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St Josemaria’s final moments
On Wednesday, June 25, there was a family celebration of the anniversary of the ordination of the first three priests. “Chiqui” was already in heaven; the other two, Don Alvaro and Father Jose Luis Muzquiz, were still on earth. The founder had remembered all three very specially in his Mass, and also those he had ordained after them, and those who were to be ordained within a few weeks. And he had asked of the Lord that all of his sons and daughters always have a priestly soul. How much he had prayed for all of them, “and specifically that each of his daughters be deeply imbued with a priestly soul.”[1] During the get-together after dinner, his happiness and good humor were very much in evidence. Several times, he took out of his pocket a little clay whistle (given him a few days earlier by some girls in a youth club), turned towards Father Javier, and blew the whistle, to the amusement of everyone.
In the evening he went to the oratory of the Holy Family, for Benediction. The day had been an intense one, filled with prayer, and by evening he was quite tired. As he went down the stairs for the evening get-together, he was carrying the tray with the chamomile tea that the doctor had prescribed. Those accompanying him wanted to relieve him of the tray so that he could more easily see the steps, since he could hardly make them out. But he resisted, and jokingly complained, “You won’t even let me make these small sacrifices!”[2]
Across from where he was sitting while drinking the tea, there was a little statue of our Lady, at which he glanced frequently, silently saying aspirations.[3] And afterwards, during the late-evening get-together, he seemed absorbed, immersed in prayer. What thoughts were going through his mind?
June 26
On the following day, Thursday, June 26, he celebrated Mass at eight in the morning, assisted by Father Javier.[4] It was the votive Mass of the Blessed Virgin Mary—the Mass in whose opening prayer the priest asks for “continual health in mind and body.” Those words must have moved him in a very special way that day, because the last ones he would ever write on a page of his notebook, despite the fact that he very well knew it by heart, were the final words of that prayer: “a praesenti liberari tristitia et aeterna perfrui laetitia”—“so that freed from present sorrows we will enjoy forever the joy that never ends.”[5]
At nine-thirty, accompanied by Don Alvaro, Father Javier, and the architect Javier Cotelo, he went by car to Castel Gandolfo, where his daughters were awaiting him. As he and his companions set out from Villa Tevere, they began to say the joyful mysteries of the Rosary. The trip took a little longer than usual, because of some roadworks. During the trip he commented that perhaps in the afternoon they could visit Cavabianca, to check on some details concerning the oratory of Our Lady of the Angels.
Upon arriving at Villa delle Rose, the center in Castel Gandolfo, he went into the oratory and spent a few minutes on his knees. Afterwards he had a get-together with his daughters, in the living room. In this room there was a picture of our Lady gently resting her face on the head of little Jesus, drawing it towards herself, and gracefully holding a soft-hued rose between the fingers of her other hand.
The founder fixed his gaze on this picture. (He never failed to greet our Lady upon entering or leaving a room.)
The picture had belonged to Dona Dolores, and had received the last glances she gave before dying. It was popularly called “Our Lady of the Well-Combed Child,” because the Child Jesus—a plump, rosy-cheeked child of about two or three, with a candid smile—has his hair carefully parted and combed.
An armchair had been brought in for the Father, but he ceded it to Don Alvaro, and took an ordinary chair. He said to his daughters, “I very much wanted to come here. We’ve got to use our last hours of being in Rome to take care of some unfinished business, so as far as everybody else is concerned, I’m already gone; I’m just here for you.”[6] And then he said:
“Yesterday you celebrated, I’m sure, the anniversary of the ordination of the first three priests, and surely you are praying as well for the fifty-four who are about to be ordained. Fifty-four—that seems like a lot, an almost unbelievable number for these days, if you think about what’s going on around us. Yet really they are very few; they disappear so soon. As I’m forever telling you, this water of God which is the priesthood always gets quickly absorbed by the soil of the Work. These drops of water, our priests, they disappear at once.
“You, my daughters, have priestly souls. You know I tell you this every time I come here. And your brothers who are laymen have priestly souls also. Each of you can and should help, with that priestly soul of yours; and in this way, with the grace of God and with the ministerial priesthood of us, the priests of the Work, we will all be able to do an effective job.”[7]
The conversation continued in this calm and pleasant vein. There were anecdotes, recommendations … About twenty minutes into it, he started to feel ill. The get-together was ended. He felt dizzy, and had to go lie down. After a little while, since he was still not feeling well, he took his leave, asking his daughters’ pardon for the trouble he had caused.
It was eleven-twenty. The trip back to Rome was made by the shortest possible route. The heat was oppressive, and the Father attributed his indisposition to this. There were no traffic slowdowns on the trip back, and they entered Villa Tevere a few minutes before noon. The Father got out of the car easily and with a cheerful expression on his face. No one suspected anything more than a slight indisposition.
He stepped into the oratory and made his customary genuflection: slow, devout, with a greeting to the Eucharistic Lord. Then, immediately, he headed for the room he usually worked in. Father Javier, who had stayed behind to close the elevator door, heard him call him from inside the room. He went to him. “I don’t feel well,” he said in a weak voice. And at that point he collapsed.
The paragraphs that follow are taken from a letter that Don Alvaro, as Secretary General of Opus Dei, wrote to the members of the Work on June 29,1975, from Rome:
“We did everything possible, spiritually and medically. I gave him absolution and Extreme Unction, while he was still breathing. There was an hour and a half of struggle, of hopes: oxygen, injections, cardiac massages. Meanwhile, I renewed the absolution several times….
“We found it hard to believe that he had died. To us, of course, it was a sudden death. But surely for the Father it was something that had been maturing, I would dare say, more in his soul than in his body, because each day he was more frequently offering his life for the Church….
“We placed him in front of the altar in the oratory of our Lady, with all veneration and affection, first taking away the votive candelabra that is always there. The Father was still dressed in his black cassock….
“Four candlesticks were brought. The body of our Father was carefully arranged, with all affection. A little later, there were put on him—over the black cassock—an amice, an alb, a stole, and a chasuble. The alb was of cambric, ivory-colored, over red silk and (from the waist to the feet) under Brussels lace. It was the alb that he used on feast days….
“The Father’s face looked extremely serene—a serenity that infused a great peace in whoever saw it.”
He died as he had wanted to die: greeting an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. He received from the hands of our Lady the rose that opened the gates of eternity to Love.
Extract from A. Vazquez de Prada, The Founder of Opus Dei: The Life of Josemaria Escriva, vol. 3 The Divine Ways on Earth, Scepter, ©2005, pp. 561-564.
See further: Pilar Urbano, The Man of Villa Tevere, Scepter, 2011.
Notes
1. Letter of 29 June 1975 from Don Alvaro to all the members of the Work.
2. Julian Herranz, Sum. 3879.
3. “He was seated in a corner of the living room, and he spoke very little during that family gathering; instead, he devoted himself to looking at the [picture of the] Madonna that was in front of him. That is how I remember him: looking at the Blessed Virgin and seeking refuge in her protection.” Joaquin Alonso, Sum. 4762.
4. See Javier Echevarria, Sum. 3287.
5. See Joaquin Alonso, Sum. 4762, and Julian Herranz, Sum. 4032.
6. AGP, P01 1975, p. 673.
7. Ibid. (See also Cavalleri and Del Portillo, Immersed in God, p. 196.
St Josemaria with the first three priests of Opus Dei on June 25, 1969, silver jubilee anniversary of their ordination to the priesthood
Across from where he was sitting while drinking the tea, there was a little statue of our Lady, at which he glanced frequently, silently saying aspirations.[3] And afterwards, during the late-evening get-together, he seemed absorbed, immersed in prayer. What thoughts were going through his mind?
St Josemaria with young people two weeks before his death
On the following day, Thursday, June 26, he celebrated Mass at eight in the morning, assisted by Father Javier.[4] It was the votive Mass of the Blessed Virgin Mary—the Mass in whose opening prayer the priest asks for “continual health in mind and body.” Those words must have moved him in a very special way that day, because the last ones he would ever write on a page of his notebook, despite the fact that he very well knew it by heart, were the final words of that prayer: “a praesenti liberari tristitia et aeterna perfrui laetitia”—“so that freed from present sorrows we will enjoy forever the joy that never ends.”[5]
At nine-thirty, accompanied by Don Alvaro, Father Javier, and the architect Javier Cotelo, he went by car to Castel Gandolfo, where his daughters were awaiting him. As he and his companions set out from Villa Tevere, they began to say the joyful mysteries of the Rosary. The trip took a little longer than usual, because of some roadworks. During the trip he commented that perhaps in the afternoon they could visit Cavabianca, to check on some details concerning the oratory of Our Lady of the Angels.
Upon arriving at Villa delle Rose, the center in Castel Gandolfo, he went into the oratory and spent a few minutes on his knees. Afterwards he had a get-together with his daughters, in the living room. In this room there was a picture of our Lady gently resting her face on the head of little Jesus, drawing it towards herself, and gracefully holding a soft-hued rose between the fingers of her other hand.
"Our Lady of the Well-Combed Child”
The picture had belonged to Dona Dolores, and had received the last glances she gave before dying. It was popularly called “Our Lady of the Well-Combed Child,” because the Child Jesus—a plump, rosy-cheeked child of about two or three, with a candid smile—has his hair carefully parted and combed.
An armchair had been brought in for the Father, but he ceded it to Don Alvaro, and took an ordinary chair. He said to his daughters, “I very much wanted to come here. We’ve got to use our last hours of being in Rome to take care of some unfinished business, so as far as everybody else is concerned, I’m already gone; I’m just here for you.”[6] And then he said:
“Yesterday you celebrated, I’m sure, the anniversary of the ordination of the first three priests, and surely you are praying as well for the fifty-four who are about to be ordained. Fifty-four—that seems like a lot, an almost unbelievable number for these days, if you think about what’s going on around us. Yet really they are very few; they disappear so soon. As I’m forever telling you, this water of God which is the priesthood always gets quickly absorbed by the soil of the Work. These drops of water, our priests, they disappear at once.
“You, my daughters, have priestly souls. You know I tell you this every time I come here. And your brothers who are laymen have priestly souls also. Each of you can and should help, with that priestly soul of yours; and in this way, with the grace of God and with the ministerial priesthood of us, the priests of the Work, we will all be able to do an effective job.”[7]
The conversation continued in this calm and pleasant vein. There were anecdotes, recommendations … About twenty minutes into it, he started to feel ill. The get-together was ended. He felt dizzy, and had to go lie down. After a little while, since he was still not feeling well, he took his leave, asking his daughters’ pardon for the trouble he had caused.
It was eleven-twenty. The trip back to Rome was made by the shortest possible route. The heat was oppressive, and the Father attributed his indisposition to this. There were no traffic slowdowns on the trip back, and they entered Villa Tevere a few minutes before noon. The Father got out of the car easily and with a cheerful expression on his face. No one suspected anything more than a slight indisposition.
He stepped into the oratory and made his customary genuflection: slow, devout, with a greeting to the Eucharistic Lord. Then, immediately, he headed for the room he usually worked in. Father Javier, who had stayed behind to close the elevator door, heard him call him from inside the room. He went to him. “I don’t feel well,” he said in a weak voice. And at that point he collapsed.
The paragraphs that follow are taken from a letter that Don Alvaro, as Secretary General of Opus Dei, wrote to the members of the Work on June 29,1975, from Rome:
“We did everything possible, spiritually and medically. I gave him absolution and Extreme Unction, while he was still breathing. There was an hour and a half of struggle, of hopes: oxygen, injections, cardiac massages. Meanwhile, I renewed the absolution several times….
“We found it hard to believe that he had died. To us, of course, it was a sudden death. But surely for the Father it was something that had been maturing, I would dare say, more in his soul than in his body, because each day he was more frequently offering his life for the Church….
“We placed him in front of the altar in the oratory of our Lady, with all veneration and affection, first taking away the votive candelabra that is always there. The Father was still dressed in his black cassock….
“Four candlesticks were brought. The body of our Father was carefully arranged, with all affection. A little later, there were put on him—over the black cassock—an amice, an alb, a stole, and a chasuble. The alb was of cambric, ivory-colored, over red silk and (from the waist to the feet) under Brussels lace. It was the alb that he used on feast days….
“The Father’s face looked extremely serene—a serenity that infused a great peace in whoever saw it.”
He died as he had wanted to die: greeting an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. He received from the hands of our Lady the rose that opened the gates of eternity to Love.
Extract from A. Vazquez de Prada, The Founder of Opus Dei: The Life of Josemaria Escriva, vol. 3 The Divine Ways on Earth, Scepter, ©2005, pp. 561-564.
See further: Pilar Urbano, The Man of Villa Tevere, Scepter, 2011.
Notes
1. Letter of 29 June 1975 from Don Alvaro to all the members of the Work.
2. Julian Herranz, Sum. 3879.
3. “He was seated in a corner of the living room, and he spoke very little during that family gathering; instead, he devoted himself to looking at the [picture of the] Madonna that was in front of him. That is how I remember him: looking at the Blessed Virgin and seeking refuge in her protection.” Joaquin Alonso, Sum. 4762.
4. See Javier Echevarria, Sum. 3287.
5. See Joaquin Alonso, Sum. 4762, and Julian Herranz, Sum. 4032.
6. AGP, P01 1975, p. 673.
7. Ibid. (See also Cavalleri and Del Portillo, Immersed in God, p. 196.
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