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Blessed Miguel Pro - Martyr of Mexico

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Republish: EasyPublish™ Published: 02Dec2009 Word count: 807 Viewed: 383 time(s) Get Free Content For Your Site

The secretary said, "The Pro brothers have not confessed any connection to the crime, and we have no proof against them."

But the following morning, without benefit of an examining judge, or lawyer, or anything, sentence on Miguel Pro and his three companions, was to be carried out. Keep in mind that none of what was going on was known by Miguel Pro. He and his friends were sure they would speak to a judge, or someone, and this whole charade would come to an end. This was not the first time he had been in prison, nor would it be his last. It was just another nail in the Cross.

He was most likely relieved when the guard came and told him and his brother Humberto to follow him. Miguel bounced up, leaving his vest behind. When the guard sent him back to get his vest, something clicked in Migue's mind. Possibly a sinking feeling went through him. Was this it? Was it his time to follow in the footsteps of his Savior, to walk his Way of the Cross? He went back into the cell, and put on his vest. His brother Roberto, helped him with it. Miguel squeezed his arm in a way that shot fear into Roberto's heart. He looked at his brother. The eyes were knowing. Roberto panicked. Miguel turned to the other prisoners in the cells, and with a bravado, said "Good-by my sons, my brothers."

The guard, Mazcorro, asked Miguel's forgiveness for his part in what was about to happen. "Not only do I pardon you, but I thank you. I will pray for you." Then he and his brother, without any handcuffs, followed the guard out onto the courtyard. Miguel went out first.

The cold, biting air of the November morning sent a chill across his face. His hair blew in the wind. The sun was shining brightly. It was a glorious day. Miguel surveyed the situation in the courtyard. It was as he feared. Soldiers were lined up for a firing squad! All the eyewitnesses, various generals and dignitaries, as well as members of the press, came to attention as they saw for the first time, the famous Jesuit, who had made such fools of President Calles and his entire police force for so long. Cameras began clicking photos for posterity of this man, who looked more like a student than a conspirator. Miguel walked straight as a rod into the center of the courtyard. It was as if he was running the show, as he had always done. He was asked his last request. He asked to pray. He went down on his knees, folded his arms, and closed his eyes.

What did Miguel say to the Lord on this, the most important moment of his life? Did he ask for strength and courage, to set an example not only for his brothers, but for all those who were yet to come? Did he ask for help from his founder, the fearless Ignatius Loyola? Did he speak to Mary? Did he ask her to help him now? He needed her so much. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to give glory to her Son, Jesus, and to her. He wanted them to be proud of him. He wanted all the martyrs before him, to look on him with pride. He wanted, by his last simple act, to make the plight of his countrymen, worthwhile.

He stood up. His communication with Jesus and his Heavenly Family gave Miguel the strength he needed. Eyewitnesses report, his face was aglow, shining as if a reflection of the sun. He raised his arm to his executioners in the form of a blessing. He shouted in a loud, strong voice, "May God have mercy on you! May God bless you! Lord, Thou knowest that I am innocent! With all my heart I forgive my enemies!"

The command was given the soldiers. "Prepare!"

From his breast pocket, Miguel took out a brass crucifix that he was given on the day of his ordination. In his other hand, he held the rosary he had gotten in Lourdes. He held both outstretched, at arms length, in the form of the Cross. He said, in a voice which was not loud, but could be heard by everyone in the assembly, "Viva Cristo Rey."

"Fire!" The sound from the blast of the rifles, ricocheted against the walls of the courtyard, shattering the tense silence. Bullets ripped through Miguel?s chest, pushing him backward, but he remained standing. Cameras went off like crazy, catching the image of the dead man, who wouldn't go down. Finally, he slumped into a heap on the ground. The captain came over to him, and shot him in the head, to end his torture. Miguel Pro was dead, but never forgotten.

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