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Are the Habsburgs Catholic?
As is so often the case, the answer is: “That depends.” While the Habsburg family guaranteed the presence of Catholicism in Europe for nearly a thousand years, there were ups and downs in their “Catholicity.” For example, after the death of Rudolph, archbishop of Olmütz (1788–1831), for almost two hundred years there were no priestly vocations in this “most Catholic of clans” until my own brother Paul became a priest in the 1990s—and not for a lack of young men.
nYet every now and then you discover a family member whose life is a shining example of Catholic faith. I recently learned that Blessed Emperor Karl is not the only Habsburg on the path to sainthood; we also have a sixteenth-century archduchess who is Venerable. The Archduchess Magdalena, born in 1532, was the fourth daughter among the fifteen children of Emperor Ferdinand I. The children were instructed in the Catholic faith from an early age. Magdalena’s mother, Anne of Bohemia and Hungary, entrusted her and several of her sisters to a governess, the devout Countess Thurn. She encouraged the countess to have little Magdalena carried to Holy Mass every day, even as a baby in her cradle. As Magdalena grew, she continued to attend daily Mass with her sisters. She exhibited great piety in her youth and regularly prayed in front of a crucifix that can still be seen today in the Spitalskirche in Innsbruck.
Anne died when Magdalena was only fourteen. From then on, Magdalena became like a mother to her two younger sisters, Margareta and Helena. Magdalena also loved to make pilgrimages to chapels and shrines dedicated to Our Lady, as well as to the site of a eucharistic miracle in Tyrol. Beautiful and bright, Magdalena was fluent in German, Italian, and Latin. This would come in handy later in life.n
Magdalena’s father, Ferdinand, intended to marry her off. But Magdalena and her younger sisters wanted to remain unmarried and create a community of pious women. Fortunately, Magdalena had a saint for an ally. In the early 1560s the famous Jesuit preacher Peter Canisius became Magdalena’s confessor and helped her spiritual vocation to mature. In 1563, through his intercession and that of her sister Anna (who had married the Duke of Bavaria), she begged for her father’s permission to found the new community. He twice refused. Undeterred, Magdalena continued to pray and write to Prague, where her father’s court resided. In the end, her father acquiesced. Around this time, the Italian master Arcimboldo painted his now famous portrait of the archduchess.n
After her father’s death in 1564, Magdalena and Helena made a vow of virginity. In 1567, Magdalena founded the Haller Stift, a royal convent in the Austrian town of Hall in Tyrol where both aristocratic and bourgeois women could serve God under Jesuit direction. Magdalena worked untiringly to help the poor and orphans in Hall, and to form and educate the youth (in part to combat the influence of Protestant thought).
Magdalena also wrote for her community a rule of life for growth in prayer and holiness. The ladies began an intense prayer regime from the moment they awoke each day. Those who could read prayed the Little Office of Our Lady, while those with lesser reading skills prayed the full Rosary (the joyful, sorrowful, and glorious mysteries). They assisted each day at three Masses, one of which was always offered for the poor souls in Purgatory. Magdalena was very strict about arriving on time to Mass; if she was ever late to Mass herself, she would spend the entire time kneeling outside. When they weren’t praying, the women cared for the sick and worked with their hands. Some of the priestly vestments and altar cloths embroidered by Magdalena can still be admired today.
n
 Magdalena at eighteen
But Magdalena’s greatest gift was her devotion to the Blessed Sacrament. In the spirit of the Council of Trent, she spent many hours praying before our Lord. Through her personal piety she managed to win back many priests who, in the confusion of the Reformation, had abandoned their vocation. With her help, they returned to the right path.
Not all Habsburgs were pious Catholics. Magdalena’s brother Maximilian II was very tolerant toward Protestantism, stopped going to Holy Mass halfway through his reign, and even renounced Last Rites before his death in 1576. His son Rudolph II dabbled in astrology, alchemy, and esoteric arts in his castle in Prague, and rejected confession as he lay dying. Their politics in matters of faith were catastrophic from a Catholic viewpoint and led to a dramatic situation in the empire. By the mid-sixteenth century, up to 90 percent of the empire’s population had—in name or behavior—become Protestant, including priests and aristocrats. The famous monasteries along the Danube were closing left and right. Something had to be done.
When Papal Legate Jerome de Porcia arrived in Innsbruck on behalf of Pope Gregory XIII to convince the Habsburgs to embark upon the important work of the Counter-Reformation, he knew he could not rely on the lukewarm Emperor Maximilian II. He therefore went directly to Magdalena in Hall. This was the greatest moment in Magdalena’s spiritual life. First, she went to her brother, Archduke Ferdinand. He listened to her and in turn convinced Archduke Carl II, their brother, to take up the cause. With her sister Anna on her side, Magdalena was able to initiate the so-called Munich Conference in October 1579, which brought together archdukes Ferdinand, Carl, Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria, and the Papal Legate Porcia. Together they hammered out a fascinating agreement (Münchner Beschlüsse) that was a step-by-step plan on how to bring the Austrian countries back to the Catholic faith. Without this conference, there would be far fewer Catholics in Austria today.
Magdalena died in 1590. Years later, two more Habsburg nieces followed in her footsteps and entered the same house. The Haller Stift existed for 216 years. Unfortunately, on July 9, 1783, Emperor Joseph II dissolved it and left its church desecrated, as part of his campaign to eradicate monastic life (a total of 1,300 monasteries were suppressed). In the centuries that followed, the convent would eventually become a Sparkasse bank—until 1915, when Blessed Emperor Karl rededicated the monastery and invited a new order of nuns from Belgium—the Daughters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus—to reside in the same sacred space where his saintly ancestor had lived 350 years before. Adoration of the Most Blessed Sacrament continues at this convent even today.
When the monastery was rededicated, the initial steps were also taken in Magdalena’s process of beatification. Sadly, this process is presently dormant, but perhaps, with the help of your prayers and with Magdalena’s intercession, we might get it moving again. I include a beautiful prayer for her beatification and intercession, translated from the original German, below.
Most kind and gracious Jesus,
nYou granted your servant Magdalena of Austria the grace to renounce all worldly honor and wealth and to long only for heavenly riches. Inspired and supported by your grace, she worked constantly for the salvation of souls, by fighting false doctrines and persevering in the true faith.
nShe instructed the young, cared for the poor and the sick, and above all promoted adoration of your true presence in the most holy eucharist. Beloved Jesus, your servant Magdalena assisted so many during her life by her actions and after her death continues to come to the aid of those who invoke her intercession. We beseech you to show forth the power of her intercession by granting miracles to those who call upon her. Hasten the day when your servant Magdalena will be counted among the blessed, and when our suffering fatherland will have a new intercessor, patroness, and protectress. Amen.
Eduard Habsburg is Hungary’s ambassador to the Holy See.
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María Magdalena de Austria
María Magdalena de Habsburgo y Wittelsbach (Graz, 7 de octubre de 1589-Padua, 1 de noviembre de 1631) fue la esposa de Cosme II de Médici, gran duque de Toscana.
Era hija de Carlos II de Estiria, archiduque de Austria, y de María Ana de Baviera. El matrimonio con el gran duque tuvo lugar en 1608. Después de la prematura muerte de su marido, acaecida en 1621, se dedicó junto a su suegra, Cristina de Lorena, a la educación de sus hijos, en particular del futuro gran duque Fernando II. Obtuvo además como herencia el gobierno de la ciudad de San Miniato hasta su muerte y no paró hasta que la pequeña ciudad se convirtió en diócesis.
Se interesó por la ciencia y procuró a sus hijos una gran educación, eligiendo como preceptores a algunos científicos discípulos de Galileo Galilei.
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It is said that Paris esoterically derives its name from 'Par Isis' ('near Isis'). There is a lot of evidence to support this. As Robert Bauval writes in Secret Chamber (p.341):
Napoleon had acquired two nicknames, one being 'L'Aigle' (the Eagle) and the other being 'L'Etoile' (the Star). That 'his star' was Sirius, the star of Isis, is not only made obvious by the coat-of-arms which he chose for Paris but, in a more arcane manner, it seems to have been linked to Napoleon's most famous monument, the Arc de Triomphe, also known as the the Place de L'Etoile (the Place of the Star), located on the western side of the so-called Historical Axis of Paris, better known as the Champs-Elysees, [which is oriented twenty-six degrees north of west]... The star Sirius, as seen from the latitude of Paris, rises twenty-six degrees south of east.
And sure enough the 'Axis of Paris' (the Champs Elysees) was designed to align with the sunset on ~August 6.
This first of all confirms that the date is to be seen as a special day of Sirius' rising, and makes it clear that August 6 is a 'magical date' that is considered very important by past and modern 'esotericists' whose knowledge stems from ancient Egypt. Judging from the 'rise of Schwarzenegger' masterfully brought about on this date in 2003, we can infer that there is something big underway at this time. The encoded symbolism of the Osirian resurrection - or the birth of Horus - should therefore be treated seriously. Indeed, we just may be talking about something akin to the 'rise of Antichrist' here, if that gets your attention... Think Napoleon; think Hitler.
Napoleon is often thought to have been an 'antichristic' figure especially in the context of Nostradamus' prophecies. We often hear that he was 'Antichrist 1', Hitler was 'Antichrist 2', and the third has yet to come... Well, Terminator 3 was in theaters last year just before Schwarzenegger's rise in politics. So we wonder: Was 'Terminator 3' an allusion to 'Antichrist 3'? The answer we find here is amusing and ominous.
The following passage is from the Book of Revelation, apparently talking about an antichristic figure:
And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon.
The two names given here, 'Abaddon' and 'Apollyon', both mean the same thing - 'Destroyer'... or even 'Terminator'! And Arnold is not only the Hollywood 'Terminator', he's also been Conan the Destroyer (1984)! The name 'Napoleon' has also been interpreted to mean none other than 'destroyer'... The parallel goes even further as we find that just as Napoleon had the nickname 'the Eagle', the name 'Arnold' means 'eagle rules'.
So, yes - the title 'Terminator 3' does scream 'Antichrist 3'... at least on a symbolic level.
What's more ominous, the chapter/verse number of the Revelation passage above from the New Testament happens to be... 9:11. We are about to see just how fitting this 'coincidental' reference is.
https://www.goroadachi.com/etemenanki/lucifer-timecode.htm
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Hitler and the Church: Where was God?
Bryan Mark Rigg
President at RIGG Wealth Management/ Historian of World War II and Holocaust Books
Fecha de publicación: 7 jun 2021
Europe and North America in 1939 were very religious continents. People in general looked for divine answers to world affairs and natural phenomena. But it was a much different type of religious landscape than today. Most denominations in Europe and America in 1939 were subject to hellfire-and-brimstone preaching bursting with anti-Semitic piffle. Today, most churches, especially non-denominational mega churches in North America, preach the prosperity gospel (the Protestant movement in Europe right now is largely dead). Most of these churches are pro-Israel for questionable reasons of their own and donate millions to this cause, which is dramatically different than the churches of pre-WWII Europe. The Catholic Church in 1939 preached the doctrine of damnation, exclusivity and Jew-hatred, especially since it had not yet gone through the reformations of Vatican II in the 1960’s. Today, the Catholic Church is being led by Pope Francis who mostly preaches love and acceptance. Since Vatican II, the Church has often met with Jewish leaders, and Pope Francis, who counts an Argentine rabbi as among his closest friends, made a special trip to Israel in 2014 expressing friendship and peace. As a result, many today conflate current attitudes by Protestants and Catholics with how they behaved in the past. They assume that these religious groups in Europe in 1939 should have been fighting the Nazis and helping Jews. The reality was unfortunately the opposite in most cases. This is an important fact to acknowledge because without knowing what the religious climate was like in Europe during WWII, one cannot truly understand why Christians in general and the Catholic Church and Protestant movements in particular were incapable or unwilling to stop Adolf Hitler—in fact, most German Catholics and Protestants supported the Nazi dictator.
When giving lectures on my book “The Rabbi Saved by Hitler’s Soldiers,” people often ask why Jews didn’t go to the Catholic Church or a powerful Protestant denomination for help against the Nazis. The answer quite simply was that the vast majority of Christian leaders would not have been sympathetic to the Jews and would not have troubled themselves to effectuate their rescue. And with the storm brewing in Europe in the 1930s, many religious leaders were doing all they could to take care of their own flocks, the majority of whom were scared by world events and concerned about their family’s safety. People were suffering from the lingering effects of WWI and the Great Depression, so many looked to their religious leaders for guidance for their own problems as the world spun out of control. Some in America thought they had entered the End Times and that the Second Coming was imminent. Many claimed Hitler was the anti-Christ. However, in Germany and Italy, many felt God was on their side and that the Lord was blessing them with an empire and riches. Germany was grabbing land all over Europe and Italy had succeeded in taking over Ethiopia.
The invasion of Poland in 1939 met with the enthusiastic approbation of the German population, which was strongly Christian. The Evangelical Church in Germany issued an official appeal the day after the attack “for Germans to support the invasion to ‘recover German blood’ for the fatherland.” The Catholic hierarchy, whose flock made up about a third of Germany’s population, encouraged and admonished “Catholic soldiers, in obedience to the Führer, to do their duty and to be ready to sacrifice their lives.” Why was the Catholic Church inside Germany so supportive of Hitler? Well, in short, the Church had had a history of supporting fascist regimes.
Pope Pius XI, an autocrat in his own right who was plagued by scandals involving pedophile priests as close advisors, had actively backed Benito Mussolini and his fascists in taking over the Italian government in 1922 and in maintaining power in Italy. David Kertzer wrote that the fascist movement became a “cleric-Fascist revolution.” The Pope felt confident that the fascists would restore privileges and powers the Church had lost under the democratic government. He hated the Protestants’ “individual rights and religious freedom,” and felt Mussolini would support him in suppressing these movements. He desired to bring about the “Kingdom of Christ on earth,” and Mussolini would be a tool in his strategy. At rallies, priests would sing praises to il Duce as the “Savior of our land.” Any priest vaguely critical of Mussolini, for example, Giovanni Montini who later became Pope Paul VI, was reported to Vatican authorities and disciplined. The Church and the Italian population cast Mussolini as a “Christ-like figure,” and children in Catholic schools recited prayers daily that said: “I believe in the high Duce—maker of the Black Shirts—And in Jesus Christ his only protector.” The Church hierarchy was just as supportive of Hitler as it was of Mussolini.
When Nazi Germany forcibly annexed Austria in 1938, Vienna’s Cardinal Theodor Innitzer met with Hitler. Cardinal Innitzer supported the Nazi takeover in a statement he had read in church and had church bells rung and swastikas displayed in celebration and greeting of the German army. “Those who are entrusted with souls of the faithful will unconditionally support the great German State and the Führer… obviously accompanied by the blessings of Providence.” The statement ended with “Heil Hitler.” The archbishops of Salzburg and Graz followed the Cardinal’s lead.
This did not stop the Nazis from confiscating church property, closing Catholic organizations, and sending a number of priests to Dachau concentration camp. “Pius XI was surprised, appalled and embarrassed by Mussolini’s meek acceptance of the Nazi takeover.” Furthermore, he was also “furious” at Cardinal Innitzer who seemed to be acting on his own without asking for Papal approval. While the Vatican daily newspaper and radio criticized the statements of the archbishops, Vatican State Secretary Pacelli (the future Pope Pius XII) told the German ambassador that the criticism was not official and the Pope knew nothing about it. In other words, Pacelli encouraged Hitler to act with a free hand.
As time passed, Pope Pius XI became more uneasy with Mussolini, and he had a much more critical view of Hitler with whom he passed a controversial and often violated Concordat in 1933. One could argue that his understanding of Mussolini and Hitler came way too late—he should have seen their evil before supporting them for years. But by the time the Germans invaded Poland, Pope Pius XI was dead and Pope Pius XII, who as Papal Nuncio in Germany actually negotiated the Concordat in 1933, was in power, and he was a supporter of Hitler. He had gotten to know the Nazis well during his stay in Berlin.
Therefore, the Catholic Church did not protest the invasion of Poland, an overwhelmingly Roman Catholic country. Instead, it reaffirmed the Pope’s encyclical Summi Pontificatus from October 1939 that adopted a strict neutrality in the face of the violence spreading across the European continent. Inside Germany, religious newspapers, both Protestant and Catholic, claimed that Germans were fighting for essential Lebensraum. A very religious nation, most Germans felt God was on their side.
This religious support for Hitler should not be surprising. Most religious leaders inside the Reich supported Hitler and felt God had blessed him. Lutheran Bishop Hans Meiser prayed in 1937, “We thank you Lord, for every success… you have so far granted [Hitler] for the good of our people.” Many churches extolled Hitler as the defender of Germany and, by extension, “Christianity from godless Bolshevism.” The Roman Catholic dioceses had Church bells “rung as a joyful salute on Hitler’s birthday on 20 April 1939 with prayers for the Führer to be said at the following Sunday mass.” The Catholic primate, Cardinal Adolf Bertram, sent him a personal greetings telegram.
Leading Protestant church scholars and leaders including Gerhard Kittel, Paul Althaus, and Emmanuel Hirsch supported Hitler and felt that God stood behind him. Hitler had carefully groomed many of these leaders from the beginning of his rule when he appealed to God in a nationwide broadcast in 1933 that the rebirth of Germany would be founded on Christianity. Hanns Kerrl, Reichsminister of Protestant Church Affairs, was a Nazi party member since 1923 and offered to donate all church property to the State, “and make Hitler its ‘supreme head’ and Summus Episcopus.” There were a few brave dissenting Protestant leaders, like Martin Niemöller and Dietrich Bonhoeffer of the Confessing Church, who did resist the Nazis, but unfortunately, they were a tiny minority. And many of them, at first, did not see the danger. Pastor Niemöller was initially a Nazi Party member and supporter of Hitler. After a few years of Nazi rule, he saw how dangerous Hitler was and changed his mind, but he was a member of a small group who did so. Quite simply put, most Christians, both Catholic and Protestant, in Germany supported Hitler and his regime. Moreover, many Christian Germans felt that God had sent the Nazis to provide Germany protection from Bolshevism and to reclaim lands lost to nations viewed as illegitimate, such as Poland.
When Hitler conquered Poland, why did the Pope Pius XII not condemn Hitler’s invasion? Pius XII was elected Pope in March 1939, and he supported much of what Hitler had been doing. “Believers are supposed to hold that the Pope is the Vicar of Christ on earth, and the keeper of the keys of Saint Peter. They of course are free to believe this, and to believe that God decides when to end the tenure of one Pope or (more important) to inaugurate the tenure of another.” This belief would indicate that it was God’s will that a few months before the invasion of 1939, a pro-fascist but anti-Nazi Pope, Pius XI, died with an unsigned Encyclical condemning racism on his nightstand and was replaced by more pro-Nazi pope, Pius XII. What was God telling Catholics in this moment?
Also a good percentage (25 percent) of the SS who persecuted Poles so extensively were practicing Catholics and the rest were largely Protestant. Most of the SS leadership was Catholic. Heinrich Himmler and Reinhard Heydrich, who led the SS, were both Catholics. The brutal commandant of Auschwitz SS—Obersturmbannführer Rudolf Höss—was raised in a strong Catholic family. In the end, “Catholics engaged in the extermination processes were never told specifically by their clergy that they were doing wrong.”
And not only practicing Catholics were part of these horrible movements, but priests also pursued power, implemented Nazi policies and created fascist governments. For example, the head of the Nazi Puppet State of Slovakia was a fascist in holy orders, Father Jozef Tiso. No Catholic has ever been “threatened with excommunication for participating in war crimes” according to journalist Christopher Hitchens. Hitler proudly told his army adjutant Gerhard Engel, “I shall remain a Catholic forever.” Since the Catholic Church has still not excommunicated him, maybe he was right (the Church could retrospectively declare that Hitler should have incurred excommunication during his lifetime, but it has not done so). Interestingly enough, after Hitler’s conquest of Austria in 1938, Mussolini, who was still feeling somewhat uneasy at Hitler’s growing power although allied with him, told a confidential Vatican go-between that the one man who could stop Hitler was the Pope. “By excommunicating Hitler, he could isolate the Führer and cripple the Nazis… [T]he Pope never seriously considered following the suggestion.” As Paul Johnson tragically notes: “The Church excommunicated Catholics who laid down in their wills that they wished to be cremated… but it did not forbid them to work in concentration or death camps.”
Besides Catholics making up the majority of SS and Nazi leadership, one needs to observe that most fascist totalitarian regimes of the 20th century were led by Catholic men like Hitler, Mussolini, Spain’s Francisco Franco, Portugal’s António Salazar and Croatia’s Ante Pavelić. They enjoyed support from the Church and derived much of their childhood education from the Church. “As for the Jews,” Hitler told Catholic Bishop Wilhelm Berning of Osnabrück, “I am just carrying on with the same policy which the Catholic Church had adopted for 1,500 years.” “At no point were Catholics given, either by their own hierarchy or by Rome, the relaxation from their moral obligation to obey the legitimate authority of the Nazi rulers, which had been imposed on them by the 1933 directives of the hierarchy. Nor did the bishops ever tell them officially that the regime was evil, or even mistaken” according to historian Paul Johnson.
In the context of WWII, when one asks why so many Catholics were involved with the killing of Jews and why the Church in Rome did hardly anything to help the Jews or protest the German invasion of the Catholic country Poland, one can simply reply that this was its modus operandi during this time. One might point to their education and religious practices as causing much of the foundational conditioning of society that gave birth to genocidal maniacs in Germany. And it was unfortunately not only Catholics, but also many Protestants who had picked up much of their antisemitism from their religious traditions. “There was no explaining away,” Donald L. Niewyk writes, “the contributions made by Christian antisemitism to the climate of opinion that made the genocide of the Jews possible in the European heartland of ostensibly Christian Western civilization.”
By way of illustration, reforming the church doctrine to end liturgy and teachings, which for centuries had created a powerful religious justification and incitement in the minds of millions of Catholics for prejudice against and persecution of their Jewish neighbors, did not come until Vatican II Council (1962-65) long after WWII. It finally declared that the “death of Christ cannot be charged against all the Jews then alive, without distinction, nor against the Jews of today.” It reasoned that “Christ died for our sins” and the crucifixion was salvation, it is human sin that is responsible for the crucifixion. Without sin there would be no need for sacrificial atonement. It continued saying “the Gospel’s spiritual love decries hatred, persecutions, displays of antisemitism, directed against Jews at any time and by anyone.” One could argue that this pronouncement was 2,000 years late, especially since the Church holds itself out as infallible.
It was disappointing, but not surprising that the Catholic Church and most Protestants not only turned a blind eye to Hitler’s gruesome crimes, but also had clergy who openly supported Hitler’s regime. The Vatican was the first sovereign to sign a treaty (Reichskonkordat) with the Nazis, which served to legitimize their rule in the eyes of other nations and of Catholics everywhere, just as Vatican approval and the Lateran Accords had done for Mussolini. It “ensured that Nazism could rise unopposed by the most powerful Catholic community in the world [Germany’s].” It also encouraged Hitler that he could act “against international Jewry.” So, keeping in line with a history of support of atrocities and/or unwillingness to speak out against crimes, the Pope remained silent during Hitler’s invasion of Poland in 1939. One would think the Pope would have at least revoked the treaty the Church had negotiated with Hitler in 1933, but he did not.
Cardinal Eugène Tisserant witnessed Pope Pius XII’s weak behavior up close in Rome at the time and then commented: “I fear that history will reproach the Holy See with having practiced a policy of selfish convenience and not much else!” And not only Catholic, but Protestant leaders seemed to support or turn a blind eye to what Hitler was doing in general. Christian leaders’ behavior during the Holocaust and Second World War, especially with Germany’s invasion of Poland: “exposed the emptiness of the churches in Germany, the cradle of the Reformation, and the cowardice and selfishness of the Holy See” according to Paul Johnson. Is it any wonder that Jews and other victims of the Nazis felt they had no allies in European Christians?
For more information on these topics, please see “The Rabbi Saved by Hitler’s Soldiers” https://www.amazon.com/.../070062.../ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0...
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/hitler-church-where-god-bryan-mark-rigg |
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Pope Francis died on April 21, 2025, the day after Easter, which coincided with Adolf Hitler's birthday and the alignment of Roman Catholic.
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Pope Francis has died aged 88, a day after making a much hoped-for appearance at Saint Peter’s Square on Easter Sunday, the Vatican says in a statement.
HITLER S BIRTHDAY APRIL 20TH (EASTER SUNDAY 2025)
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EASTER SUNDAY
MASS OF THE DAY
HOMILY OF HIS HOLINESS POPE FRANCIS READ BY CARDINAL ANGELO COMASTRI
Saint Peter's Square Easter Sunday, 20 April 2025 (HITLER S BIRTHDAY)
[Multimedia]
_____________________________________
Mary Magdalene, seeing that the stone of the tomb had been rolled away, ran to tell Peter and John. After receiving the shocking news, the two disciples also went out and — as the Gospel says — “the two were running together” (Jn 20:4). The main figures of the Easter narratives all ran! On the one hand, “running” could express the concern that the Lord’s body had been taken away; but, on the other hand, the haste of Mary Magdalene, Peter and John expresses the desire, the yearning of the heart, the inner attitude of those who set out to search for Jesus. He, in fact, has risen from the dead and therefore is no longer in the tomb. We must look for him elsewhere.
This is the message of Easter: we must look for him elsewhere. Christ is risen, he is alive! He is no longer a prisoner of death, he is no longer wrapped in the shroud, and therefore we cannot confine him to a fairy tale, we cannot make him a hero of the ancient world, or think of him as a statue in a museum! On the contrary, we must look for him and this is why we cannot remain stationary. We must take action, set out to look for him: look for him in life, look for him in the faces of our brothers and sisters, look for him in everyday business, look for him everywhere except in the tomb.
We must look for him without ceasing. Because if he has risen from the dead, then he is present everywhere, he dwells among us, he hides himself and reveals himself even today in the sisters and brothers we meet along the way, in the most ordinary and unpredictable situations of our lives. He is alive and is with us always, shedding the tears of those who suffer and adding to the beauty of life through the small acts of love carried out by each of us.
For this reason, our Easter faith, which opens us to the encounter with the risen Lord and prepares us to welcome him into our lives, is anything but a complacent settling into some sort of “religious reassurance.” On the contrary, Easter spurs us to action, to run like Mary Magdalene and the disciples; it invites us to have eyes that can “see beyond,” to perceive Jesus, the one who lives, as the God who reveals himself and makes himself present even today, who speaks to us, goes before us, surprises us. Like Mary Magdalene, every day we can experience losing the Lord, but every day we can also run to look for him again, with the certainty that he will allow himself to be found and will fill us with the light of his resurrection.
Brothers and sisters, this is the greatest hope of our life: we can live this poor, fragile and wounded existence clinging to Christ, because he has conquered death, he conquers our darkness and he will conquer the shadows of the world, to make us live with him in joy, forever. This is the goal towards which we press on, as the Apostle Paul says, forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead (cf. Phil 3:12-14). Like Mary Magdalene, Peter and John, we hasten to meet Christ.
The Jubilee invites us to renew the gift of hope within us, to surrender our sufferings and our concerns to hope, to share it with those whom we meet along our journey and to entrust to hope the future of our lives and the destiny of the human family. And so we cannot settle for the fleeting things of this world or give in to sadness; we must run, filled with joy. Let us run towards Jesus, let us rediscover the inestimable grace of being his friends. Let us allow his Word of life and truth to shine in our life. As the great theologian Henri de Lubac said, “It should be enough to understand this: Christianity is Christ. No, truly, there is nothing else but this. In Christ we have everything” (Les responsabilités doctrinales des catholiques dans le monde d'aujourd'hui, Paris 2010, 276).
And this “everything” that is the risen Christ opens our life to hope. He is alive, he still wants to renew our life today. To him, conqueror of sin and death, we want to say:
“Lord, on this feast day we ask you for this gift: that we too may be made new, so as to experience this eternal newness. Cleanse us, O God, from the sad dust of habit, tiredness and indifference; give us the joy of waking every morning with wonder, with eyes ready to see the new colours of this morning, unique and unlike any other. […] Everything is new, Lord, and nothing is the same, nothing is old” (A. Zarri, Quasi una preghiera).
Sisters, brothers, in the wonder of the Easter faith, carrying in our hearts every expectation of peace and liberation, we can say: with You, O Lord, everything is new. With you, everything begins again.
https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/homilies/2025/documents/20250420-omelia-pasqua.html |
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Madeleine Riffaud au cœur de la Résistance : « C’est un coup de pied au cul d’un nazi qui a fait que je me suis engagée »
Ce contenu a été publié sous le gouvernement du Premier ministre Gabriel Attal.
Publié le 6 juin 2024, modifié le 6 novembre 2024
Madeleine Riffaud, qui s'est éteinte mercredi 6 novembre 2024 à l'ge de 100 ans, a vécu mille vies : résistante, poète, correspondante de guerre et anticolonialiste. Toute sa vie, elle a tenu à témoigner pour transmettre un message de paix aux futures générations. Pour nous, elle était revenue sur son incroyable parcours dans la Résistance parisienne de ses 16 à ses 20 ans.
Madeleine Riffaud. -Source : Getty
Écoutez l’histoire de Madeleine Riffaud
Écouter Madeleine Riffaud
Entretien réalisé en juin 2024.
Pendant votre enfance et adolescence, comment avez-vous été sensibilisée aux questions politiques et sociales ?
Mon engagement trouve ses racines dans l'héritage de mes grands-parents et de mes parents. Mon grand-père, un ouvrier agricole d'une grande bonté, a refusé de fuir face à l'ennemi pendant la Première Guerre mondiale. Mon père, quant à lui, s'est engagé à l'ge de 18 ans dans ce même conflit. Il a été gravement blessé. En 1936, pendant la guerre d'Espagne, il a de nouveau souhaité s'engager, mais a été réformé à cause d'une blessure à la jambe.
Et puis, les années 30, c’est aussi l’essor du Front populaire en France et de ses réformes sociales : cela a clairement marqué ma jeunesse.
Je suis née et j’ai grandi dans la Somme, une terre profondément marquée par la Première Guerre mondiale, j'ai ensuite été témoin de l'exode de 1940. Notre famille a été mitraillée sur la route par des avions allemands. Miraculeusement, nous avons tous survécu. Déjà à l’époque, j’avais envie de me battre.
Mon histoire est celle d'une femme dont l'engagement et la prise de conscience politique ont été façonnés par l'exemple familial et par des expériences marquantes. Ces événements ont forgé mon caractère et m'ont poussée à m'engager pour les causes qui me tiennent à cœur.
Quel a été l’élément déclencheur de votre engagement dans la Résistance ?
En novembre 1940, à la gare d'Amiens, un officier allemand m’a violentée suite à mon refus d'avances de ses soldats. C’est un coup de pied au cul d’un nazi qui a fait que je me suis engagée. C’était l’humiliation de trop dans une France déjà humiliée.
Cet affront a été le catalyseur de mon engagement dans la Résistance. Mais à 16 ans, comment m'infiltrer dans ce mouvement clandestin ?
Il s’avère que je suis tombée malade en 1941. J’ai donc été envoyée pour six mois dans un sanatorium pour étudiants en Isère. Ce lieu abritait des résistants et des juifs munis de faux certificats médicaux. Il y avait même une imprimerie clandestine ! C'est là que j’ai fait la rencontre d’un autre patient, Marcel Gagliardi, dont le père était un ami de mon père. Marcel est devenu mon ami. Il était étudiant en médecine et résistant depuis 1940. Je l’ai supplié de me faire entrer dans la Résistance. Face à ses réticences, je lui ai dit en face : « Tu es comme mon père, vous voulez que tout le monde soit résistant, sauf votre fille ou votre petite copine. Vous êtes des égoïstes ! »
Finalement, à notre retour à Paris, on a fini par me confier ma première mission, celle pour faire mes preuves. Je devais transporter une clé de tirefond destinée à démonter les rails pour faire dérailler des trains. Je n’ai découvert la véritable nature de mon colis qu'après coup.
Quelles ont été vos actions les plus marquantes pendant la guerre ?
Au fil des combats et des pertes, j'ai rapidement gravi les échelons de la Résistance pour rejoindre les Francs-tireurs et Partisans (FTP). Le débarquement en Normandie avait sonné l'heure de l'intensification des actions pour soulever Paris. Un geste fort et symbolique était nécessaire : abattre un officier nazi en public. Mais mes hommes avaient déjà subi de lourdes pertes. Il fallait agir. C’était la mission. Je me suis résolue à l'exécuter moi-même, le moral lourd.
Par un beau dimanche d'août, le 23 juillet 1944, alors que les Parisiens profitaient du soleil, je suis montée à vélo et j’ai roulé au hasard. Le long de la Seine, en passant devant le pont de Solférino, j'ai aperçu un sous-officier allemand isolé. Déterminée à ne pas tirer dans le dos, j'ai attendu qu'il se retourne. Deux balles dans la tête, il s'est effondré, mort sur le coup.
J’y pense encore aujourd’hui : tuer un homme, ça vous hante à vie.
Que s’est-il passé après cet évènement ?
Tout semblait s'être déroulé sans accroc. Mais alors que je remontais sur mon vélo, une voiture à essence – symbole de mort, car seuls les nazis et les collaborateurs en possédaient – m'a percutée. Au volant se trouvait le chef de la milice de Versailles. Avec la prime de 10 000 francs promise pour la capture de « terroristes », il m'a directement conduite à la Gestapo, rue des Saussaies. Là, l'enfer m'attendait : la chambre des tortures.
Je n’ai pas envie d’en parler. Ça a été trois semaines difficiles… Mais, je n’ai rien lché comme information.
L'arrivée d'un officier allemand m'annonçant ma condamnation n’a suscité en moi aucune surprise. Je devais être fusillée le 5 août 1944. J'ai même remercié cet homme qui scellait mon destin. La mort me délivrerait enfin de la torture et de l'horreur.
Je me trouvais dans ma cellule, calme et sereine, rédigeant un poème en guise de lettre d'adieu. La souffrance était intolérable, et je n'aspirais qu'à une chose : la fin. Mourir à Paris, plutôt que d'être déportée, était mon seul souhait.
Alors que je m'apprêtais à affronter mon exécution, un nouvel événement a bouleversé le cours de mon destin. On m'a emmenée pour une confrontation avec un traître, le propriétaire du pistolet que j'avais utilisé. Cela m’a sauvée de la fusillade.
Mais l'épreuve n'est pas terminée. Dix jours de torture m'attendent à la prison de Fresnes, avant d'être entassée avec d'autres prisonniers dans un train pour Ravensbrück – pour la mort.
Pourtant, vous avez survécu…
Oui, j’ai encore échappé à la mort. C’est une femme du nom d’Anne-Marie qui m’a sauvé la vie en me faisant sauter du train avec elle.
Deux SS nous ont vues et nous ont interceptées. Alors que j’étais sans espoir, Anne-Marie m’a dit : « Tu apprendras qu’un jour est un jour ». Je m’en suis rappelé et elle a eu raison : c'est par l'intervention du consul de Suède, Raoul Nordling, désireux de sauver Anne-Marie, que nous avons bénéficié d'un échange de prisonniers. C’est comme ça que j’ai découvert qu’Anne-Marie était une femme de l’Intelligence Service.
Le 19 août 1944, nous sommes toutes les deux libérées. En même temps, on entend les premiers coups de feu de l'insurrection. C’est le début de la libération de Paris.
Avez-vous participé à la libération de Paris ?
En effet. À la tête d'un petit détachement composé de quatre hommes, en me comptant, j'ai reçu une mission urgente au dernier moment : intercepter un train allemand aux Buttes-Chaumont. Mon supérieur m'a laconiquement lancé « Démerdez-vous ! ». Avec mes hommes, nous avons dû improviser pour cette mission in extremis.
Depuis une passerelle surplombant le tunnel où le train était bloqué, nous avons lancé les trois paquets d'explosifs en notre possession neutralisant ainsi les occupants. C’est comme ça que nous avons capturé 80 soldats de la Wehrmacht et récupéré leurs armes. Et, qu’avons-nous retrouvé dans les caisses ? Du champagne et du foie gras qu’ils allaient exporter en Allemagne ! Autant dire que nous avons festoyé ce jour-là.
Je me suis alors rendu compte que c'était mon anniversaire : le 23 août, j'avais 20 ans.
La grande majorité de l’Europe était encore sous le joug nazi. La libération de Paris en août 1944 a été une véritable message d’espoir pour tous les Européens.
https://www.info.gouv.fr/actualite/madeleine-riffaud-au-coeur-de-la-resistance-cest-un-coup-de-pied-au-cul-dun-nazi-qui-a-fait-que-je-me-suis-engagee |
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La résistante Madeleine Riffaud s’est éteinte après une vie de combats
«Le fait même de se rebeller définit la personne que l’on est au cours de sa vie»
Elle semblait avoir eu tellement de vies qu’on aurait pu la croire immortelle. Madeleine Riffaud s’en est allée le 6 novembre 2024. Elle avait 100 ans. Poétesse, résistante, révoltée, anticolonialiste, elle a traversé le siècle sans jamais avoir perdu la flamme qui l’animait.
Enfant de Picardie, Madeleine s’engage dans la Résistance alors qu’elle n’a que 18 ans, sous le pseudonyme de Rainer, le prénom du poète allemand Rilke, dont elle apprécie les écrits.
Sous l’occupation, elle écrit des poésies, travaille dans un hôpital, et sent la révolte contre les exactions des nazis la consumer. Nous sommes en 1942. La jeune femme rejoint les Francs Tireurs Partisans, le groupe de résistants communistes. Entre autres faits d’armes, elle apprend à poser des explosifs sur les véhicules allemands et couvre la retraite d’un camarade mis en joue par un soldat allemand. Le 23 juillet 1944, elle apprend le massacre commis par une unité SS dans le village d’Oradour-sur-Glane, où elle passait ses vacances durant son enfance.
Sous le choc, après l’exécution d’un de ses amis résistants, Madeleine Riffaud abat un officier nazi en pleine rue de deux balles dans la tête. Alors qu’elle s’enfuit, Madeleine est renversée par la voiture d’un collabo. Arrêtée, torturée à plusieurs reprises par la Gestapo, elle est déportée vers les camps. Intrépide, elle saute du train qui l’emmène vers la mort. Quelques jours plus tard, elle est de nouveau arrêtée et sauvée par une intervention de la Croix Rouge. Elle reprend immédiatement son combat de résistante. La fin de la guerre est proche : à Paris, l’insurrection vient d’éclater contre l’Occupant. En Normandie, les alliés ont débarqué. À l’Est, les troupes soviétiques taillent en pièces l’armée nazie.
Le 23 août 1944, à la tête de quatre hommes seulement, elle attaque un train depuis un pont des Buttes Chaumont, dans le 19ème arrondissement de la capitale, en jetant des explosifs et des feux d’artifice sur la locomotive, ce qui donne l’impression d’une attaque de grande ampleur. Un wagon déraille. Les soldats allemands tirent à la mitrailleuse, avant d’être bloqués dans un tunnel. Madeleine arrête 80 soldats de la Wehrmacht, le jour de ses vingt ans. Peu après, elle participe à l’attaque armée d’une caserne place de la République.
Après guerre, Madeleine Riffaud devient grand reporter au sein du quotidien communiste l’Humanité. Elle y couvre la grande grève des mineurs en 1948, réalise des articles sur la condition ouvrière, la guerre d’Algérie, puis la guerre du Vietnam. Elle soutient les luttes anti-colonialistes, parcourt le monde en tant que correspondante de guerre – un poste rarissime pour une femme à cette époque. Elle se rend jusque dans un maquis du Vietnam pour un reportage remarqué, et devient amie avec l’indépendantiste Hô Chi Minh.
En 1962, Madeleine Riffaud frôle la mort une nouvelle fois : elle échappe de justesse à un attentat de l’OAS – un groupe terroriste d’extrême droite pour l’Algérie française – qui rajoute des cicatrices sur son corps déjà marqué par la torture.
En 1973, elle publie publie un livre après une immersion dans un service de chirurgie intitulé «Les Linges de la nuit». Elle y raconte les mauvaise conditions que subit le personnel, la fatigue, le manque de moyens, les fins de vie dans le dénuement. C’est un immense succès d’édition. Dans l’ouvrage, l’autrice dénonce : «La course aux superprofits pèse plus que la vie humaine.» Rien n’a changé.
Dans les années 1990, elle sillonne les écoles pour témoigner de ses souvenirs de résistante. «Tant qu’on a de la force, il faut l’offrir aux autres» déclare-t-elle. En 1994, elle dit : «Le fait même de se rebeller définit l’homme et l’on est au cours de sa vie, plus ou moins homme selon qu’on se résigne à sa condition humaine ou que l’on se rebelle». Jusqu’au crépuscule de son existence, elle continuait à partager ses aventures en fumant le cigare.
Dans un recueil de poésie paru après-guerre, elle évoquait sa première action armée :
Neuf balles dans mon chargeur
Pour venger tous nos frères
Ça fait mal de tuer
C’est la première fois.
Sept balles dans mon chargeur
C’était si simple
L’homme qui tirait l’autre nuit
C’était moi.
Dans le poème Traquenard, elle parlait de la terreur omniprésente et de son enfermement :
Peur des bottes
Peur des clefs
Peur des portes
Peur des pièges.
Ils me font marcher entre eux deux
Ce dimanche de plein soleil
Vers la grande prison
À l’entrée des enfers
À ma gauche est un policier
À ma droite est un policier
Dans chaque poche un revolver. Et devant moi
Et devant moi
Oh ! Les hautes grilles de fer
[…]
Sitôt les verrous refermés
On entend les nôtres crier
Et dehors c’est dimanche
Et dehors c’est l’été.
Dans une église, l’orgue chante
Un pigeon tout blanc dans l’air bleu
En vol, a caressé ma joue. Et derrière moi
Et devant moi
Oh ! les hautes grilles de fer !
Dans Mitard, écrit dans la prison Fresnes elle évoquait ses camarades enfermés :
Je sens bien qu’ils sont encore là
Autour de moi, et me regardent.
Leurs yeux s’allument quelques fois
Dans le noir comme des étoiles.
Et ma tête s’appuie
À leurs épaules d’ombre.
https://contre-attaque.net/2024/11/07/la-resistante-madeleine-riffaud-sest-eteinte-apres-une-vie-de-combats/ |
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Adolf Hitler (* 20 April 1889 in Braunau am Inn) († 30 April 1945 Berlin), Leader of the Nazi Party, Reich Chancellor from 1933, also self-appointed "Fuehrer" and head of state of Germany.
https://www.album-online.com/detail/es/YTRkYWI0MA/adolf-hitler-april-1889-braunau-am-inn-1945-berlin-leader-alb5556224
EASTER SUNDAY
Mary Magdalene, seeing that the stone of the tomb had been rolled away, ran to tell Peter and John. After receiving the shocking news, the two disciples also went out and — as the Gospel says — “the two were running together” (Jn 20:4). The main figures of the Easter narratives all ran! On the one hand, “running” could express the concern that the Lord’s body had been taken away; but, on the other hand, the haste of Mary Magdalene, Peter and John expresses the desire, the yearning of the heart, the inner attitude of those who set out to search for Jesus. He, in fact, has risen from the dead and therefore is no longer in the tomb. We must look for him elsewhere.
This is the message of Easter: we must look for him elsewhere. Christ is risen, he is alive! He is no longer a prisoner of death, he is no longer wrapped in the shroud, and therefore we cannot confine him to a fairy tale, we cannot make him a hero of the ancient world, or think of him as a statue in a museum! On the contrary, we must look for him and this is why we cannot remain stationary. We must take action, set out to look for him: look for him in life, look for him in the faces of our brothers and sisters, look for him in everyday business, look for him everywhere except in the tomb.
We must look for him without ceasing. Because if he has risen from the dead, then he is present everywhere, he dwells among us, he hides himself and reveals himself even today in the sisters and brothers we meet along the way, in the most ordinary and unpredictable situations of our lives. He is alive and is with us always, shedding the tears of those who suffer and adding to the beauty of life through the small acts of love carried out by each of us.
For this reason, our Easter faith, which opens us to the encounter with the risen Lord and prepares us to welcome him into our lives, is anything but a complacent settling into some sort of “religious reassurance.” On the contrary, Easter spurs us to action, to run like Mary Magdalene and the disciples; it invites us to have eyes that can “see beyond,” to perceive Jesus, the one who lives, as the God who reveals himself and makes himself present even today, who speaks to us, goes before us, surprises us. Like Mary Magdalene, every day we can experience losing the Lord, but every day we can also run to look for him again, with the certainty that he will allow himself to be found and will fill us with the light of his resurrection.
Brothers and sisters, this is the greatest hope of our life: we can live this poor, fragile and wounded existence clinging to Christ, because he has conquered death, he conquers our darkness and he will conquer the shadows of the world, to make us live with him in joy, forever. This is the goal towards which we press on, as the Apostle Paul says, forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead (cf. Phil 3:12-14). Like Mary Magdalene, Peter and John, we hasten to meet Christ.
The Jubilee invites us to renew the gift of hope within us, to surrender our sufferings and our concerns to hope, to share it with those whom we meet along our journey and to entrust to hope the future of our lives and the destiny of the human family. And so we cannot settle for the fleeting things of this world or give in to sadness; we must run, filled with joy. Let us run towards Jesus, let us rediscover the inestimable grace of being his friends. Let us allow his Word of life and truth to shine in our life. As the great theologian Henri de Lubac said, “It should be enough to understand this: Christianity is Christ. No, truly, there is nothing else but this. In Christ we have everything” (Les responsabilités doctrinales des catholiques dans le monde d'aujourd'hui, Paris 2010, 276).
And this “everything” that is the risen Christ opens our life to hope. He is alive, he still wants to renew our life today. To him, conqueror of sin and death, we want to say:
“Lord, on this feast day we ask you for this gift: that we too may be made new, so as to experience this eternal newness. Cleanse us, O God, from the sad dust of habit, tiredness and indifference; give us the joy of waking every morning with wonder, with eyes ready to see the new colours of this morning, unique and unlike any other. […] Everything is new, Lord, and nothing is the same, nothing is old” (A. Zarri, Quasi una preghiera).
Sisters, brothers, in the wonder of the Easter faith, carrying in our hearts every expectation of peace and liberation, we can say: with You, O Lord, everything is new. With you, everything begins again.
https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/homilies/2025/documents/20250420-omelia-pasqua.html |
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