, 362

958/1029

Opus Dei in, 19–20, 25, 63, 280, 369political turmoil in, 215religious persecution in, 281, 285working summer in, 292

Spanish Civil War, 69, 80, 81, 108, 143,240, 253, 270, 280, 281, 285, 369,370

Spanish Renewal party, 215Spiritual Canticle (St. John of the

Cross), 232spiritual communion, 14, 141, 331Spiritual Considerations (Escrivá), 368spiritual guidance, 163, 221, 237, 284,

284–88, 285, 298, 299, 309spirituality, 7, 64, 155, 274, 297, 307,

340, 374spiritual life. See interior life spiritual

reading, 141, 162sport, 293–94, 295Squarciarelli, 160–61St. Gabriel Instruction (Escrivá), 295St. Michael Instruction (Escrivá), 296

959/1029

stoicism, 23St. Peter’s Square, 12, 17St. Raphael Instruction (Escrivá), 296Strathmore University, Kenya, 42, 47struggle, 52–53, 53, 64, 141, 172, 223study, 16, 17, 25, 33, 34, 74, 163, 191,

216, 292, 296Suanzes, Salvador, 142suffering, 26–28, 207

for Church, 75Città Leonina and, 13Escrivá, Josemaría and, 1, 2, 8, 17,

23–24, 26, 36, 51, 74, 75, 76, 315Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 7value of, 26

Sulanitis, 70summers. See working summerssupernumeraries, 219n15Supreme Congregation of the Holy Of-

fice, 335Sweden, 42

960/1029

Switzerland, 63, 292, 301, 309, 317Syrians, 86

Ttabernacle, 10, 13, 39, 78, 134, 149, 229,

260, 310, 319, 320Taiwan, 42Tardini, Cardinal, 16, 17, 21, 64, 65, 97Tasso, Torcuato, 302Tedeschini, Cardinal, 42, 97, 199Te Deum, 37, 63, 64Telva magazine, 44, 45Teresa of Avila, St., 78, 162, 236, 354Teresian Institute, 268Termes, Rafael and Jaime, 81thanksgiving, 141, 144, 159, 358theology, 53, 222–23Thomas, Rolf, 200Thomas Aquinas, St., 117, 162Thomas More, St., 132, 148, 219Time magazine, 302Tirelli, Luigi, 237

961/1029

Tobias, 87Toranzo, Lourdes, 168, 169Tor d’Aveia conference center, San

Felice d’Orce, Italy, 303Tordella, Marisa, 352totalitarianism, 89, 91, 217Tourne, Teresa, 137Trinity, 57, 130, 131, 134, 141, 143, 145,

148, 159, 206, 358trust

freedom and, 226–27in God, 23, 34love and, 23sanctity and, 120

truth, 308freedom and, 45–47humility and, 17scientific, 46

tyranny, 46, 91, 223, 243

UUbi Caritas, 81

962/1029

Udaondo, Juan, 96–97Uffici, Villa Tevere, 38Ullastres, Alberto, 216–17ultra-conservatism, 223United Nations Security Council, 308United States, 63, 89university halls of residence, 40, 41,

42–43University of Asia and the Pacific, Phil-

ippines, 42University of Navarre, Spain, 42, 230,

267, 302, 372University of Piura, Peru, 42University of Saragossa, 266, 367Urbani, Cardian, 135Urbistondo, Julian, 15–16Urrutia, Maria, 68Uruguay, 362

VValenciano, Fernando, 70, 77, 211, 360Varvaro, Sofia, 205–8

963/1029

Vatican, 13, 27, 327del Portillo, Alvaro and, 334–35diplomatic relations of, 15fraternal correction and, 270Greece, Opus Dei in and, 85Opus Dei, attack on structure of and,

312Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 95Opus Dei, canonical recognition of

and, 6, 8, 18, 74Vatican II, 64, 67, 118, 135, 149, 212,

227, 296, 298, 299–300, 312, 326,335, 340, 341, 342–43

Vatican Radio, 266, 362Vavaro, Sofia, 319Venezuela, 182, 356Verdaguer, Juan Manuel, 360Vergara, Maria Elvir, 252Vernet, Gil, 329Vettorelli, Anna, 164Via Orsini center, 96

964/1029

vigilance, 55Villa delle Rose, Castelgandolfo, 37, 63,

163, 168, 179, 180, 208, 228, 246,310–16, 358

Villa Gallabresi, Premeno, Italy, 316–19Villanueva Street center, Madrid, Spain,

9Villa Sacchetti, Villa Tevere, 38, 68, 73,

169, 172, 180, 190, 239, 244, 361Villa Tevere, 20, 23, 49, 73, 91, 98, 133,

137, 140, 149, 166, 228, 247, 274,296

building of, 31–32, 32–36, 61–62, 74crucifix in, 32–33decoration of, 157–58as family home, 25financial difficulties and, 25–32,

34–36, 63, 74, 185making of, 25–38naming of, 37–38oratory in, 239purchase of, 26–27

965/1029

Villa Vecchia, Villa Tevere, 33, 37, 38,51, 54, 87, 95, 136, 138, 143, 225,256, 272

Villot, Cardinal, 361Vince, Vladimiro, 13, 204–5virtue, 19, 44, 53Vives, Francisco, 345, 358Vives, Paco, 313vocation

abandoning, 341Escrivá, Josemaría and, 136, 284fidelity to, 238–39freedom and, 223, 224–25Opus Dei and, 16, 68, 71, 263, 301priesthood and, 328of women of Opus Dei, 45, 199

WThe Way (Escrivá), 16, 42, 80, 82, 105,

125, 184, 204, 220, 234, 247, 369The Way of the Cross (Escrivá), 323,

375

966/1029

will of God, 10, 23, 52, 119, 339women of Opus Dei, 41, 41–43

apostolate and, 15, 40, 41–43Città Leonina, subletting in and, 21,

22dignity of, 45domestic management and, 15Escrivá, Josemaría and, 40–41, 87,

154–55, 179–92, 236family life and, 179–92friendship and, 40God and, 41holiness, universal call to and, 16in Italy, 24in Japan, 164–65, 186in Kenya, 164–65Opus Dei, campaign of insults and

calumnies against and, 87Opus Dei, carrying on of and, 283poverty and, 190, 244–45prayer and, 41Roman College of Our Lady and, 32

967/1029

in Rome, Italy, 15in society, 45training of, 40vocation of, 45, 199workshops for, 34See also Opus Dei

Work. See Opus Deiwork, 33

apostolate of holiness through, 7Escrivá, Josemaría and, 18, 74freedom in, 227–28prayer and, 129, 143sanctification of, 43–44, 224, 342

working summersAbrainville, France (1966), 300–301Caglio, Italy (1971), 319–22Castelletto del Trebbio, Italy (1965),

294–98Castelletto del Trebbio, Italy (1966),

299–300Civenna, Italy (1972), 323–27confession and, 299

968/1029

Escrivá, Josemaría, health problemsof, 291

Gagliano Aterno, Italy (1967), 301–5Prague Spring and, 307–9prayer and, 295, 310, 316relaxation and, 314–15, 319rest and, 291, 292Sant’Ambrogio Olona, Italy (1968),

305–11sport and, 293–94, 295study and, 292traveling on foot and, 292–93Villa Gallabresi, Premeno, Italy

(1969), 310–16Villa Gallabresi, Premeno, Italy

(1970), 316–19writing and, 295, 306–7, 323World War II, 6, 9, 15, 114writing, 18, 74, 158–59, 244, 295,

306–7, 323, 368

Y

969/1029

Yauyos, Peru, 333–34young people, 84

ZZaire, 42Zanniello, Giuseppe, 164Zorzano, Isidoro, 266, 368, 371Zuloaga, Mirufa, 172–73Zumalde, Itziar, 79, 172, 206, 207Zumalde, Tere, 79Zurbaran residence, Madrid, Spain, 254,

353

970/1029

1. Testimony of Dr. Alejandro Cantero Fariña (AGP,

HRF T-06308) and Monsignor César Ortiz-

Echagüe (AGP, HRF T-04694).

2. Luis Mosquera did two paintings: a full-length por-

trait which hangs in Diego de Leon (one of the

earliest centers of Opus Dei in Madrid), and anoth-

er, a half-portrait, which is in the Galleria di Fumo,

in Villa Tevere (the headquarters of Opus Dei in

Rome).

1. Testimony of Father José Orlandis (AGP, RHF

T-00184).

2. AGP, RHF 21164, p. 1408–1409.

3. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 177.

4. Letter, January 25, 1961, 19.

5. AGP, RHF 21165, pp. 985–986. Dr. Juan Rof Car-

ballo, who attended Father Josemaría Escrivá in

Madrid, advised him against making this journey.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. Matt 19:27.

9. AGP, RHF 21164, p. 1324.

10. Ibid., 1409.

1. Letter, January 9, 1932, 20.

2. Letter, October 7, 1950, 19.

3. AGP, RHF T-21167, pp. 1323–1324.

4. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-0574).

5. The Apostolic Constitution Provida Mater Ecclesia

was dated February 2, 1947. The Decretum Laudis

giving canonical approval to Opus Dei was dated

February 24.

6. Letter, December 8, 1949, 18.

7. Letter, August 8, 1956, 5.

8. Testimony of Bishop Thomas Muldoon, titular

bishop of Fessei, auxiliary bishop of Sydney (AGP,

RHF T-04261).

9. Articles of the Postulator, 296 (AGP, RHF 20755, p.

158).

10. Ibid., 297 (AGP, RHF 21503, p. 152). Salvador

Bernal, Monsignor Josemaría Escrivá—A

972/1029

Profile of the Founder of Opus Dei (London,

1977), p. 249.

11. Letter, October 7, 1950, 21–22.

12. AGP, RHF 21172, p. 507.

13. This was a statue of Our Lady, not yet restored,

which was in the shrine in Molinoviejo at the

time. The following year, on the same day and

in the same place, the founder once again met

with a group of his older sons before a statue of

Our Lady, Mother of Fair Love, to undertake the

same commitments on maintaining the spirit of

Opus Dei in its integrity.

14. Oral testimony of Encarnación Ortega to the

author.

15. AGP, RHF, EF 461206-2.

16. AGP, RHF, EF 461216-1.

17. The Forge, no. 221.

18. AGP, RHF 21165.

19. Cf. Meditation, The prayer of the children of God,

April 1955. Cf. also AGP, RHF 21165, p. 20.

20. AGP, RHF 21165.

21. AGP, RHF 21503, note 280.

973/1029

22. The Forge, no. 812.

23. AGP, RHF 21165 and 21171, p. 854. Testimony of

Dr. Carlo Faelli (AGP, RHF T-05362).

24. Testimony of Father Fernando Valenciano Polack

(AGP, RHF T-05362).

25. Oral testimony of Begoña Alvarez to the author.

26. Oral testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-0792) and Marlies Kücking.

1. Cf. AGP, RHF 20164, p. 862 and AGP, RHF 21167,

p. 742.

2. Cf. AGP, RHF 20165, p. 836 and AGP, RHF 21170,

p. 462.

3. AGP, RHF 20165, p. 836; AGP, RHF 21165, p. 850

and AGP, RHF 21170, pp. 463–464.

4. Cf. AGP, RHF 21170, p. 463.

5. Ibid.

6. Oral testimony of Lourdes Toranzo to the author.

7. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

8. Ibid.

9. AGP, RHF 20162, p. 1055.

974/1029

10. AGP, RHF 21171, pp. 1249–1250.

11. Oral testimony of Lourdes Toranzo to the author.

12. AGP, RHF 20760, p. 462.

13. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, RHF

T-05837).

14. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

15. AGP, RHF 20163, p. 1025.

16. AGP, RHF 21166, p. 63.

17. The Way, no. 481.

18. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

19. Cf. The Forge, no. 807.

20. AGP, RHF 21166, pp. 59–60.

21. AGP, RHF 20162, p. 598.

22. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, RHF

T-06138).

23. Oral testimony of Salvador Suanzes.

1. Ps. 18(19):6.

2. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

975/1029

3. Ibid.

4. 1984 statistics: provided to the author by Marlies

Kücking.

5. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074) citing Cardinal Tedeschini.

6. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

7. Get-together on November 17, 1969 at Colegio May-

or Aralar, Pamplona, Spain.

8. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

12. Ibid.

13. “Women in Social Life and in the Life of the

Church,” interview published in Telva (Madrid),

February 1, 1968; and in Conversations with

Monsignor Escrivá (Sydney: Little Hills Press).

14. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

976/1029

15. Ibid.

16. Ibid.

17. Testimony of Marlies Kücking. Get-together on

March 18, 1964 at Castelgandolfo, Italy.

18. Ibid.

19. Ibid. Get-together on September 4, 1967 at Villa

Tevere.

20. Ibid.

21. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694). Testimony of Marlies

Kücking. Get-together on September 14, 1967 at

Villa Tevere.

22. Cf. AGP, RHF 21159, p. 926.

23. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

24. Cf. Rafael Gomez Perez, Opus Dei: An Explana-

tion (Madrid: Rialp, 1992), pp. 175–176.

25. Testimony of Marlies Kücking. Get-together on

January 13, 1969 in Rome.

26. Cf. AGP, RHF 21159, p. 928.

27. Ibid., p. 936.

977/1029

28. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

29. Cf. AGP, RHF 20793, pp. 44–45.

30. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

31. Ibid. Get-together on May 1, 1967 in Molinoviejo,

Segovia, Spain.

32. Ibid., April 1970.

33. Ibid.

34. Friends of God, no. 171.

35. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, RHF

T-05837).

1. Cf. AGP, RHF 21162, p. 700. Testimony of Helena

Serrano (cf. AGP, RHF T-04641).

2. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

3. Written narrative of Bishop Javier Echaverria given

to the author.

4. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, RHF

T-06138).

5. Ibid.

978/1029

6. Cf. AGP, RHF 21169, p. 71.

7. RHF, EF-480202-1. Request of Monsignor Escrivá

to his Holiness Pius XII.

8. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

9. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074) and oral account to the author.

10. Ibid.

11. Intimate Notes, no. 476.

12. Cf. AGP, RHF 21181.

13. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074) and oral account to the author.

14. The Canonical Path of Opus Dei (Princeton, NJ:

Scepter), p. 309. AGP, Sezione Giuridica, VI/

15611.

15. Cf. AGP, RHF 21171, p. 1295.

16. Get-together with Bishop Alvaro del Portillo,

November 28, 1982. Cf. AGP, RHF 21171, p.

1411.

17. Letter to Pope Paul VI from Monsignor Loris Ca-

povilla, prelate of Loreto, May 24, 1978.

18. Cf. AGP, RHF 21171, p. 1424.

979/1029

19. AGP, RHF 20121, p. 16.

20. Cf. AGP, RHF 20089, p. 37.

21. The Canonical Path of Opus Dei, p. 330, footnote

148.

22. Get-together, October 24, 1966.

23. Oral account of Maria Urrutia to the author.

24. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, RHF

T-05362).

25. Get-together, October 24, 1966.

26. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

27. Get-together, June 29, 1969.

28. Get-together, March 27, 1966.

29. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, RHF

T-05837) and of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP,

RHF T-05362).

30. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, RHF

T-05837).

31. Ibid.

32. Get-together, July 9, 1967.

980/1029

1. Cf. AGP, RHF 21162, p. 606 and AGP, RHF 20770,

pp. 398–399.

2. Cf. AGP, RHF 21171, p. 1520.

3. Cf. AGP, RHF 21173, p. 1094.

4. Oral account of Fr. José Luis Pastor, to which the

author had access.

5. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

6. Ibid.

7. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, RHF

T-05362).

8. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

9. Ibid.

10. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, RHF

T-04861).

11. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

12. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, Letter, December 8,

1976, 17.

13. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, RHF

T-06138). Cf. S. Bernal, Monsignor Escrivá—A

981/1029

Profile of the Founder of Opus Dei (London:

Scepter, 1977), p. 266

14. Ibid. Cf. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 766.

15. Monsignor Escrivá asked for a short notice to be

placed beside each wooden cross. It carries the

following text: “His Holiness Pope Pius XII by

the Apostolic Brief Cum Societatis of 28th June

1946 graciously deigned to grant an indulgence

of 500 days each time this wooden Cross is de-

voutly kissed or a pious aspiration is said before

it.”

16. Meditation, September 11, 1960.

17. Fr. José Luis Soria, quoting Monsignor Escrivá, in

Torreta (Madrid), January 5, 1973.

18. Written narrative of Bishop Javier Echevarria giv-

en to the author.

19. Oral account of Marlies Kücking to the author.

20. Cf. H. de Azevedo, Uma luz no mundo (Lisbon:

Ediçoes Prumo, Lda.), p. 295.

21. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, RHF

T-04641).

22. Cf. AGP, RHF 21181, p. 495.

982/1029

23. Cf. AGP, RHF 20776. Get-together at Altoclaro

(Venezuela), August 28, 1974.

24. Cf. testimony of Monsignor Francesco Angelicchio

(AGP, RHF T-03322).

25. Cf. testimony of Monsignor Mario Lantini (AGP,

RHF T-03339).

26. Cf. testimony of Fr. Pedro Casciaro (AGP, RHF

T-04917).

27. Cf. handwritten note of Fr. José Orlandis, Rome,

November 13, 1992.

28. Letter of Domingo Diaz-Ambrona to Bishop

Alvaro del Portillo, Madrid, January 9, 1992.

29. Cf. handwritten note of Fr. Amadeo de Fuenmayor

for this book, Rome, December 2, 1992.

30. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902) and of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, RHF

T-04861).

31. Cf. The Forge, no. 802.

32. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074) and oral account.

33. Ibid.

983/1029

34. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

35. Cf. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 924.

36. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

37. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

38. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

39. Cf. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 1925 ff.

40. Cf. AGP, RHF 21171, p. 880 ff.

41. Bishop Javier Echevarria told the author in a con-

versation in Rome on April 9, 1994: “Don

Alvaro did not know anything about what was

being plotted against the Work. I once asked

him if he had kept quiet because he was bound

to silence by his job. But he said no, and that if

he had known anything when the plot was in

motion, he would have acted on his own ac-

count to try to deactivate the scheme, and to de-

fend the Work and our Father.”

42. Cf. AGP, RHF 21165, pp. 195–196.

984/1029

43. Testimony of Juan Udaondo (AGP, RHF

T-03360).

44. Testimony of Juan Masia (AGP, RHF T-05869).

45. Ibid.

46. The position of “Protector” was an honorary title

which the Holy See conferred, according to an-

cient tradition, appointing one to every ecclesi-

astical institution. This position, which has now

disappeared, was held on behalf of Opus Dei by

Cardinals Tardini and Tedeschini, among oth-

ers. After their nomination by the Pope, the in-

stitution ‘under protection’ made an express act

of obedience to the Protector.

47. Furrow, no. 246.

48. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

49. Testimony of Monsignor Francesco Angelicchio

(AGP, RHF T-03322).

50. Ibid.

51. The Forge, no. 797.

52. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, RHF

T-06138).

985/1029

1. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, RHF

T-04641).

2. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid.

5. Account of Bishop Javier Echevarria given to the

author.

6. A Man of God—Testimonies on the Founder of

Opus Dei (London: Scepter, 1992). Cf. AGP, RHF

T-04391.

7. Ibid.

8. Op. cit., Testimony of Bishop Juan Hervas. Cf.

AGP, RHF T-04697.

9. *Translator’s note: The Three Kings traditionally

bring Christmas gifts in Spain instead of Santa

Claus.

10. EF-431226 (Letter of December 26, 1943 to Fr.

Jose de Lopera and the monks of El Parral).

11. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

12. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

986/1029

13. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, RHF

T-04641).

14. Cf. The Forge, no. 634.

15. Oral Testimony of Javier Mora-Figueroa.

16. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

17. Ibid.

18. Oral testimony of Carmen Ramos.

19. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, RHF

T-05074).

20. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

21. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, RHF

T-07902).

22. AGP, RHF 20761, pp. 743–744. AGP, RHF 2077,

pp. 26, 56, 188. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Car-

dona (AGP, RHF T-06138).

23. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

24. AGP, RHF 20761, p. 712.

25. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 90.

26. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, RHF T-04694).

987/1029

1. Letter, October 7, 1950, 3. AP, HRF, 20755, p. 279.

2. Letter, January 25, 1951, 4-5. AP, HRF, 20755, p.

280.

3. Letter, January 9, 1932, 10. AP, HRF, 20765.

4. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, HRF T-04694).

5. J. Escrivá, Intimate Notes, no. 1130.

6. AP, HRF, 21171, p. 881.

7. AP, HRF, 20160, p. 894.

8. AP, HRF, 21171, p. 1357.

9. Cf. Intimate Notes, no. 606 (dated February 16,

1932); The Way, no. 933 and The Forge, no. 498.

Monsignor Escrivá would never forget that ‘locu-

tion,’ that ‘reproach’ from his jealous God. He

would often return to it: cf. Intimate Notes, no. 912

(dated January 20, 1933), and no. 1120 (dated

January 20, 1934). AP, HRF, 20166, pp.

1231–1232; HRF, 20760, p. 137; Articles of the

Postulator, 1222, 370.

10. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

11. The Way, no. 274.

12. John 12:32.

988/1029

13. Intimate Notes, no. 217 and AP, HRF, 21166, pp.

17–19.

14. Ibid.

15. Intimate Notes, no. 273. (The first part of the Lat-

in quotation is from 2 Samuel 7:9.)

16. Meditation, April 28, 1963.

17. Meditation, November 2, 1958.

18. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

1. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641), Marlies Kücking, and Mercedes Morado

(AGP, HRF T-07902).

2. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

3. Ibid.

4. Written account of Bishop Javier Echevarria.

5. The Forge, no. 485.

6. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

7. Ibid.

8. Césare Cavalleri and Alvaro del Portillo, Immersed

in God (Princeton, NJ: Scepter, 1996), p. 130.

989/1029

9. AGP, HRF 21164, p. 675.

10. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

11. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

12. AGP, HRF 21170, pp. 208–209; cf. Cavalleri and

del Portillo, Immersed in God.

13. Psalm 72: “I was no better than a beast in your

sight, yet I was always in your presence; you

were holding me by my right hand. You will

guide me by your counsel, and so you will lead

me to glory.” AGP, HRF 21164, p. 1442.

14. Isaiah 43:1.

15. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

16. Cf. The Forge, no. 1014.

17. Homily, “Passionately Loving the World,” October

8, 1967.

18. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641) and Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

990/1029

19. Written and oral testimony of Begoña Alvarez

(AGP, HRF T-04861) and AGP HRF 21161, p.

39.

20. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902) and of Encarnación Ortega (AGP,

HRF T-05074).

21. AGP, HRF 20139, p. 9.

22. AGP, HRF 20124, p. 10.

23. AGP, HRF 20127, p. 10.

24. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

25. AGP, HRF 21176, pp. 523–524.

26. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

27. Account of Salvador Suanzes.

28. Oral account of Emilio Muñoz.

29. Oral account of Fr. Ernesto Julia.

30. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

31. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

32. From the Father, Rome, November 1974.

33. Letter of Bishop Javier Echevarria, August 1989.

991/1029

34. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, HRF

T-05837).

35. Ibid.

36. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, HRF T-04694).

37. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

38. AGP, HRF 21165, pp. 147–148.

39. Ibid.

40. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

41. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902) and Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

42. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

43. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

44. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

45. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

992/1029

46. Letter of the Father to Fr. Florencio Sanchez Bella,

Rome, 1964.

47. Discourse of Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, Romana,

VI, 10, p. 96.

48. AGP, HRF 20761, p. 387.

1. Cf. Letter, March 28, 1973.

2. Letter, February 14, 1974, 13–18.

3. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

4. Account of Dr. Jesus Cagigal (AGP, HRF T-08244

and AGP HRF 21181, pp. 486–487).

5. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

6. Oral account of Fr. Ernesto Julia.

7. Luke 6:19.

8. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, HRF T-04694).

9. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, HRF

T-05362) and of Marlies Kücking.

10. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, HRF T-04694).

993/1029

11. Ibid.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, HRF

T-05837).

15. Oral account of Fr. Juan Beascoechea.

16. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

17. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, HRF

T-05362).

18. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

19. John 10:14.

20. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

21. Oral account of Carmen Ramos.

22. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1226 and footnote

1394.

23. Articles of the Postulator, 1227.

24. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

25. Ibid.

994/1029

26. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

27. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

28. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

29. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

30. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

31. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, HRF T-04694).

32. Ibid.

33. Oral account of Maria Rivero.

34. Oral account of Lourdes Toranzo.

35. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

36. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, HRF

T-05837).

37. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

995/1029

38. Testimony of Fr. Ernesto Julia Diaz (AGP, HRF

T-06541).

39. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, HRF

T-05362).

40. Get-together with Bishop Alvaro del Portillo,

Noticias.

41. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

42. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

43. Testimony of Helena Serrano (cf. AGP, HRF

T-04641).

44. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

45. Ibid.

46. Testimony of Jose Maria Sanabria (AGP, HRF

T-06425).

47. Testimonies of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074) and of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

48. Song of Solomon 5:2.

49. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

996/1029

50. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

51. Testimony of Fr. Ernesto Julia (AGP, HRF

T-06541).

52. Oral account of Gloria Toranzo.

1. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

2. Verbal account of Fr. Ernesto Julia. Cf. also Rafael

Gomez Perez, Working with Blessed Josemaría

(Madrid: Rialp, 1994), pp. 73–74.

3. Ibid.

4. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

5. Ibid.

6. Verbal account to the author by Josefina Ranera.

7. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF T-04641).

8. Ibid.

9. Maria Pilar De Meer, known as “Chus.”

10. Verbal accounts by Palmira Laguens and Marlies

Kücking.

11. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

997/1029

12. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

13. Ibid.

14. Cf. The Way, no. 419.

15. Testimonies of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902), Marlies Kücking, and Msgr. José

Luis Illanes (AGP, HRF T-03390).

16. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

17. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

18. Testimonies of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861) and Carmen Sanchez (AGP, HRF

T-05132). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 581.

19. Testimony of Carmen Ramos.

20. Ibid.

21. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

22. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

23. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

24. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

998/1029

25. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

26. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

27. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

28. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

29. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

30. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

31. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

32. AGP, HRF 20750, p. 294 and AGP, HRF 20158, p.

402.

33. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

34. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

35. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

36. AGP, HRF 20147, p. 42.

37. AGP, HRF 20770, p. 664.

999/1029

38. Testimony of Marlies Kücking. Cf. The Forge, no.

17 and 18. AGP, HRF 20156, p. 136.

39. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

40. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

41. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

42. Cf. Matt. 20:28.

43. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

44. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

45. Ibid.

46. Testimonies of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902) and of Marlies Kücking.

47. Testimonies of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861), Marlies Kücking, Helena Serrano

(AGP, HRF T-04641), and Mercedes Morado

(AGP, HRF T-07902). AGP, HRF 21156, p. 20.

48. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

49. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902) and Marlies Kücking.

1000/1029

50. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

51. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

52. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902). Verbal account of Begoña Alvarez.

53. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138). Verbal account of Msgr. Javier

Echevarria.

54. Catechesis in America, 1974, I, pp. 420–422.

55. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 584 and testimony

of Raffaele Tomassetti (AGP, HRF T-03359).

56. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

57. Testimony of Gumersindo Sanchez Fernandez

(AGP, HRF T-06199). Cf. Articles of the Postu-

lator, 605.

58. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

59. Testimonies of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861) and Gloria Toranzo (AGP, HRF

T-08033).

1001/1029

60. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902). Cf. AGP, HRF 21162, pp. 55 and

208–213.

61. AGP, HRF 20760, pp. 638 and 641.

62. Rom. 8:28.

63. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

1. Testimony of Fernando Valenciano (AGP, HRF

T-05362).

2. AGP, HRF 21159.

3. The Canonical Path of Opus Dei, Appendix 1, 49,

HRF, EF-640815T-2.

4. AGP, HRF 21131, p. 37.

5. AGP, HRF 21123, p. 38.

6. AGP, HRF 21123, p. 9.

7. AGP, HRF 20156, p. 1115.

8. Written testimony of Fr. José Luis Muzquiz (AGP,

HRF T-04678).

9. Testimony of Giorgio del Lungo (AGP, HRF

T-07700).

1002/1029

10. Testimony of Juan Portavella (AGP, HRF T-7584).

Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 802.

11. Testimony of Prof. Alberto Ullastres (AGP, HRF

T-05409).

12. Testimony of Dr. Laureano Lopez-Rodo (AGP,

HRF T-04696).

13. Ibid., and testimony of Rafael Caamaño (AGP,

HRF T-05837).

14. Testimony of Gregorio Lopez-Bravo (AGP, HRF

T-03214).

15. Ibid., p. 3. Supernumeraries are a majority in

Opus Dei. They live in their own homes. They

are married or may marry in the future. They

have the same vocation as everyone else in the

Work, and participate in the apostolates of

Opus Dei as far as their family, professional,

and social duties permit.

16. Testimony of Vicente Mortes (AGP, HRF

T-04203).

17. Ibid.

18. Ibid.

1003/1029

19. Testimony of Marlies Kücking. Cf. AGP, HRF

21123, p. 35.

20. Ibid.

21. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

22. Testimony of Rafael Caamaño (AGP, HRF

T-05837).

23. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

24. AGP, HRF 21156, p. 411.

25. AGP, HRF 21159.

26. AGP, HRF 21159.

27. AGP, HRF 21160.

28. Verbal account given to the author by Bishop Javi-

er Echevarria.

29. Ibid.

30. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

31. Ibid.

32. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

33. Testimony of Irene Rey (AGP, HRF T-05955-3).

1004/1029

34. Written account of Bishop Javier Echevarria given

to the author.

35. Testimony of Juan Antonio Cremades (AGP, HRF

T-05846).

36. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694). Cf. AGP, HRF 21119, p. 15.

1. Testimony of Marlies Kücking. Cf. The Forge, no.

38.

2. AGP, HRF 20771, p. 540.

3. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

4. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF T-04861).

5. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

6. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF T-04861).

The Way, no. 171.

7. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF T-04641).

8. Intimate Notes, no. 317, October 11, 1931.

9. AGP, HRF 21156, p. 518. Cf. testimony of Begoña

Alvarez (AGP, HRF T-04861).

10. Written account by Bishop Javier Echevarria.

1005/1029

11. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

12. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

13. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

14. Matt. 20:28.

15. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 993.

16. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

17. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

18. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

19. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

20. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

21. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

22. Notes made by Bishop Javier Echevarria.

23. Ibid., 1964.

1006/1029

24. Ibid., 1970.

25. Ibid., 1972.

26. Ibid. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 732.

1. The Forge, no. 46.

2. The Way, no. 631.

3. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1068.

4. Ibid.

5. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. Ibid.

9. Ibid. Testimony of Carmen Ramos.

10. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

11. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

12. The Way, no. 818.

13. Cf. The Way, no. 178.

14. Ibid., no. 816.

15. Ibid., no. 813.

1007/1029

16. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

17. Testimonies of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641) and of Marlies Kücking.

18. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

19. Ibid.

20. Ibid.

21. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

22. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

23. Ibid.

24. Ibid.

25. Testimonies of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074) and Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

26. Testimony of Ramon Montalat (AGP, HRF

T-04690). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1101.

27. Testimonies of Marlies Kücking and of Helena

Serrano (AGP, HRF T-04641).

28. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

1008/1029

29. Testimonies of Archbishop Julian Herranz and Fr.

José Luis Soria (AGP, HRF T-07920). Cf.

Articles of the Postulator, 1072.

30. Articles of the Postulator, 1077. Testimonies of

Sister Maria Loyola Larrañaga and Sister Maria

Elvira Vergara (AGP, HRF T-04388).

31. Testimony of Fr. Pedro Casciaro (AGP, HRF

T-04197). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1092.

32. EF-380419-2 (Letters to his sons in Burgos).

Articles of the Postulator, 1075.

33. Ibid., 1076.

34. Ps. 54.

35. Articles of the Postulator, 1078. Testimonies of Fr.

Pedro Casciaro (AGP, HRF T-04197) and Fr.

Francisco Botella (AGP, HRF T-00159).

36. Articles of the Postulator, 1090. Cf. Testimonies

of Fr. Florencio Sanchez (AGP, HRF T-08250)

and of Dr. Alejandro Cantero (AGP, HRF

T-06308).

37. Testimony of Encarnacion Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

38. Ibid.

1009/1029

39. Cf. Hugo Azevedo, Uma luz no mundo (Lisboa:

Ediçoes Prumo, Lda.).

40. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

41. Written account by Bishop Javier Echevarria.

42. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

43. Testimony of Carmen Ramos.

44. The Way, no. 253.

45. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

46. The Way, no. 251.

47. Verbal account by Maria Jose Monterde to the

author.

48. AGP, HRF 21502, note 134 and AGP, HRF 20165,

p. 200.

49. Testimony of Dr. Carlo Faelli (AGP, HRF

T-15734).

1. Articles of the Postulator, 1034. Cf. Testimonies of

Msgr. Javier de Ayala (AGP, HRF T-15712) and Fr.

Pedro Casciaro (AGP, HRF T-04197).

1010/1029

2. Articles of the Postulator, 964.

3. Ibid., 977.

4. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, January 9, 1976. AGP,

HRF 21165.

5. Articles of the Postulator, 974.

6. Ibid., 975.

7. Ibid., testimony of Don Joaquin Mestre (AGP, HRF

T-00181).

8. Testimonies of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694) and of Fr. Florencio Sanchez Bella

(AGP, HRF T-08250).

9. Testimony of Fr. Francisco Garcia (AGP, HRF

T-06386).

10. Testimony of Jose Miguel Ibañez (AGP, HRF

T-07015). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 970.

11. Testimony of Jose Ramon Madurga (AGP, HRF

T-05848). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 982.

12. Testimony of Msgr. Amadeo de Fuenmayor (AGP,

HRF T-02769). Articles of the Postulator, 1003.

13. Testimony of Jose Antonio Fernandez (AGP, HRF

T-06521). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 984.

1011/1029

14. Testimony of Lynden Parry (AGP, HRF T-06521).

Articles of the Postulator, 981.

15. Articles of the Postulator, 999.

16. Ibid.

17. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

18. Testimony of Oscar Fernandez (AGP, HRF

T-06531). Articles of the Postulator, 972.

19. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

20. Ibid.

21. Account by Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, Get-togeth-

er, Noticias.

22. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

23. Cf. Testimonies of Fr. Francisco Botella (AGP,

HRF T-00159), Fr. Ernesto Julia (AGP, HRF

T-06541), and of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902). Articles of the Postulator, 969.

24. Testimony of Rosalia Lopez (AGP, HRF T-07918).

Articles of the Postulator, 966.

25. Testimony of Aurora Bel (AGP, HRF T-04888).

Articles of the Postulator, 967.

1012/1029

26. Verbal account by Mercedes Morado to the

author.

27. Testimony of Carlos Sanchez (AGP, HRF

T-02853). Articles of the Postulator, 1018.

28. Testimony of Joaquin Esteban (AGP, HRF

T-01887). Articles of the Postulator, 1019.

29. Verbal accounts by Mercedes Morado and Gloria

Toranzo to the author and testimony of Begoña

Alvarez (AGP, HRF T-04861).

30. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

31. This mode of conduct appears in the Intimate

Notes at least from 1932.

32. Testimonies of Joaquin Mestre (AGP, HRF

T-00181), Fr. Pedro Casciaro (AGP, HRF

T-04197), and Fr. José Luis Muzquiz (AGP,

HRF T-04678). Cf. Articles of the Postulator,

1004.

33. Articles of the Postulator, 1014.

34. Testimony of Joaquin Mestre (AGP, HRF

T-00181). Articles of the Postulator, 1015.

1013/1029

35. Ibid. Fr. Angel Herrera, lawyer, founder of “Accion

Nacional,” a political party, and editor of the

newspaper El Debate. He was ordained a priest

in 1940. He was made a cardinal by Pope Paul

VI in 1965.

36. Cf. Césare Cavalleri, Immersed in God, An Inter-

view with Alvaro del Portillo on the Founder of

Opus Dei (Princeton, NJ: Scepter, 1996), p. 205.

37. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1017.

38. Testimonies of Maria Luisa Sanchez (AGP, HRF

T-05134) and of Fr. Ernesto Julia (AGP, HRF

T-06541). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1058.

39. Verbal account of Lourdes Toranzo to the author.

40. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

41. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

42. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1059.

43. Testimony of Florentina Cano (AGP, HRF

T-04913). Articles of the Postulator, 1055.

44. Verbal account by Fr. Ernesto Julia.

1014/1029

45. Testimony of Fr. Antonio Linares (AGP, HRF

T-04559). Cf. Césare Cavalleri, Immersed in

God, p. 83.

46. Testimony of Fr. Rafael Caamaño (AGP, HRF

T-05837).

47. Verbal account by Fr. Ernesto Julia.

48. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

49. Testimonies of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861) and Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

50. Witnessed by the author, Barajas Airport, Madrid,

1970.

51. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

52. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

58. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

59. Testimony of Helena Serrano (AGP, HRF

T-04641).

1015/1029

55. Testimony of Dr. Kurzio Hruska (AGP, HRF

T-15732).

56. Cf. AGP, HRF 21165, pp. 1010–1012. Cf. Césare

Cavalleri, Immersed in God, pp. 15–21.

57. Ibid.

58. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

59. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe, No. 12,

3.

60. Testimony of Fr. Joaquin Mestre (AGP, HRF

T-00181), Isabel Cipriani (AGP, HRF T-05778),

and John Debicki (AGP, HRF T-07591). Cf.

Articles of the Postulator, 971.

61. Cf. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, HRF

T-04861).

62. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, RHF

T-05362).

63. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

64. Ibid.

65. Verbal account by Bishop Alvaro del Portillo: AGP,

HRF 21164, pp. 1467–1468 and 1491–1492.

1016/1029

66. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

67. Cf. Testimonies of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138) and Salvador Suanzes (AGP, HRF

T-06378).

68. AGP, HRF 21164, p. 747.

69. Ibid.

70. Cf. Testimony of Fr. Jose Orlandis (AGP, HRF

T-00184). Articles of the Postulator, 985.

71. Articles of the Postulator, 988 and 989.

72. Articles of the Postulator, 991.

73. Articles of the Postulator, 992.

74. Cf. Césare Cavalleri, Immersed in God, pp.

100–105.

75. Written account by Bishop Javier Echevarria to

the author.

76. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

77. Testimony of Msgr. César Ortiz-Echagüe (AGP,

HRF T-04694).

78. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

1017/1029

79. Ibid.

80. Ibid.

81. Written account by Bishop Javier Echevarria to

the author.

82. Cf. Testimony of Dr. Alejandro Cantero (AGP,

HRF T-06308) and Articles of the Postulator,

1024.

83. Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 1027.

84. AGP, HRF 21164, p. 750 (90).

85. AGP, HRF 21164, p. 752.

1. This chapter could only have been written with the

help of someone who had lived closely with

Monsignor Escrivá. The author is grateful to

Monsignor Javier Echevarria for his accounts,

both written and taped, and also for generously

taking the time to recall events and put them in-

to writ ing in reply to demanding questions

from the author. Thanks to his help, it has been

possible to reconstruct nine stretches of time,

unpublished until now, in the life of Monsignor

Escrivá: the nine summers from 1965 to 1973.

1018/1029

2. Monsignor Escrivá never wished to hear the confes-

sions of people of the Work, “so as not to tie my

hands,” as he said. By this he meant that the sacra-

mental seal of confession would have reduced his

freedom to express himself when directing Opus

Dei, when preaching, when giving indications for

governing, etc., when the decisions affected those

whose inner lives he had heard about in

confession.

3. Following the same criterion as the founder, priests

who occupy positions of government in the Work

do not normally hear the confessions of those dir-

ectly subject to their authority.

4. Monsignor Alvaro del Portillo said in an interview

with Césare Cavalleri (op. cit.): “He never stayed in

bed beyond the prescribed time, and never took a

siesta” (p. 36). “He never had any use for the si-

esta; in fact, he directed that people of the Work

should not sleep in the early afternoon, except on

doctor’s orders” (p. 41).

5. Monsignor Alvaro del Portillo, Letter, November

28, 1982, 28. See Chapter 6.

1019/1029

6. Pope Paul VI, Homily in Fatima (Portugal), May 13,

1967.

7. Cf. Josemaría Escrivá, Holy Rosary (Scepter Pub-

lishers, 2003).

8. In 1950 the Holy See granted Monsignor

Escrivá—as founder of Opus Dei—the faculty to

change the statutes of the Work to adapt them to

the needs arising in the practical life of the

institution.

9. Oral account of Maria Jose Monterde to the author.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Ibid.

15. Testimony of Fr. Fernando Valenciano (AGP, RHF

T-05362).

16. Is. 58:1.

17. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP, RHF

T-04861), to whom Monsignor Escrivá related

this in Rome.

18. Pope Paul VI, Address, June 20, 1973.

1020/1029

1. Josemaría Escrivá, Loyalty to the Church, Homily,

June 4, 1972.

2. Testimonies of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074), Begoña Alvarez (AGP HRF T-04861),

Marlies Kücking, and Mercedes Morado (AGP

HRF T-07902).

3. AGP, HRF 21158, pp. 216–217. Testimony of

Begoña Alvarez (AGP HRF T-04861).

4. Testimony of Miguel Angel Madurga (AGP, HRF

T-03340). Cf. Articles of the Postulator, 643.

5. Josemaría Escrivá, Letters, January 9, 1932, Octo-

ber 20 and 24, 1965, 73.

6. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo speaking in a get-togeth-

er, AGP, HRF 21165, p. 852.

7. AGP, HRF 20577, pp. 47–55. Articles of the Postu-

lator, 647.

8. A get-together with ISSA students. AGP, HRF

21154, p. 86.

9. AGP, HRF 20057, p. 65.

10. Articles of the Postulator, 209.

11. AGP, HRF, EF-620712-1.

1021/1029

12. Testimony of Francesco Angelicchio (AGP, HRF

T-3322).

13. AGP, HRF, 21075, pp. 18–19; 20162, pp. 385–386.

14. AGP, HRF, 21503, Note 266. Op. cit. Conversa-

tions, 46. Interview with Jacques Guillaume-

Brulon, in Le Figaro, Paris, April 16, 1966. Also

in Conversations, 22. Interview with Pedro

Rodriguez in Palabra, Madrid, October 1967.

Cf. Opus Dei, Peter Berglar, p. 246, and Ana

Sastre, Tiempo de Caminar (Madrid: Rialp,

1989), p. 457.

15. Testimony of Carmen Mazzucchelli, Countess of

Ruidoms (AGP, HRF T-05052).

16. AGP, HRF, EF-620712-1.

17. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

18. Testimony of Monsignor César Ortiz-Echagüe

(AGP, HRF T-04694).

19. AGP, HRF 20115, p. 47.

20. Josemaría Escrivá, Letter, May 25, 1962, 33–35.

21. Ibid., 26.

22. Monsignor Escrivá wrote a long, detailed letter to

Cardinal Dell’Acqua, acting secretary of state,

1022/1029

asking once again for an appropriate canonical

form for Opus Dei. The letter was written in

Paris and dated August 15, 1964. HRF,

EF-640815 T-2.

23. Written account by Bishop Javier Echevarria to

the author.

24. Someone imaginatively attributed to Fr. Arrupe

the remark: “Yes, they say the founder of Opus

Dei lives in Rome,” meaning he had not seen

him personally. In 1965 Fr. Arrupe was elected

father general of the Society of Jesus. From that

time until 1970, twelve long meetings took place

between the two men, most of them over lunch:

in Villa Tevere, September 12, 1965; December

8, 1965; December 22, 1966; February 28, 1968;

and March 27, 1969. In Borgo Santo Spirito,

October 10, 1965; January 28, 1966; November

23, 1966; November 11, 1967; December 14,

1968; January 19, 1970; and March 16, 1970.

25. Written account by Bishop Javier Echevarria to

the author.

26. Josemaría Escrivá, Letter, February 14, 1964.

1023/1029

27. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

28. AGP, HRF 21503.

29. AGP, HRF 21144, p. 73.

30. Testimony of Bishop Enrique Pelach i Peliu (AGP,

HRF T-07678).

31. Op.cit., among others: Cardinal J. Frings, Für die

Menschen bestellt, Erinnerungen des Alterzbis-

chofs von Köln, J.P. Bachem Berlag, Köln, 1973,

pp. 149–150; Cardinal Sebastiano Baggio,

Avvenire, Milan, July 26, 1975; Cardinal Sergio

Pignedoli, Il Veltro, Rome XIX (1975), 3–4;

Cardinal Marcelo Gonzalez Martin, Los domin-

gos de ABC, Madrid, August 24, 1975; Cardinal

Franz König, Corriere della Sera, Milan,

November 9, 1975; Cardinal Mario Casariego,

homily given in the church of Montealegre, Bar-

celona, and reproduced in L’Osservatore Ro-

mano, Vatican City, July 14–15, 1975; Cardinal

Poletti, “Decree of Introduction for the Cause of

Beatification and Canonization of Josemaría

Escrivá de Balaguer,” Introductory Decree, Riv-

ista Diocesana di Roma, March–April, 1981.

1024/1029

32. Articles of the Postulator, 217.

33. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP HRF

T-04861). Testimonies of Marlies Kücking and

Mercedes Morado (AGP HRF T-07902).

34. Testimonies of Marlies Kücking and Mercedes

Morado (AGP HRF T-07902).

35. AGP, HRF 21162.

36. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

37. AGP, HRF 21164, March 28.

38. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, Letter, June 29, 1975,

p. 35. Written account by Bishop Javier Eche-

varria to the author.

39. Testimony of Carmen Ramos.

40. AGP, HRF 21166, pp. 155–159.

41. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP HRF

T-04861).

42. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

43. Testimonies of Mercedes Morado (AGP HRF

T-07902) and Marlies Kücking. Cf. Testimony

of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF T-06138).

1025/1029

44. Testimony of Begoña Alvarez (AGP HRF

T-04861).

45. Ibid.

46. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

1. Verbal account of Fr. Severino Monzo to the author.

Cf. HRF T-07823.

2. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

3. AGP, HRF 21156, pp. 51–52.

4. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

5. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

6. Verbal account by Prof. José Luis Illanes to the au-

thor. Testimony of Encarnacion Ortega (AGP, HRF

T-05074).

7. Testimony of Marlies Kücking.

8. AGP, HRF 21175, pp. 523–534.

9. AGP, HRF 21157, pp. 1092–1094.

10. Testimony of Maria del Carmen Otal, Baroness of

Valdolivos (AGP, HRF T-05080).

11. Testimony of Mercedes Morado (AGP, HRF

T-07902).

1026/1029

12. Articles of the Postulator, 992.

13. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, Letter, September 30,

1975, 36.

14. Articles of the Postulator, 989.

15. Testimony of Carmen Ramos.

16. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, cf. AGP, HRF, 21165,

pp. 36–37 and 39. cf. testimony of Marlies

Kücking.

17. Testimony of Carmen Ramos.

18. Verbal account by Fr. Ernesto Julia.

19. Bishop Alvaro del Portillo, AGP, HRF 2115, p. 37.

20. AGP, HRF 21164, pp. 673–674.

21. Ibid.

22. Ibid.

23. AGP, HRF 20166, p. 213.

24. Testimony of Fr. Carlos Cardona (AGP, HRF

T-06138).

25. Cf. Césare Cavalleri, Immersed in God, p. 198.

26. The author heard this said by Fr. José Luis Soria

in El Brezo (Palencia), in August 1975.

27. Verbal account by Marlies Kücking to the author.

1027/1029

28. According to the account of Bishop Alvaro del

Portillo to Césare Cavalleri (Immersed in God),

Archbishop Benelli, representing Paul VI, Car-

dinals Wright, Ottaviani, Rossi, Seper, Baggio,

Garrone, Philippe, Oddi, Guerri, Palazzini,

Traglia, Violardo, Casariego, and Carboni,

among others were present at the lying in state.

He also mentioned Archbishop Travia and the

Polish Bishop Deskur. Some of these and Car-

dinals Fürstenberg and Aponte, “as well as

many other bishops, prelates, priests, and su-

periors of the different orders and congrega-

tions” attended the Requiem Mass celebrated in

the Church of St. Eugene in Rome on June 28.

The Father general of the Society of Jesus and

“many nuns and religious, some of whom had

relations in the Work, were among those at the

funeral.”

29. Rom. 10:15.

30. Ps. 18:6.

31. Ibid.

1028/1029

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