I’d never been in the presence of dozens and dozens of teenagers who were completely silent. They walked in groups from their respective schools to witness a place known for one of the most horrendous crimes against humanity in the history of the world: Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest of the German Nazi concentration and extermination camps, where over 1.1 million men, women and children lost their lives during the Holocaust.
As a recent college graduate, I had already begun to cultivate an appreciation for silence. Yet the silence in Auschwitz was eerie, uncomfortable, and deafening. No one spoke above a whisper, and everywhere you turned, the silent signs of the horrors that unfolded from 1940-1945 amplified the dis-ease.
As I slowly walked through the museum that chronicles the horrific history of the camp, I saw enormous piles of glasses, hair, shoes, and other personal items stripped from the prisoners during admission to the camp. They were shaved and branded with a unique prisoner number, never to hear their names spoken by the commandant or SS guards.
For decades, we have heard the phrase “Never Forget.” I can testify from my own experience that it is impossible to forget what I saw and felt as I observed a sacred silence in memory of all who were lost at Auschwitz. As the minutes passed in that place, my conviction of the sanctity of all life was amplified, and my desire to cherish life expanded. Rows and rows of smokestacks remain from the extermination buildings. They are branded on my mind forever.
When all is said and done, nothing speaks more profoundly than silence, and in the face of all the worries present in the world, I am drawn to ponder some words of Pope John Paul II about a silence that is sacred, a silence before God. As a young seminarian, he had lived through the atrocities of World War II. At the inauguration of his pontificate he said: “What shall I say? Everything that I could say would fade into insignificance compared with what my heart feels, and your hearts feel, at this moment. So let us leave aside words. Let there remain just great silence before God, the silence that becomes prayer.”
There is something very powerful in this sacred silence. During the history of Auschwitz, one man literally stands out as an icon of silent love: St. Maximilian Maria Kolbe, #16670. Unlike those who ran the camp, Kolbe took a deep, personal interest in every man, woman, and child he encountered. He knew their names. In the midst of deep depression and hopelessness, he invited those around him to enter into the greatest silence of all time: the sacred silence of the Mass. Late at night in the bunkers, Kolbe would take crumbs of bread and smuggled wine to celebrate the Eucharist–bringing the true presence of Jesus, the Light of the World, to cast out the pervasive darkness with the light of hope.
The story of his decision to step out of line during morning roll call and offer his life for a fellow prisoner who had a family is well documented. While sources report different versions of what he said that day, corroboration indicates the message was clear: I am a Catholic priest. Take me instead. He has a family. Sent to the starvation bunker with the other prisoners who would serve as an ‘example’ of what would happen if another prisoner tried to escape, Kolbe led his fellow victims in prayer and song. Outliving them all, he ultimately died by lethal injection. Perhaps the Nazis considered themselves the victors, but Kolbe was on his way to the true homeland, where Christ was waiting for him with open arms and an expression of joy which no words can convey.
Have you ever seen an elderly couple sitting together, silent and yet completely content? There is a communication between them that goes beyond words, a fruit of love tested and proven true over time. This sort of communion is not only Christ’s desire, but it is truly possible for every one of us who are members of his Body, the Church. Along with silence, then, there is composure: an interior experience that includes silence, but which expands to an abiding presence without division or distraction within my inner person. One of my great heroes, Fr. Romano Guardini, taught that composure is essential for our intimacy with God to grow.
True, the composure that is the fruit of deep silence is not easily won. Because it is so beautiful, though, it is worth fighting for. There is no more powerful way to deep silence than remaining in the presence of our Eucharistic Lord. Throughout the Mass, there are moments of sacred silence that alternate with the words, sounds, and gestures. Many people experience silence in a deeply treasured way while in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament—our sustained opportunity to worship and adore Jesus, which both flows from and leads us back to the Mass.
St. Maximilian Kolbe, in the gift of himself as a priest and as a martyr of charity, teaches us that silence grows when we actively cooperate with grace and begin to let go of the innumerable possessions, persons, ideas, and desires that we hold onto. These are things that hold back the deep silence we long for. It is through letting go and through the slow unfolding of our clenched fists that the path of silence opens up to us.
And, ultimately, we need silence to remember: to remember who we are, whose we are, and where we are headed.
To remember that we are not alone: that we are connected to billions of our brothers and sisters around the world through Baptism, and beyond that to every person who exists, ever has existed, and ever will exist through our common humanity.
In the Mass, we remember. The Mass is the great memorial of the Paschal Mystery, an entering into what Jesus did for us to set us free from the sin and death that held the human person back from communion with our Creator. As Saint Pope John Paul II once said: “In this silence of the white Host...are all his words” (June 17, 1979).
When we take the time to enter into the past—whether it is recalling stories from our own life or honoring the memories of lives lost in great tragedies like that of Auschwitz—we strengthen our bond with one another, and we have the opportunity to ponder how God has acted throughout human history. While we cannot undo the past, we can commit to live in the present as men and women of communion. Through the power of Christ living in us, we can speak the truth in love in the face of evil.
Download Looking for Jesus, a Companion Children's Guide (available in English and Spanish), and coloring page (English | Spanish) created by Katie Bogner.
Sr. Alicia Torres is a member of the Franciscans of the Eucharist of Chicago. In addition to participating in the apostolic works of her religious community, she has been serving the National Eucharistic Revival since 2021.
Katherine Bogner is a Catholic school teacher from Central Illinois who is passionate about equipping parents, catechists, and teachers to share the beauty and truth of Christ and his Church with children. You can access her educational resources at her website. https://www.looktohimandberadiant.com/
