Catholics in Courage: St. Maximilian Kolbe and the Courage to Say Yes

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

A man had escaped from Auschwitz.

For the prisoners who remained behind, that meant terror. Under the brutal system imposed by the Nazis, an escape could result in other prisoners being selected to die as punishment. In July 1941, the prisoners of Block 14 were assembled after one of their fellow prisoners was believed to have escaped. Ten men were selected to die by starvation.

One of those men, Franciszek Gajowniczek, cried out in anguish for his wife and children. Then something extraordinary happened. Another prisoner stepped forward. His name was Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish Catholic priest and Franciscan friar. He had not been selected to die. He could have remained where he was. He could have watched another man be taken away and thanked God that his own name had not been called.

Instead, Kolbe asked to take Gajowniczek's place. The Nazis agreed. If St. Philomena began Catholics in Courage by demonstrating the courage sometimes required to say no, St. Maximilian Kolbe shows us what can happen when courage requires us to say yes.

Before Auschwitz
Maximilian Kolbe's story did not begin inside a concentration camp. He was born Rajmund Kolbe in Poland in 1894 and entered the Conventual Franciscans while still young. He was ordained a priest in 1918 and developed a profound devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary that would shape much of his life's work.

Years before the Second World War, Kolbe founded the Militia Immaculatae, an apostolate devoted to evangelization through Mary. He also became deeply involved in Catholic publishing, establishing Rycerz Niepokalanej, or Knight of the Immaculate, and helping build Niepokalanów, which became an important center of Catholic publishing and evangelization.

Something about this part of Kolbe's life particularly interests me. He understood that if you want to reach people, you have to communicate with them. He embraced the technology available in his time, including mass publishing and radio, to spread the Catholic faith. His missionary work eventually took him as far as Japan, where he established another monastery and publishing operation.

Then Europe descended into war.

When Nazi Germany invaded Poland in September 1939, Kolbe and his community found themselves living under occupation. Niepokalanów became a refuge for thousands of displaced people, including Jews. Kolbe continued his ministry despite the danger surrounding him.

In February 1941, the Gestapo arrested him. Several months later, he was transferred to Auschwitz. There, St. Maximilian Kolbe became prisoner number 16670.

The Courage to Step Forward
I think it can be easy to look at saints knowing how their stories end. We know Kolbe became a saint. We know what he eventually did. We see statues, holy cards, stained-glass windows, and photographs of him, and I think sometimes we can unintentionally turn saints into people who seem almost superhuman.

But Maximilian Kolbe was a man. He could experience fear. He could experience pain. He understood what death meant. And when Franciszek Gajowniczek cried out for his wife and children, Kolbe stepped out of line anyway.

I keep coming back to that moment because nobody forced him forward. Nobody selected him. Nobody demanded that he sacrifice himself. He chose to.

Kolbe identified himself as a Catholic priest and asked to take the condemned man's place. His request was accepted, and he joined the other prisoners sentenced to the starvation bunker.

Over the following days, witnesses later recalled prayers and hymns coming from the bunker. Kolbe survived the starvation longer than most of those imprisoned with him. On August 14, 1941, he was killed with an injection of carbolic acid. His body was cremated the following day, the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to whom he had devoted so much of his life.

Franciszek Gajowniczek survived Auschwitz. He lived until 1995. The man for whom Kolbe sacrificed himself lived for more than half a century after Kolbe stepped forward.

Would I Have Done It?
This is where St. Maximilian Kolbe's story becomes uncomfortable for me. I can read about a man voluntarily entering a starvation bunker for another person and ask myself the obvious question: Would I have done the same thing? If I am truthful, I don't think I could. I believe I could give my life for someone I love—for my family, for my own kin. I think many of us can imagine making that sacrifice for someone whose life means as much to us, or perhaps even more to us, than our own.

But a stranger?

Could I look at a man I barely knew, hear him crying for his wife and children, and willingly choose an agonizing death so that he might have the chance to return home to them? I don't believe I have that kind of courage. It would be easy for me to sit safely at home more than eighty years later and tell myself that I would have stepped forward. But imagining courage and possessing it when the moment arrives are two very different things.

Perhaps that is exactly why Kolbe's sacrifice affects me so deeply. He did something I am not sure I could do.

What Am I Willing to Give?
Fortunately, most of us will never be asked to make Kolbe's decision. But his example leaves me with another question. If I am not prepared to die for a stranger, what am I willing to do for one?

Am I willing to give someone my time when I would rather be doing something else? Am I willing to stop and help when everyone else keeps walking? Am I willing to give something I would rather keep? Am I willing to listen to someone who desperately needs to be heard? Am I willing to inconvenience myself for someone who can offer me absolutely nothing in return?

Maybe that is where someone like me has to begin. Modern culture frequently encourages us to concentrate on ourselves. Protect your time. Pursue your happiness. Build your future. Follow your dreams. Remove people from your life when they become an inconvenience.

There can certainly be wisdom in healthy boundaries and taking appropriate care of ourselves. Christianity, however, asks something more difficult of us. Christ asks us to love. And Christian love has always required sacrifice. Christ tells us in the Gospel of John, "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."

Kolbe did exactly that.

But I don't think laying down our lives always requires physically dying.

Parents lay down parts of their lives through years of sacrifice for their children. A husband or wife can sacrifice personal desires for a spouse. Someone caring for an aging or sick family member gives away hours, days, months, and sometimes years. A friend can surrender an evening to sit beside someone who desperately needs company. A stranger can stop to help another stranger when everyone else keeps going.

Those sacrifices may seem almost insignificant beside a starvation bunker at Auschwitz. But perhaps extraordinary courage is built through ordinary sacrifices.

The Courage to Say Yes
That is why I wanted St. Maximilian Kolbe to follow St. Philomena in Catholics in Courage.

Their circumstances could hardly have been more different. According to her traditional story, Philomena's courage required her to refuse someone who demanded that she surrender what she believed belonged to God.

Her courage required a no. Kolbe's defining moment required something different. His courage required a yes.

Yes, I will step forward. Yes, I will take his place. Yes, this man's life has value to me even if preserving it costs me my own. Most of us will never enter Auschwitz. Most of us will never be asked to exchange our lives for the life of another person. But every day gives us opportunities to surrender smaller pieces of ourselves—our time, comfort, attention, pride, money, plans, and desires—for someone else.

I know I do not always say yes.

Sometimes I am tired. Sometimes I am selfish. Sometimes I would rather protect my own comfort than inconvenience myself for another person. Kolbe's example doesn't make me pretend otherwise. Instead, it makes me confront those shortcomings and ask whether I can become a little more courageous than I was yesterday.

Perhaps courage is not something that suddenly appears when the great moment arrives. Perhaps it is formed through hundreds of smaller decisions made long beforehand. Perhaps giving five minutes today prepares us to give five hours tomorrow. Perhaps sacrificing something small teaches us how to sacrifice something greater.

And perhaps saying yes when love costs us something prepares us for the moment when love asks for more.

St. Maximilian Kolbe was confronted with such a moment in Auschwitz. He stepped forward. He said yes. And another man eventually went home.

As I continue Catholics in Courage, I am beginning to realize that I am not simply examining the courage of saints, martyrs, warriors, and other Catholics throughout history. In examining their courage, I am also examining my own. I am discovering where courage exists in me—and how much farther I still have to go.

Maybe that is one of the reasons their stories matter. They do not simply show me what extraordinary men and women once did. They force me to consider what I am willing to do now.

St. Maximilian Kolbe's story has made me ask that question of myself. Now I leave the question with you.

What courage exists in you?

May The Holy Names of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Be Blessed Now and Forever. Save Souls!