By MSGR. THOMAS J. MCSWEENEY
Religion Columnist

Is there a question you hope you will never be asked?

Most people have something that we would prefer not to reveal. For most Germans who were adults during the Second World War it might be “Where were you and what did you do?” Chances are you won't find many who admit they fought on the Western Front or knew what was happening to the Jews.

Shame does not begin or end with a single group. Gary Wills' recent book Papal Sin excoriates the bishops and priests who were supportive of the Nazis. Controversy still rages over the alleged “silence” of Pope Pius XII. Not long ago Pope John Paul II begged forgiveness for those Christians who “were not strong enough to raise their voices in protest.”

While there were countless acts of private heroism by people of every background, few spoke out. But there can be no disputing where Franz Jaegerstaetter stood. An Austrian farmer, devoted husband and father, he not only saw the evil of Nazism but also publicly refused to cooperate with that evil in any way.

Jaegerstaetter had been a rough and tumble youth who found work in the Steiermark iron mines. Then, in the late 1930s, he experienced a religious re-conversion, if you will, to the Catholic faith of his childhood. He married a devout young woman and settled down in his village of St. Radegund where he tended his parent's little farm. From his meager subsistence, he regularly gave generously to the poor.

According to historian Rev. Boniface Hanley, OFM, Jaegerstaetter became open about his hatred of all things Nazi when he voted against the German annexation of Austria. His village priest warned Franz that he was courting serious danger, since Nazis brooked no opposition, and advised him that he risked putting his family in harm's way by not voting “yes.” The farmer answered, “Father, I believe that God asks me to live by my conscience. If I do what I think He wants me to do, then I know He will take care of my wife and family.”

When he refused military service after being drafted, the local police chief offered to try to get him a noncombatant post. “Please don't put me in the terrible position of having to arrest such a good man as you!” the chief pleaded. Again Franz Jaegerstaetter was determined: “I cannot believe that just because one has a wife and children, he is free to offend God. Did not Christ himself say `He who loves father, mother or children more than me is not deserving of my kingdom'?”

When imprisoned, several members of the clergy tried to persuade him that there was “no inherent dichotomy between serving Christ and serving one's Fatherland—especially if the former means losing your life and leaving your family abandoned.” The prison chaplain remembers him responding humbly and sadly, “I'm sorry, your Reverence . . . but you just haven't been given the grace.” One witness recalls how the clergy and guards wept openly at his steadfast spirit. “To the end, his eyes shined with joy and confidence, his face was full of peace.”

On August 9, 1943, Franz Jaegerstaetter was beheaded by guillotine, with no blindfold, his face upwards toward the blade. His family was left unharmed. As a child of the light, his conscience would not let him serve the powers of evil. At the end, he knew exactly what he had done with his life: God's will.

For a free copy of The Christopher News Note,

A Matter of Conscience, write to

The Christophers, 12 East 48th Street, NewYork, NY 10017.

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