Chapter 1: Childhood 1. Father Maciel, you were born into a very Catholic family, and your early life coincided with a harsh religious persecution. What are some of your memories from those childhood years in your hometown, Cotija? Maura Degollado Guizar (1895-1977), Fr Maciel's mother, who is presently in the process of beatification for her exemplary life as a Christian wife and mother. As you say, my family was very Catholic, but that was not unique. In Mexico there were and still are families deeply rooted in their faith. Our life was centered on the truths of the Christian faith in a very simple but also very deep way. My father owned large tracts of pasture and farmland. He was often away from home, doing the rounds of the ranches. He always tried to take care of the needs of his workers and their families. My memories are of an honest man, faithful to his personal and Christian commitments, very much a man of conscience. In this regard, I remember a man with whom my father had a handshake deal to buy his ranch came to our house once. The government had expropriated his property in the meantime and it no longer legally belonged to him, but since my father had made the deal before this happened and had given his word to buy, he paid the man for the land even though it had been confiscated. My mother spent all her time with us children; she was totally dedicated to us. Of her many pregnancies, eleven of us survived infancy, seven boys and four girls. Two of my brothers died in childhood, one at five and the other at six. Two others died later on: Alfonso as a young man and the eldest, Francisco, in middle age, in a traffic accident in 1973. My mother was a very devout woman, truly holy. When she was young she wanted to be a Theresian nun, but she chose to marry in obedience to her father (as was still customary in those days), and resolved to seek her complete holiness in the married life and raising her children. I remember going with her to visit two lepers who lived in our town, the Tolento sisters. She took care of the sick personally, with great love, gentleness and respect, because in them she saw the image of Christ. Though I was very little, I asked myself why she did this. Over time, I learned that she did it because she was a Christian. There was no other reason. I believe I was a child like any other. I liked to play, explore the countryside, get into mischief like everyone else. The parish church wasn't far from my house, so I used to go there often, quite spontaneously, for Sunday Mass, daily family rosary — especially in May — confession and adoration of the Eucharist every first Friday of the month. For our family it was very normal and spontaneous to practice our faith. It was part of life itself. There was no separation whatever between our daily life and our contact with God. My mother taught us to see God's hand in everything that happened in our lives, the pleasant and the painful. A loving hand that led us to him by the most unexpected of paths. What we could never question was God or his love. She also taught us to discover his creating power in nature, which he made out of love for us. Sometimes when we were out with her she would stop in front of a simple wildflower and say, "Look, children, how much God loves us." And she would teach us how to recognize the flower's beauty in its color, its shape, its perfume ... It all spoke to her of God's love and power and wisdom. Mexico first saw religious persecution under president Plutarco Elías Calles, and many of Mexico's Catholics, especially from the states of Guanajuato, Michoacán and Jalisco, rose up in arms between 1926 and 1929 to defend their rights. It was a popular movement. There were no political motives whatsoever, nor were they seeking any other interest. All they wanted was for the government to allow Christians to practice their faith freely and let the priests carry out their ministry. They weren't looking for special privileges, only respect for the basic right of religious freedom. Many people I knew went into the hills to fight this war, which was called the "Cristero War" because the men lived and died to the shout of "Long live Christ the King!" I was still very young, but I must say I envied the ones who went out to fight for Christ. That's how I saw it. I lived it from the age of six to nine. Once my family had to abandon our home and the town of Cotija, and take refuge in Jamay and Zamora, which were safer for us, especially because my mother, Maura Degollado, was the sister of the Cristero army's last commander-in-chief, Jesœs Degollado Guízar. I sometimes saw my mother with a rifle in her hands to defend us in case of an attack on the house. I saw many dead Cristeros hanging from the lampposts, strung up by government troops. We used to help the dying to die well, and would treat the wounds of those who had taken bullets. We saw our friends and neighbors hanged or shot in the town square. In my simple logic of a child I would tell myself that they had given their lives for Christ and were now with him in heaven. I too wanted to give my life for him, though at the time I didn't know that God had another kind of battle in mind for me.