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The Man of Hope
After years in prison and in exile, a
Vietnamese archbishop sees his
own life as an example of God’s providential designs.
By Paul Burnell
In the week between his historic Day of Pardon ceremony and his equally historic pilgrimage to the Holy Land, who did the Holy Father turn to for his spiritual sustenance? The man who fed the Holy Father’s spirit was the 72-year-old exiled archbishop of Saigon, Archbishop Francis Xavier Nguyên Van Thuân, who once spent 13 years in jail courtesy of the Communist regime in Vietnam, and now serves as president of the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace.
The first Asian ever to deliver the traditional Lenten Retreat for the papal household, Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân received a second honor from the Holy Father after he completed the spiritual exercises. The Pope asked him to publish a book based on his meditation, saying that they could be “very helpful to many persons.”
Indeed before leaving for the Holy Land, the Pontiff sent Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân a letter, in which he wrote:
I hoped that during the Great Jubilee special time would be given to the testimony of persons who have suffered because of the faith, paying with courage interminable years in prison and other privations of every kind. You have shared this testimony with us with warmth and feeling, showing that in the life of every man, the merciful love that surpasses all human logic is measureless, especially at times of great anguish. You have associated us with all those who in different parts of the world continue to pay a heavy price because of their faith in Christ.
By basing yourself on Scripture and the teaching of the Fathers of the Church, as well as on your personal experience—especially during the years you were in prison for Christ and his Church—you have manifested the power of the Word of God, which, for disciples, is firmness in faith, food for the soul, and a pure and perennial springtime of the spiritual life.
Teaching by example
Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân says that he lives the present moment “filled to the brim with love,” and he speaks from the heart and from his own remarkable experience. Twenty-six years ago the archbishop began to undergo the privations of hunger in solitary confinement, as well as repeated attempts to brainwash him through “re-education” sessions. But his captors never broke him; he found that the power of God’s love is unstoppable.
Catholic World Report caught up with the archbishop during a short trip to England,
during which he had left his audience awe-struck as he delivered his powerful and
beautiful testimony. He had told the audience, “If you ask me to give a concrete
example of hope it is in my life. His hope has helped me to overcome all difficulties in
my life.” The next day he confided he had made the decision to tell his own story,
because he thought that approach would be more productive than if he “gave a
lecture.”
As we began the interview, the archbishop asked: “Did the people understand me? Was
my English good enough?” I assured him that the laughter which had greeted his quips,
and the tears that flowed after his testimony, should have given him the answer.
In any case his English was honed nearly 30 years ago: first at St. Mary’s Teacher Training College in London and then in Sacred Heart Parish, Hull, where he stayed at the same time as Frank Duff, the founder of the Legion of Mary. A slight, youthful man belying his 72 years, he delivers an understated and yet astonishing story. “The Lord never abandons his people,” he tells me with simple yet clear conviction.
A dangerous man
Yet if ever a man was in the wrong place at the right time, it was Francis Xavier Nguyên Van Thuân, when he was appointed Archbishop of Saigon.
He was created co-adjutor archbishop on April 23, 1974—a mere six days before the United States made its ignominious departure from the city, leaving it in the hands of a hard-line Communist regime. And that regime already saw Nguyên Van Thuân as a dangerous man.
He was born April 17, 1928 in Hue, the former imperial capital of Vietnam, to a rich family which had been Catholic for nearly three centuries. (Indeed his family’s first taste of persecution came in 1698, when an ancestor, who was the king’s ambassador in China, was expelled from the realm and his property confiscated after his baptism.) His vocation to the priesthood fueled by a youthful commitment to the Eucharistic Crusade, he was ordained in June 1953 and three years later he was sent to Rome to study canon law; and received his doctorate from the Athenaeum of Propaganda Fide (now the Pontifical University Urbaniana) in 1959.
He became professor and later rector at the archdiocesan seminary in Hue, until 1967, when Pope Paul VI appointed him as Bishop of Nha Trang, a maritime city 270 miles north of Saigon. His episcopal ordination was on June 24, the feast of St. John the Baptist. As he recalls, “Almost all of the key dates in my life have coincided with the Church’s major feasts.” Taking Gaudium et Spes as his motto, he was as good as his word in implementing the Second Vatican Council; he encouraged theological formation programs for the laity, education, and other social work. Astonishingly he fostered over 700 priestly vocations in his eight years as Bishop of Nha Trang. He also served as chairman of the Vietnam bishops’ Committee for Social Communication and Development, becoming a familiar figure abroad as he went on speaking missions to raise money for the reconstruction of his war-ravaged country.
The bishop was the prime mover in the foundation in 1968 of Radio Veritas, the Catholic radio network that serves Asia and now even reaches as far as Belarus and Siberia. He also served as a member of the Pontifical Council for the Laity. Indeed it was during this time that Paul VI entrusted him with a special task. As he recalls:
The Pope asked me to help in his project to rebuild Vietnam—both sides, including the Communist regions. It was, I think, a good idea, a good initiative of the Pope. And so I rebuilt many villages. It helped them to develop and become self-sustainable . . . . Up to this day, these villages are still a success.
But by the time of his appointment to Saigon the Communists were in no mood to welcome his successes. He explains:
The Communists told me that my transfer to Saigon, one week before they took it, was a conspiracy between the Vatican and others. They said I had to go back to my former diocese. I did not accept this, and went to prison.
Smuggling writings
The archbishop was arrested at the presidential palace, because the Communist authorities feared an angry public reaction would occur if they came to his residence. At first he was devastated by the belief he could no longer serve his flock from his jail cell. Then the first of many providential inspirations occurred:
So one night the Lord gave me an inspiration. “Francis you are stupid, when you are in prison you can do like St. Paul. When he was in prison he wrote letters; so do the same.” My first resolution was to live my present moment and to fill it to the brim with love.
Early the next morning, the jailed archbishop caught the attention of a 7-year-old boy who was passing by on his way to Mass, and asked the youngster to tell his mother to buy an old calendar. Each day thereafter, he would write on the back of that calendar, and smuggle the writing out through the boy, whose brother and sister would copy out the archbishop’s reflections. In one and a half months he had written out 1,001 paragraphs. At that point—fearful that he might be transferred to another prison—he finished the collection of thoughts. “They are like 1,001 Nights,” he smiles.
These scribbled thoughts became his book, The Road to Hope, which was soon to be spread around the world by the “boat people” who fled from Vietnam. Now produced in 11 languages, the work has been followed by another book, Five Loaves and Two Fishes, based on his prison experience but addressed to young people. This latter work, written in 1997, has now been produced in eight languages.
Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân claims no copyright on the books; they can be produced in different countries by different groups. “In New Zealand it was produced by the bishops; they gave it to everyone who was confirmed that year,” he reports. “The same with the bishop in Australia, in Canberra.” His books make powerful reading, with their accounts of the extraordinary graces he received while he was in prison.
Recalling how he tried to pray in his darkest moments he says:
I said I will remember the covenant of Jesus, in this testament Jesus gave me. Jesus gave me his Body and Blood; he gave me his mother; he gave me his priesthood, his Church, his peace. He gave me a lot. And so with the love and presence of God I asked myself what he would desire from the Church.
He looked for a Church for the poor, a missionary Church which can take care of all the marginalized. And what is the most important commandment Jesus gave? To love each other as he loves us and live in the unity that Jesus prays: “Father may they be one as you and I are one so that the world may love.”
So when I can pray no more I must think about the testament of Jesus. I must think of prayer; then I must live every day, every moment, according to this testament, and his testament is love. He gave a lot to me.
Learning to pray
Recalling his years behind bars, the archbishop says:
I was tormented at first. I was 47 years of age with 8 years’ experience as a bishop. There was so much work of God to do. I felt this revolt in my heart. Then one night there was a voice: “Choose God, and not the works of God.” The seminary is a work of God, but it is not God; working with the young people is a work of God, but it is not God.
I had to give it back to him in the confidence that God can do it much better than I. I felt peace in my heart, because I was able to tell the difference between God and the work of God.
I realized I must progress every day, first on the road to hope. I must live and always make this choice every day of my life—not to choose false hope but to choose the real hope.
Yet at times it was very difficult to pray at all. The archbishop explains:
People say, “Why can’t you pray, Father? You have plenty of time to pray in prison; there is plenty of time for God in prison.” But it is not easy to pray in prison. You have plenty of time, but your nervous system is broken because you are starving; you are hungry. Always you feel injustice.
Asked if he was ever betrayed while he was in prison, Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân replies, “In prison, nobody betrayed me.”
Indeed it seems that he was very good at converting the guards. He recalls that some guards were anxious to learn Latin, and—despite being told that contact with the archbishop could “contaminate” him, one guard asked to be taught to sing in Latin.
“There are so many hymns, and so beautiful,” I told him. He replied “You sing; I’ll choose.” So I sang the Salve Regina, Ave Maris Stella, and Veni Creator. He chose Veni Creator.
I said to myself, maybe he will never learn it, being a Communist. But really, he learned it. Then every morning he sang it as he was doing his exercises at 7 am.
(Here the archbishop interrupted his own narrative to demonstrate the way the guard exercised, delightedly singing and waving his arms.)
It was amazing. As I listened I thanked God that when I could pray no more, he sent a Communist policeman to sing Veni Creator.
At a different prison, the archbishop recalls, he would meet with one other prisoner every day. One day this man confessed that he had been sent to spy on the archbishop. The repentant spy promised his newfound friend: “My home is not far away from a shrine to the appearance of Our Lady, and so when I go back to my town, every Sunday I will go there to pray for you.” The archbishop was puzzled about how this Communist would go about praying, until months later, while he was being kept in solitary confinement, he received a letter from the man.
He wrote saying he went to this shrine and said, “I stand there saying, ‘Mother I promised my friend to come here and pray for him. I am a Communist, I don’t know any prayers, please give him all the things he needs.’”
I thanked God. It is a really sincere way of praying. And when I could not pray, God sent people to teach me how to pray. This is the hope—when you have so many difficulties, God helps you always; you are never alone.
A mission behind bars
While he was in prison, the archbishop found that it was difficult to celebrate Mass. Then one day he wrote to some friends, saying he needed medicine for his sick stomach. The friends, he recalls, in a “gift of the Holy Spirit,” realized that what the archbishop really wanted was wine and hosts. The chief of the prison allowed him to receive a little bottle of wine; his friends also smuggled in hosts, hidden in a flashlight. And so with three drops of wine and one drop of water, he offered up the sacrifice of the Mass.
Indeed he even celebrated Mass for fellow Catholic inmates in a re-education camp. To enable other Catholic prisoners to receive the Eucharist, some Catholic inmates carried the Blessed Sacrament concealed in a book—a sort of walking tabernacle.
Indeed, the archbishop reports that he was able to foster a real missionary spirit behind bars:
The prison became a school of the catechism. The lay people taught the Catholic Faith to other prisoners. I saw renewal in their lives because of the strength of the truth. I began to see the truth of God as living and changing our lives. The prison became my diocese, and they really became the people of God.
I was sent there to suffer, now I had no more revolt against God. These people are the people of God, I must go there to suffer with them, share with them and share their joys and their sorrows and with the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, who forgives us and loves us.
The archbishop exudes hope and trust in Jesus Christ and the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and it is no surprise to hear him speak excitedly about her role in his story:
The first time I went to Lourdes, I prayed at the grotto and I was reminded of the words of Our Lady to St. Bernadette, “I do not give you in this world joy and consolation, but I give you tribulations and trials.” And I thought, “Are these words for me?” Then I said, “No, they are for St. Bernadette.” But each time I came back to Lourdes I would hear these words. When I was put in prison I said, “These words are truly for me.”
Arrested on the feast of the Assumption, he was released on the feast of Mary’s Presentation: November 21, 1988.
In prison I prayed, “Mother, if you know I am not any use for the Church outside, please give me the grace to die in prison. If you know that I can still serve the Church, please give me the grace to get out.” One rainy day I heard the telephone ring and I thought “Maybe this is for me; this is the 21st of November, the feast of Our Lady’s Presentation.”
Summoned to meet the Interior Minister, he was asked what were his desires. He answered that he wanted his freedom. The minister looked stunned and the archbishop continued:
I said, “I have been here a long time. I have been here under three Popes—Paul VI, John Paul I and John Paul II—and four secretary generals of the Soviet Communist Party—Brezhnev, Chernenko, Andropov, and Gorbachev.” He began to laugh and nod his head saying, “That is true.” Turning to his secretary he said, “Do what is necessary to fulfill his desire.”
Working in Rome
Freedom meant a form of informal house arrest, under the careful eye of a government that did not want Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân to take up the reins as Archbishop of Saigon. The ensuing tug-of-war eventually led to his expulsion in 1991. He has never been able to return, even to visit his elderly mother.
After three years of exile in Rome, Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân was appointed by Pope John Paul as vice-president of the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace; he became president upon the retirement of Cardinal Roger Etchegary in June 1998. He now travels extensively, and oversees the preparation of a new Vatican manual on social teaching, which will cover new issues such as globalization.
When the Holy Father sent me to Justice and Peace he said, “You are from a country of war, you have been a captive for 13 years in prison.” So now I can share my experiences with people in many countries where there has been suffering and injustice, so that we can promote justice and peace and help people to understand their rights.
The archbishop is also heavily involved with the efforts to forge links between the Holy See and the government of his own country. Today the Church in Vietnam has no schools, no universities, and no official associations of the laity. Each diocese is limited by government regulations, allowed to accept only five seminarians every two years. But the man of hope says, “I think there is optimism for the Church.” He explains his positive outlook:
In the last 10 years there has been openness for the Church. We do not say there is “persecution” but “restriction” of our freedom. But our people are practicing their faith, and trying to build up the Church. We have many catechists, who are very enthusiastic, very dedicated, and many of them are young people. They are going out to convert other young people. This is a great gift of the Holy Spirit to the Church.
The young people waiting to enter seminary have hope; they do not despair. In the meantime they wait and carry out pastoral work, helping the parish priest and working very hard.
To these young men who are looking forward to priestly ministry, the archbishop offers
some simple words of advice:
Follow Jesus and He will guide you. He will guide if you will follow him. You don’t
know beforehand where and how he will guide you, but be sure his hand is in your hand and
he is close to you
Once again the archbishop offers his own life as an example of how God looks after his servants:
I never thought I could come here. When I was in prison, I could have died many times. I do not know how I survived. I couldn’t be a bishop to my people, but God has his own program—not my program for God. I follow his program. Now I am here as a bishop. I am exiled from my country, but I can speak to my people through books, the radio, the internet. So God has his own way; if you follow him, you can be sure.
The unique pectoral cross
At first glance, the pectoral cross and chain that Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân wears looks like any other cross, as worn by any other bishop. But his cross has a very special history. The archbishop carved it for himself, as a friendly guard turned a blind eye, during an outdoor wood-chopping session in a prison camp. Only after his release was it given a silver casing.
The chain, too, has an interesting history. A friendly prison guard overcame his initial fears when the archbishop asked for electrical wire. He feared at first that the bishop would try to kill himself. But when he learned what the prisoner actually had in mind, the guard readily agreed to help him turn the wire into a chain, using a pair of pliers. “He could not refuse me,” says the archbishop.
Now, 25 years after they were first fashioned, the simple cross and chain are a timely metaphor for the archbishop himself. On the surface Archbishop Nguyên Van Thuân is as elegantly adorned as any other member of the Roman Curia. But at heart he is the same man who was hewn and shaped by his experience in prison.
Paul Burnell, formerly the deputy editor of the British Catholic weekly the Universe, is now a freelance writer specializing in Catholic affairs for publications ranging from the Sunday Times (London) to the National Catholic Register (USA).