The death of St. Joan of Arc
“On the morning of Joan's death, by permission and order of the judges and before her sentence was brought to her, I heard Joan's confession and administered our Lord's Body to her, which she received with such humility, devotion, and copious tears as I could not completely describe. From that moment, I did not leave her until she gave up her spirit. Almost everyone who was there wept for pity, in particular the Bishop of Therouanne, Louis de Luxembourg. And I have no doubts about her having died a true Catholic, indeed, I should like my soul to be where I believe Joan's to now be. After the sentence, she got down from the platform from which she had heard the sermon and was led by the executioner, without further sentence from the lay judge, to the place where the wood was prepared for her burning. The wood was piled on a scaffold, beneath which the executioner lit his fire. When Joan saw the fire, she told me to get down and to raise our Lord's Cross very high so that she could see it, and this I did. Right up until the end of her life she maintained that the Voices she heard were of God, and that all that she had done she had done at God's command, and that she did not believe that she had been deceived by her Voices, and that the revelations she received were from God. And that is all I know." - Fr. Martin Ladvenu, OP
The death of St. José
When the Cristero War broke out in 1926, Jose Luis Sanchez del Rio joined the rebellion against the anti-Catholic government despite being only 12-years-old. Jose insisted that he wanted the chance to give his life for Jesus Christ. The Cristeros nicknamed him Tarcisius, after the early Christian saint who was martyred for protecting the Eucharist from desecration.
In 1928, Jose was captured and imprisoned by government troops. They ordered him to renounce his faith in Christ, under threat of death. He refused to apostatize. To break his resolve, he was made to watch the hanging of another Cristero that they had in custody, but instead José encouraged the man, saying that they would soon meet again in Heaven after death. In prison, José prayed the Rosary daily and wrote an emotional letter to his mother, saying that he was ready to fulfill the will of God to whom he dedicated himself.
Some recall the gruesome events after the government's failure to break José's resolve: “Consequently they cut the bottom of his feet and obliged him to walk around the town toward the cemetery. They also at times cut him with a machete until he was bleeding from several wounds. He cried and moaned with pain, but he did not give in.”
While the socialists barbarically tortured the 14-year-old boy with sharp machete blows, the godless soldiers screamed, “If you shout, ‘Death to Christ the King’, we will spare your life!”
His firm reply remained the same: “Long live Christ the King! Long live Our Lady of Guadalupe!” Although his torturers pierced his body with bayonets, with every stab, he shouted louder and louder: "Viva Cristo Rey!" At times they would stop and say again, “If you shout, ‘Death to Christ the King’ we will spare your life'.” José would only shout, 'I will never give in. Viva Cristo Rey!'"
Eyewitnesses say the commander was so furious that he pulled out his pistol and shot José in the head.
The Church canonized José a saint on October 16, 2016.
The Death of St. Jactina
Jacinta and Francesco fell ill in the autumn of 1918 with the Spanish Flu. The siblings had another apparition of Our Lady at that time. She told them that she would shortly take Francesco to heaven, but Jacinta had a choice to be taken to heaven immediately or to stay on earth for a time to suffer for the conversion of sinners. Jacinta did not hesitate, deciding on the latter option. Our Lady told her that she would end up in a hospital, where she would suffer a great deal for the salvation of souls, and that she would die alone.
After Jacinta contracted influenza, she ended up in a hospital where she stayed for two months and then returned home. Her condition became worse, however, as she developed tuberculosis, and in January 1920 she was sent to the sick hall of a Catholic orphanage. Very soon she found herself in a hospital in Lisbon, greatly weakened by a deadly illness. Doctors discovered, apart from a purulent infection of the left pluera, acute inflammation of the seventh and eighth ribs on the left side of her rib cage. She was in great pain day and night as the infection had spread more and more; her wounds exuding an odor. On February 10, she had two ribs removed without having had a full dose of anesthetic because of her weak condition. The operation, however, did not bring the desired effect - it only cost her more pain. Though she suffered in agony every time she had her dressing changed, she did not complain. Like her brother, she offered up all her suffering for the conversion of sinners. On February 16, 1920, Mary appeared to Jacinta for the last time, assuring her that she would shortly take her to heaven. Four days later, Jacinta asked for the sacraments. A priest arrived and heard her confession, promising to return with Holy Communion the following day. But Jacinta knew that she would not live until then. She died that evening, all alone, as Our Lady had told her, just a few days before her 11th birthday.
The Death of St. Maximillian Kolbe
It was July 1941 in Block 14 of Auschwitz. A prisoner was missing, and if the fugitive was not found, 10 men would be condemned to die by starvation.
Prisoner 16670 was Fr. Maximilian Kolbe, a Catholic priest. "Are you afraid to die, my child?" He whispered to the trembling boy at his side. "Don't be frightened. Death is nothing to be afraid of."
The next morning, the fugitive had not been found. Block 14 stood exposed to the burning sun for hours with nothing to drink. Every once in a while, someone collapsed, and the executioners dragged their unresponsive bodies out of the lines, piling them in heaps. Fr. Maximilian, the sickly priest, did not faint, did not fall. He remained standing.
They all stood at attention until evening, awaiting the sentence. Finally, Commandant Fritsch passed down the line, looking them in the faces, passing among the shadows like an angel of death. He raised his hand and pointed, "This one. That one there. And that one." There were ten. Ten condemned to death. Suddenly, one distraught man fell out of line and cried out, “Oh, my poor wife, my poor children, whom I will never see again!"
"Take off your shoes!" the assistant yelled. A well-known ritual: those condemned to death go to the place of execution with bare feet. "Turn to the left!" -- to the ominous Block 11, the execution bunkers.
That's when a prisoner carved out a path through his astonished comrades. It was Fr. Kolbe. The commandant reached for his gun, "Halt! What does this Polish pig want of me?" Fr. Kolbe responded quietly, "I would like to die in place of one of the men you have condemned." Bewildered, the commandant asked, "In whose place do you want to die?" Fr. Kolbe pointed to the man who had just bemoaned his fate, "For this one. He has a wife and children." Fritsch, still bewildered, asked, "Who are you?" Fr. Kolbe answered in solemn brevity, "A Catholic priest."
Thousands of victims agonized in unspeakable torture in the Block of Death: the dark, dank underground starvation bunkers. The thick walls did not deaden the cries, moans, and screams of the prisoners who lay in torment.
With the other new arrivals, Fr. Kolbe was ordered to remove all clothing. He obeyed the humiliation, giving up his last shred of human dignity with his beggarly rags.
The lamentable flock was shoved and beaten with gun butts into a cramped bunker without air. A flock of men about to die, but not without a shepherd: a priest was there not only to die with them, but to help them die.
When the heavy door was shut on the dark pit, the jailers noticed right away that something was different. The closing of the fatal door usually plunged the prisoners into despair and the bunker would reverberate with their howling. But this time they did not scream. They sang! The torture chamber seemed converted into a chapel as feeble voices sang prayers and hymns from cell to cell.
The voices weakened with each passing day. Each morning that the undertaker entered to remove corpses, he always found Fr. Kolbe either on his knees or standing, praying aloud, "even though the others lay on the ground like a heap of rags." Fr. Kolbe was always calm and asked for nothing, although other prisoners begged for water. The guards said they never saw a man like him. They could not stand his gaze.
Days passed. It was 14 August. Only Fr. Kolbe was conscious. He no longer knelt, but sat. He had dismissed his little flock one by one. The shepherd had finished his task; now he could die.
The jailers entered to finish him. Seeing the hypodermic syringe, he stretched forth his bony arm for the deadly injection. The undertaker could not stand the sight; he turned and fled.
Later, he returned to clean the bunker. He found Fr. Kolbe "as if in ecstasy, his face was serene and radiant." While the other corpses were dirty with ravaged faces, Fr. Kolbe's body was "spotless, and one could say that it radiated light." He said, "I will never forget the impression this made on me."
His body was burned as were all the others, in one of the crematories that smoked night and day.
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