In Search of Catholic Lithuania

Traditionalist Catholics sometimes feel limited in their efforts to practice their faith openly. Although some are fortunate enough to be near traditionalist priests, many still feel they are members of an "underground" religion. In our recent trip to Soviet occupied Lithuania, my wife and I found the true meaning of a suppressed underground Catholic faith.

Lithuania is a country of about 3,000,000 people within a territory of 34,500 square miles, situated on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea and bordering Latvia on the north, Russia on the east, and Poland on the south.

In 1940, when the Soviet Union occupied Lithuania by force, 85.5% of the population was Roman Catholic. In the two archdioceses and four dioceses there were 708 churches, 314 chapels, 73 monasteries, 85 convents, three archbishops, nine bishops, 1,271 priests, 580 monks (168 of whom were priests), 950 nuns, and four seminaries with 470 students. On June 15 of that year, the Red Army marched into Lithuania and shortly thereafter Lithuania was declared a Soviet Socialist Republic. The Church was separated from the State, the Papal Nuncio expelled. Parish lands were seized, salaries and pensions of the clergy cut off and their savings confiscated. Churches were deprived of support. All religious publications were suppressed and the teaching of religion and prayers in school were forbidden. The University's Department of Theology and Philosophy were abolished and all private schools nationalized. The seminaries were closed except the one at Kaunas, which was permitted to operate on a very limited scale. The clergy were spied upon constantly. Bishops were arrested and after secret trials, condemned to death or deported to Siberian labor camps. This relentless persecution continued until Stalin's death in 1953, after which there began to be a slight improvement. The relaxation of pressure on believers showed that the Lithuanian people were still staunch in their faith, and that future attack would have to take the form of unlimited moral pressure, since it was obvious that physical terror only strengthened and unified the faithful.

Today not much has changed except that persecution is more subtle and not so visible to foreign eyes. The Soviet Union is going to great lengths to promote an image of "benevolent father" to its captives. Visitors rarely see any outright signs of oppression and are continuously propagandized by their Intourist guides on all the freedom, religious and otherwise, that is enjoyed by people under the Soviet system.

The Soviet Constitution guarantees to all the freedom to practice any religion they desire but does not permit "anti-Soviet activities," and there's the rub. Practice of the Catholic religion is labeled anti-Soviet activity. A visitor to Lithuania without some knowledge of conditions in that country would be unable to separate the subtle Soviet propaganda and apparent orderliness of things from the underlying terror, harassment and threats under which the people live every day of their lives. These conditions are reflected in clandestine publications such as Chronicles of the Catholic Church in Lithuania which are smuggled out of the country at great risk and translated in the West. These Lithuanian samizdat serve as a constant appeal to the free world to remember the plight of a people struggling to defend their religious beliefs and to regain their human rights.

My wife and I decided to realize a long-time dream and take advantage of relaxed restrictions to travel to this beautiful land, the home of my ancestors. It turned out to be a trip we will never forget.

With eleven other Lithuanian-Americans, we arranged a tour through a Boston travel agency specializing in trips to the Soviet Union. Equipped with passports, visas and vast amounts of luggage (my wife does not "travel light"), we embarked with a flight from New York to Zurich. A short layover, then another flight to Warsaw. There we were struck by the sharp contrast between prosperous Switzerland and bleak, dingy Poland. We were herded through customs not like guests but like intruders. Nobody smiled. The officials went through their bureaucratic routine at their own pace: slow.

When we were finally in the country, we were met and welcomed by a young, very amiable, English speaking Pole. A bus took us to our hotel which was supposedly first class, but might qualify as third class by Western standards. At least it was clean and moderately comfortable. After lunch and a short rest, our Polish friend invited us for a tour of the city. Although still tired, we went and were glad we did.

Warsaw is large, crowded and bustling, with many historic landmarkslike most older European cities. Our guide was very informative and outspokenly critical of life in Poland, mainly about the lack of food and commodities, most of which are exported to the West in exchange for hard cash. Religious freedom is not so restricted as among the Lithuanians to the north. We could see this in the many religious articles sold openly in the shops and in the churches operating normally. The explanation of this is that the Catholic Church has never entered into serious conflict with the Polish government, preferring to coexist as separate entities. The Poles have never repudiated Socialism or Communism.

They just want their Socialism Polish style

One of the high points of the tour was a visit to the church where all processions begin and where Pope John Paul II paid a visit when he last came to Poland. There is a plaque on the wall to commemorate this event.

In a large open square, thousands of military were gathered to welcome President Ortega of Nicaragua. The area was ablaze with red flags and banners with slogans. Bands played their martial music while officials made speeches. I asked our guide what was written on the banners. He seemed embarrassed and mumbled something unintelligible, so I let the matter drop. About that time, we were beginning to tire, and decided to return to the hotel for a good night's rest in preparation for our journey to Lithuania.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast of ham and cheese, rolls, sweet rolls and a drink that was apparently meant to resemble coffee, we began the arduous task of making sure all our luggage arrived at the station intact and on time. This was not as easy as it may sound. Imagine every hotel porter running up and down the hallways, grabbing suitcases and hauling them out to the bus, as if in competition. Keeping the group's luggage together was simplified by the large, bright green and yellow "Lietuva" stickers on each bag, making them stand out vividly. At the station, we learned that the train stopped for an extremely short time. Every passenger plus luggage had to be on board as quickly as possible, so some of our group passed the luggage through the train windows to the others who were already on board. Thanks to our coordination—and sense of humor—the "Chinese fire drill" was a success.

As the train, looking like pre-World War I vintage, left Warsaw, we settled down to enjoy the long ride to Vilnius. With jet lag beginning to set in, we appreciated relaxing and watching the Polish countryside, farms and villages pleasantly roll by. At the Polish-Lithuanian border town of Kuznica, the train stopped for three and a half hours while each rail car was jacked up and the wheel carriages changed to fit the tracks on the Lithuanian side. We usually think of the tracks on a rail route as being the same throughout. We finally left Kuznica and began to approach the Lithuanian border.

We realized we were leaving all vestiges of freedom behind

Ahead we saw concrete watch towers, electrified barbed-wire fences and armed Russian guards. The train was stopped again to allow the Russian officials and customs agents to come aboard. The first contingent ordered us out of our compartments while they searched every nook and cranny for guns, radios or anything else they wished to keep out of the country. They even searched on top of the cars and underneath. Next came the customs agents to examine our passports and visas and to check our baggage. The Soviets do not stamp your passport, only your visa, which is picked up when you leave the country. They do not want you to have any official record of having been there. At baggage inspection time we were a little nervous since we had heard horror stories of dumped suitcases. But I thought, even if that happens, I will still probably have four hours to repack! As it turned out, they asked for only one bag to be opened, then merely felt around in it. Two of our traveling companions were bringing in a portable radio as a gift for their relatives but told the customs agent it was for their own use. There was quite a hassle about it; the agent made a note in the declaration with orders that it was to be taken with them when they left the country. The customs agents went through every piece of printed matter we had, even the newspapers from the plane. They are very sensitive about any foreign or anti-Soviet literature coming into the country.

When our welcome committee had completed their duties, we were on our way to Vilnius through the beautiful Lithuanian countryside. We crossed the Nemunas River, the largest in the country, and continued through pine and birch forests.

I had the feeling that I had finally come home

I had studied the history and geography of this land for so many years that it was not strange to me. Near Vilnius the landscape started to open up into large cooperative farms (the only kind allowed in Lithuania) and we observed families, from the oldest to the youngest, working in the fields. Most of the farming is done by hand and horseplow since there is little farm machinery. All of the land belongs to the State, but each family has a small plot allotted to grow food for its own use. No land is wasted, as even the strips from the edge of the forest up to the railroad tracks are cultivated. The farm houses are very quaintly constructed, mostly of wood, in geometric patterns, and have the four-sided roof slope typical of Lithuania. Some have "gingerbread" trim, giving them the appearance of Swiss chalets.

About twelve hours after leaving Warsaw, we arrived in Vilnius. Strangely enough, it was still daylight, as we had set our watches ahead two hours to conform to Moscow time. One of our group was met at the station by his relatives: brothers, sisters and invalid mother whom he had not seen in forty-one years. They gave him a tremendous welcome: flowers, sashes and effusive demonstrations of their love. It was very touching even to us onlookers. We then met our tour guide, a young, very personable Lithuanian lady who spoke fluent English and had an exceptional knowledge of the history and culture of the country. Our bus ride to the hotel revealed a vibrant and bustling city, a composite of the medieval and modern. The medieval part was the "Old Town" of Vilnius, nestled in a valley divided by the serene and picturesque Neris River. The surrounding hills are covered with huge apartment and government buildings. The city has a population of 540,000.

At the hotel we were checked in, fed and shown to our rooms for a much-needed rest. The Lietuva Hotel is very new, 22 stories high and supposedly the finest in the Soviet Union. I believe it. With its seven restaurants, shops, bars, post office and bank, one does not need to go anywhere else. Maybe that is the idea. The black market flourishes in Lithuania and security at the hotel is very tight. No one enters without a pass. The "doormen" all look like former wrestlers. I had the feeling that we could leave our money and valuables in the room in plain sight, with door open, and return to find everything intact. Our American tour organizer had cautioned us before we left against anti-Soviet discussions or black market exchanges while we were in our rooms, since they are all bugged.

The next morning, after a hearty five course breakfast, we started out on the first of many walking tours through Old Town. We were taken by bus to Gediminas Square, the heart of the city. A belfry tower was once part of a castle and later turned into a watch tower. Eventually it became the cathedral belfry. The Cathedral of Vilnius was closed by the Soviets and transformed into a picture gallery. This cathedral, a monument of classical grandeur, was the last resting place of Lithuanian nobility. It now houses collections of paintings by Lithuanian and Western European masters.

From here our tour continued into the old streets, a step back of 700 years. Bygone epochs have left their traces everywhere. To have an appreciation and feel for this city, a glimpse of its history is useful. Vilnius was founded by Grand Duke Gediminas in the thirteenth century and since then has had few periods of peace. Fate willed that it should be in the thick of major events. For more than two centuries it guarded Lithuania from the inroads of the German knightly orders of Crusaders and Sword Bearers. Enemies razed the city many times with fire and sword. Epidemics were frequent. But each time, like the legendary phoenix, it rose from its ashes to build anew.

Nowhere will you feel the breath of history so keenly as in the streets which have preserved their medieval character in crooked walls, arches that span the gaps between buildings, and iron-clad gates and doors.

In these narrow streets you almost expect to meet a squad of medieval warriors with spears in hand, or a nobleman's carriage.

A short walk brings you to the University of Vilnius, founded by the Jesuits in 1579 at the invitation of Bishop Protasevicius. Still in operation, it is a center of culture in Lithuania and neighboring countries. The Jesuits did a great deal for education, especially by encouraging use of the native language. Unlike their predecessors, they did not force the Polish tongue upon the people, but tried to recruit clergy who could speak Lithuanian. Today, Lithuanian remains the official language of the University. Even though Soviets and students from other countries may attend, they are required to speak, read and write Lithuanian. The students themselves are like college students anywhere in the world. They are proud of their school, in academics and athletics. They fraternize in the local beer halls and sit in the courtyard studying. But we saw only one with a radio.

Although the University's fabric has survived the ages—quaint little courtyards, arches, frescoes and stained glass panels—it is presently undergoing a major restoration. Many buildings are being converted into classrooms and student housing. Education costs are paid by the State but admission is by scholarship only. Students pay about two rubles a month for housing.

Before the Soviet occupation there were forty churches in Vilnius alone. Today there are only eleven. The others were converted into concert halls, museums, art galleries and warehouses. Only those of exceptional architectural or historical value were left intact. To the Soviets, these are remnants of medieval art, not symbols of Lithuania's Catholic heritage. One of the most famous of these churches (now closed) is St. Anne's. This miracle of Gothic style, with spires that resemble flames in the sun, has no equal in Eastern Europe. It owes its beauty almost entirely to red bricks of thirty-three shapes skillfully arranged to form effective patterns and projections which give the building the buoyancy of music. Napoleon was so impressed by St. Anne's that he wanted to dismantle it and ship it back to France.

Within the University complex is the Church of St. John, the first mission station established by the Jesuits in Lithuania. Through their sermons, which non-Catholics flocked to hear, the Jesuits reached a great number of people, and eventually scattered their mission centers throughout the country, neglecting not even the smallest towns. By gradually destroying the ancient pagan customs in their efforts to lead the people to the Catholic faith, the Jesuits also brought Lithuania closer to the West. They opened a new era, and its remains may be seen in the many baroque churches standing to this day. Saints Peter and Paul in Vilnius is a good example; it was built in the seventeenth century by a rich and powerful feudal baron and contains more than 2,000 sculptures and bas-reliefs. It is built in the form of a Latin cross with four chapels and three magnificent altars: the altar of the Merciful Mary, the altar of Christ's Five Wounds, and the high altar with the remains of St. Casimir, patron saint of the country. The saint's relics were transferred here in 1953 when the Soviet authorities confiscated the original resting place, the Cathedral. In 1984, SS. Peter and Paul was the scene of the 500-year jubilee of the death of St. Casimir, who was also Prince of Lithuania. This great event was celebrated under the difficult conditions imposed by atheistic oppression.

All the churches have an individual splendor and all give glory to God, but none can match the serenity and unpretentiousness of the Shrine of Our Lady of the Dawn Gate or Ausvos Vertu. There is something here that transcends all the artistic endeavors of man. It is not magnificent in the grand spirit of the baroque. It is not large. Except for Our Lady's image above the altar, everything is plain and ordinary.

One feels here, however, a holiness as if Our Lady had personally selected it as her residence.

And why not? When she walked the earth with Jesus and Joseph, she lived a very poor and simple life. She never concerned herself with the comforts and luxuries of the world; that was man's way, not God's. This was my impression as I entered the shrine. It is located in a chapel built over the eastern gate of the ancient defensive walls of the city of Vilnius. On the inner facade of the gate appears the inscription: "Mother of Mercy, we fly back to thy patronage." This is not only a prayerful invocation, but a witness to more than 300 years of veneration of the Virgin Mary as Mother of Mercy.

Around the year 1626, the image of Mary now venerated there replaced one that had seriously deteriorated. The Discalced Carmelites, custodians of the shrine, founded a monastery near the gate. In a special register, they recorded the graces attributed to Mary's intercession. On the altar above which hangs the sacred image, they celebrated their Masses. Along the walls flanking the altar are silver panels on which hang miniature arms, legs, hearts, etc., representing miraculous cures. At all hours of the day and evening, people can be seen kneeling and praying before the shrine. You get the impression that this image, rising above the city, with its folded hands entreating God for us, will lift our prayers higher and will obtain our petitions.

Unfortunately, the only visitors to the shrine are the elderly. Those who are strong in the faith and have little to lose are permitted to worship unimpeded, since the Soviets know from past experience that persecution breeds resistance and resistance breeds martyrs, and they do not want martyrs. It is the youth of Lithuania they are after. Youthful believers are relentlessly persecuted since only through them can religion be snuffed out. The goal of the Communists is an atheistic Lithuania, and only through the youth can this be accomplished.