The Martyrdom of

Saint Toribio Romo

Patron of Immigrants

James Murphy

Imprimi Potest:
Thomas D. Picton, C.Ss.R.
Provincial, Denver Province
The Redemptorists
2007, Liguori Publications
Liguori, Missouri 63057-9999
ISBN 978-0-7648-1666-6
Printed in the United States of America
07 08 09 10 11 5 4 3 2 1
All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form
or by any means except for brief quotations
in printed reviews without the prior
written permission of Liguori Publications.
Photographs in this book were available

due to the kindness of Teresita and Jess

Romo and the Diocese of San Juan de los
Lagos with the assistance of Rev. Jos
Guadalupe Prado Guevara.
An important source for this text has been
the biography of Toribio Romo written by
his brother, Father Romn Romo, and
printed in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico, in
1949.
Liguori
Publications,
a
nonprofit
corporation, is an apostolate of the
Redemptorists. To learn more about the
Redemptorists, visit Redemptorists.com.
To order, call 800-325-9521
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Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter 1 Born in a Time of
Peace
Chapter 2 Well Adjusted in the
Seminary
Chapter 3
Assignments

Given

Difficult

Chapter 4 Lived Like the Early

Christians
Chapter 5 Suffered
Plutarco Calles
Chapter
Death

Obedient

Under
Unto

Acknowledgments

am indebted to my bishop,
William
Weigand,
of
Sacramento,
who
encouraged me to write this
booklet. I am also indebted to
many members of the Romo
familycousins
of
Toribio
Romofor their help with the
research: Jesus and Teresita
Romo, Susanna Romo, Maria
Elena Gutierrez, and Teresa

Navarrete. I am also grateful to

the many others who made
helpful comments on the
manuscript:
Dr.
Fausto
Avendano,
Sister
Maria
Campos, Barbara Debevec,
Father Rudolfo Delgado, Father
Oscar
Figueroa,
Denise
Fracchia, Felipe Hermosillo,
Father Francisco Hernandez,
Carol Hogan, Bishop Jesus
Madera,
Dr.
Gerry
and
Kathleen
Murphy,
Rosa
Palacio,
Fernando
Perez,

Sandra
Perez,
Dr.
Holly
Peterson, Julie Sly, Jorge Usi,
Roberto
Vellanoweth,
and
Father Octavio Ventura, LC.

Introduction

ne of the conundrums of
Mexican history is how a
country that is 90 percent
Catholic
could
have
experienced such a brutal
persecution of the Church in
the twentieth century. Just
south of our border in the
1920s and 1930s, priests were
hunted down and shot, Church
property was confiscated, and

the teaching of religion was

forbiddeneven in the privacy
of the home. In some places
agents of the government
burned statues and religious
works of art in the streets, then
danced around the fire while
wearing Mass vestments they
found in the sacristy.
All this happened in one of
the great Catholic nations of
Latin America, a civilization
that
was
producing
architectural masterpieces by

the thousands when North

America was still a wilderness.
Construction of Guadalajara
Cathedral began more than
two hundred years before the
Founding Fathers of the United
States signed the Declaration of
Independence.
William
Shakespeare wasnt yet born
when the first library appeared
in Mexicos capital in 1551.
The first university in America
was founded not in Harvard in
1636 but in Mexico City in

1553.
What went wrong, then, in
this
five-hundred-year-old
culture that had reached such
heights of art and learning?
How could a country so deeply
Catholic become so alienated
from
its
roots
that
its
government would try to
stamp out Catholicism forever?
And how did ordinary Catholics
survive under such fanatical
policies?

The following pages will

chronicle the life and times of
Toribio Romo, one of the
victims of this tragedy whom
Pope John Paul II canonized in
2000. In recent years Saint
Toribio has become well
known in the U.S., especially
among Mexican immigrants,
many of whom see him as their
protector at a time when
increased security has made
smuggling immigrants across
the U.S.-Mexican border more

deadly. In 2002 The New York

Times reported on numerous
stories
circulating
among
underground immigrants about
a mysterious figure dressed in
dark clothing guiding famished
souls safely across the border
to a new life in the U.S. The
only payment this stranger
asked was a visit to him in
Santa Ana, Jalisco, someday.
When
many
of
these
immigrants finally did make it
to Santa Ana to thank him,

according to the lore, they

were stunned to recognize the
face of the stranger in the
photo of Saint Toribio in the
chapel there. As stories like this
increase, so do the pilgrims
who visit Toribios shrine in
Santa Anaand so do calls to
have him officially declared the
patron saint of immigrants.

This booklet will reconstruct

the world in which Toribio
lived before he was murdered
in 1928 in Tequila, Mexico,

and examine the tumultuous

relationship between church
and state that created that
world. His is a story of courage
in the face of terrorism and an
example of how persecuting
the Church usually has the
opposite
effect
to
that
intended. Throughout history
martyrdom has made the
Church stronger, and Mexico is
certainly an example of that.

CHAPTER 1

Born in a Time of Peace

istorian Enrique Krauze

begins
his
fascinating
book Mexico: Biography of
Power with the description of
an important fiesta that took
place in Mexico City in
September 1910. There was
double cause for celebration
that yearthe centenary of the
War of Independence and the
eightieth birthday of the sitting

president, Porfirio Dazand

lavish ceremonies were held in
cities across the nation to
remind the public of Mexicos
glorious history and Don
Porfirios role in it. The
president had been dictator for
thirty-four years, and most who
attended
the
ceremonies
agreed that he had brought
peace to Mexico and prosperity
to at least some people.
The family of Toribio Romo
probably was not present at

those centenary celebrations

such folk would have been
much too poor to get invited.
But even they were likely not
unhappy with Don Porfirios
record, if for no other reason
than that he left the Church
alone. There was no religious
persecution, and for that they
were thankful. Older folk could
remember days when things
were
very
differentin
particular the War of the
Reform, when radicals took up

pickaxes to destroy churches

and attack priests. But that was
in the distant past, and priests
were now serving their people
without interference.

During this interval of peace

Toribio Romo was born on a
small plot of land in Santa
Ana, Jalisco, on April 16, 1900.
His parents, Patricio Romo and
Juana
Gonzlez,
were
descendants of Spanish families
who had moved to the area
some two hundred years

earlier. They were simple folk

who eked out a living from the
soil, raising seven children
(Toribio was the fifth) on a diet
of corn, beans, chili, onions
and meat once in a while. The
food was adequate but boring,
as was the way they dressed.
Everyone (children and adults)
wore the same thing: a shirt
and pants made from a cheap
off-white cotton material called
manta and a hat made from
cactus fiber. Like all children,

Toribio went barefoot during

the week, wearing his sandals,
called huaraches, only for
special occasions like attending
Mass.

Santa Ana was too small to

have its own church, so its
residents belonged to the
parish of Jalostotlitlan (known
simply as Jalos) some two
hours journey on footlonger
if you brought children along.
Every Sunday people walked to
Mass there without complaint,

and many of them went back

on first Fridays to honor the
Sacred Heart. The comforting
devotions
of
the
Church
brought both structure and
meaning
to
their
lives:
devotions to Our Lady of
Refuge in June and July,
prayers to Our Lady of the
Rosary in October, outdoor
processions to honor Saint Ann
during the rainy season.
Practically every family prayed
the rosary every night, and

during
Lent
they
fasted
religiously. Like so many rural
communities in Mexico, the
people of Santa Ana loved the
Church, and they were thankful
that they could practice their
faith without interference from
the state.
The priests from Jalos came
to Santa Ana as often as they
could to hear confessions and
visit the sick, and when they
stayed overnight, they found
lodging at the home of the

Romo family. That is how the

seed of Toribios vocation was
sown. Up to that time nobody
from Santa Ana had ever even
thought
of
entering
the
priesthood, but from a young
age Toribio showed signs that
he might be the one to break
that barrier. He couldnt take
his eyes off the visiting priest,
who sat and engaged the adults
in conversation, and when he
observed his sisters making an
albthe long white vestment

priests used at Massit made

his young mind wonder.
Do you think I will ever
wear a garment like that? he
asked.

No, his sister Hiplita

answered dismissively. Honey
is not made for the mouth of
an ass. (This was a Spanish
expression similar to casting
pearls before swine.)
True, honey is not made for
the mouth of an ass, another

sister, Quica, interjected, but

someday you will wear a
garment like this, Toribio.
Quicas confident prediction
may have been based on
something
she
observed.
Toribio loved to play priest
with his friends when they
were alone in the fields,
pretending to celebrate Mass
on a makeshift altar with little
chalices he had made from
clay. His friends went along
with the fantasy, although not

without jokes and lots of

playful kidding. When you are
ordained, one of them said, I
will be the turkey for your
ordination dinner. Others said
his interest in the priesthood
was his way of avoiding
having to work. Toribio took
the kidding in good humor and
continued to be an influence
on his peers. He didnt do the
cruel things they did, like
throwing stones at birds or
stray dogs (some of them were

quite deadly at hitting the

mark), and he often played the
role of peacemaker when fights
broke out. Despite his young
age, Toribio showed signs of
leadership.
There is a story told about a
conversation he had with Quica
when he was very young. One
night while both were admiring
the starlit sky and pondering
the grandeur of God, Toribio
pointed to a table-shaped hill
nearby and said, Quica, I

think heaven is right there on

that mesita. Years later the
story
took
on
added
significance: when people of
the area were looking for a
suitable place to build a
church, they chose the top of
that same hill, and Toribio
Romo eventually celebrated the
first Mass in that new church.
But that was a long way off.
For now, Toribio needed to go
to school, and because Santa
Ana had no schools (most

people there were illiterate),

he had to move to Jalos for his
elementary education. It was
at this point that Quica made a
surprising announcement to
the family. She intended to
break off her engagement to be
married, she told them, and
move to Jalos to help her
brother with his studies. It was
a remarkable sacrifice and the
beginning of a relationship
that would last throughout
Toribios life as a priest.

When brother and sister

finally got to Jalos, however,
they found the school to be
mediocre. It was owned by a
single lady who ran the
operation in her backyard, a
ramshackle patio with caged
canaries along the wall and
baskets full of tobacco and
paper on the desk; she was
earning extra money rolling
cigarettes for the local stores.
But Quica and Toribio made
the best of their situation and

stayed at school.
Quica and her kid brother
earned their money the hard
way. She washed clothes and
made
tortillas
for
the
neighbors, and he pitched in
after
school
delivering
packages. Nevertheless, they
found time for prayer: they
went to Mass every morning,
made a visit to the Blessed
Sacrament during the day, and
prayed the rosary together at
night. Eventually the whole

family moved to Jalos, and

things became a little easier.
Toribio became an altar boy in
the local church, and Quica
became more confident that
her brother would be a priest
someday.

CHAPTER 2

Well Adjusted in the

Seminary

t age twelve, to Quicas

great joy, Toribio took the
first step to the priesthood
by
entering
the
minor
seminary in San Juan de los
Lagos, famous for its shrine to
our Lady. It must have been a
culture shock for the country
boy from Santa Ana, but by all

accounts these were happy

days for him. He loved the
daily rhythm of study and
prayer, and he basked in the
care of his superiors as much as
the
friendship
of
his
classmates.
His
Spanish
appearance made him stand
out (he was tall and light
skinned, with blue eyes), but
he had little interest in being
tidy and well groomed. His
disheveled appearance just
added to his charm among the

students.
Academically, Toribio was at
the top of his class. He had a
special love of Latin and used
to take over the class when the
professor could not make it, a
role that earned him the
nickname
of
Maestro
(teacher). Not surprisingly,
he was elected class president.
But the most noteworthy thing
about these years was his
profound interest in Rerum
Novarum, the encyclical of

Pope Leo XIII on the rights of

workers. Toribio was chairman
of a student group that met to
study that encyclical, and these
seminarians did more than just
read the pages of the text. They
organized classes for workers
in the town, opening their
minds to the social teaching of
the Church. Years later this
interest in social justice would
get Toribio Romo in trouble
with his superiors.
As soon as the seminary

closed for the summer, the

seminarian from Santa Ana
returned to the place of his
roots, where he enjoyed the
admiration of his family and
the curiosity of his neighbors.
Children were fascinated by
the native who had made it to
the seminary, and he organized
an outdoor catechism class to
teach them about the faith and
pray the rosary. (The mesquite
tree that provided shade for
those classes is still there

today.) After class they played

games and enjoyed his goodnatured teasing. Many years
later one of Toribios students
still laughed about the surprise
they got one day when they ate
the candies he brought them;
they turned out to be hot
chilies.
In 1920, Toribio entered the
major seminary in Guadalajara
to complete his studies. At first
the students there joked about
the rancherito (boy from the

country), but his friendly

personality and simplicity soon
won the students over. To the
faculty, it was apparent that he
was able to roll with the
punches and didnt take
himself
too
seriouslyan
important quality in a diocesan
priest.
Finally, on December 22,
1922, he was ordained to the
priesthood. For Toribio, it was
a proud day in more ways than
one: he had reached his lifes

goal, and he had brought great

joy to his parents, who
traveled to Guadalajara for the
ceremony. But he must also
have felt pride in kneeling
before the great Archbishop
Francisco
Orozco,
of
Guadalajara, who was the
ordaining prelate that day and
would now be his superior. A
few years earlier Toribio had
been the student representative
chosen to welcome this famous
churchman to the seminary for

a visit.
Orozco was one of the giants
of the Church in Mexico, a
bearded patriarch who was
admired by all for his
leadership during a time of
persecution. Yes, persecution!
By this time the peace between
church and state was long
over. Three presidents had
come and gone since the days
of Porfirio Daz, and the
atrocities of the past were back
with a vengeance. Out-of-

control government troops

were drinking beer out of
chalices, shooting up sacred
images, and forcibly taking
over church buildings as
barracks. Archbishop Orozco
was a particular target of this
campaign; at one point in
1918, the government exiled
him to the U.S.
Do you promise obedience
to me and my successors? the
archbishop
asked
young
Toribio in the ordination

ceremony that day. Yes, I do,

Toribio responded, knowing
full well he was entering the
priesthood in troubled times.
Two weeks later (travel took
time in those days), Toribio
was back in the place of his
birth
for
a
Mass
of
thanksgiving, and was it ever a
celebration! Cousins came from
all over to be present for the
big occasion: from San Juan de
los
Lagos,
Aguascalientes,
Leon, and Guadalajara in

Mexico, and even from the U.S.

Years later Toribios brother
Romn, who followed him to
the seminary, wrote that in
every house in the community,
people were praying, singing,
and commenting on the great
event of the ordination of the
first priest from Santa Ana.
Just hours before the Mass,
the last stone was put in place
in the newly built church.
Emotional cheers filled the air
during the Mass that day, and

hundreds of people waited in

long lines afterward to receive
a blessing from the hands of
the newly ordained priest.
Then all had a plentiful meal
of turkey and chicken in soups
and mole ranchero at his
grandparents house.
Such
were
the
simple
beginnings of priesthood for
Toribio Romo as he immersed
himself in the love of family
and friends that day in
January 1923. If there were

dark clouds on the horizon,

nobody dwelled on them. They
left such things in the hands of
God.

Saint Toribio Romo

A panoramic view of Santa

Ana

Commemorative card of the

25th anniversary of the first
Mass of Father Toribio Romo

Statue of Father Toribio in

Santa Ana

Chapel marking Toribio

Romos birthplace

Toribio Romo with his fellow

seminarians

Father Toribio and one of the

children he prepared for his
first Communion

Father Toribio Romo with a

group of children on their first
Communion day

First biography of Saint Toribio

Romo, written by his brother,
Father Romn Romo

CHAPTER 3

Given Difficult
Assignments

oribio Romo had five

assignments in his five
years of priesthood, and all
of them were painful in one
way or another. He began in
Sayula, where he lasted only
one year because the pastor did
not like him, despite the fact
that this pastor had baptized

him twenty-three years earlier

and probably stayed at his
parents house. We dont know
the exact circumstances of the
dispute, but we do know that
the pastor made this admission
years later: How I made him
suffer; I understood too late.
Whatever the problem was,
it wasnt an unwillingness to
work.
Father
Toribio
immediately threw himself into
the task of teaching the
children catechism, and before

long he was running a

program for two hundred
childrena
considerable
achievement in a tiny rural
community.
He
and
a
classmate, who was also newly
ordained and assigned to that
parish, organized classes for
workers on the encyclical
Rerum Novarum, much like they
had done as seminarians in San
Juan de los Lagos.
His second assignment was
to Tuxpan, where again he

threw himself into the work of

teaching the children the basics
of
the
faith.
But
this
assignment also lasted only
one year, and again we dont
know precisely why he was
moved
so
soon.
The
parishioners who accompanied
him to the station on the day of
his departure saw him cry as he
got on the train.
The third assignment to
Yahualica was even briefera
few monthsand it would be

the most painful so far. Padre

Toribio was ordered to stay
shut in his house and was
prohibited from praying the
rosary in public or saying
Mass, his brother Romn
wrote later. Unfortunately,
Romn doesnt explain why the
pastor would resort to such
severe punishment. What he
does mention is that Father
Toribio went to Father Justino
Orona, the neighboring pastor
in Cuquio, to unburden his

soul. Father Orona took Father

Toribio under his wing and
even wrote a letter on his
behalf to the office of the
archbishopan attempt at
advocacy that failed because
the pastor of Yahualica got to
the archbishops office first. A
diocesan official reprimanded
Father Toribio and told him he
would be moved. The silver
lining to this crisis was that
Father Toribio ended up being
assigned to Father Orona, who

had become his friend and

advocate.
Descendents
of
Father
Toribios family in Sacramento
and priests from the Diocese of
San Juan de los Lagos believe
the dispute in Yahualica (and
perhaps in the other parishes)
may have been sparked by
Father Toribios interest in the
encyclical Rerum Novarum.
That
encyclical
was
a
progressive letter published by
Pope Leo XIII some thirty-five

years earlier on the rights of

workers to unionize and
demand a living wage. Some
conservative pastors in the
diocese probably still resisted
the teaching of that encyclical
with the encouragement of
wealthy landowners, who also
disagreed with it.
Whatever the exact cause of
the dispute, Father Toribios
assignment to Father Orona in
Cuquio was a happier onethe
happiest
in
his
priestly

ministry. Finally he was with a

pastor who understood him
and gave him broad latitude to
work with the poor. The irony
is that this assignment was
painful in another way: he and
his pastor worked under
constant threat to their lives
because
of
increasing
government persecution. But
that didnt stop the two priests
from doing their work. Toribio
launched into the catechism
work he loved so much,

establishing centers of religious

instruction for the children in
the parish and a school for
catechists as well. And, of
course, he set up study groups
for the laborers on the teaching
of Pope Leo XIII. Union
Popular, a labor movement
that had recently been founded
in Guadalajara, was also
flourishing in Cuquio through
his efforts. Several young men
from the area entered the
seminary at this time, a sure

indication
of
Toribios
effectiveness among young
people.
It was at this time that an
ominous
development
in
Mexican history intersected
with the life of Toribio Romo
and must be mentioned here.
In July 1926 a mass uprising
broke
out
against
the
government of Plutarco Calles,
the military strongman who
was president of Mexico at this
time. The insurgents, known as

Cristeros because of their battle

cry, Viva Cristo Rey (Long
live Christ the King), were
Catholic laypeople who were
fed up with the persecution of
their Church by the Calles
government. Although they did
not have the official support of
the Church, their rebellion
spread fast and eventually
attracted some seventy-five
thousand insurgents across
thirteen states in central and
western Mexico. More than

seventy thousand people lost

their lives in this war, and
many more were displaced in
the turmoil. (The immigration
of Mexicans to California
began at this time.)
The parish of Cuquio, where
Father Toribio was assigned,
was well known for its support
of the Cristeros. In this town,
people said, young men who
were passive Catholics at
nightfall were Cristeros by
morning (a reference to the

suddenness
with
which
sympathizers
joined
the
movement). And it was in this
town that a famous open-air
Mass was celebrated on a hill
outside the town on the feast of
Christ the King in 1925.
Fathers Toribio and Orona
organized that Mass, and
people came from miles around
some fifteen thousand in all
in a kind of public defiance
of the governments policy of
persecution. It was a heavenly

experience, Toribios brother

Romn
recalled,
as
the
mountains vibrated with the
cries of Viva Cristo Rey.
During exposition of the
Blessed Sacrament that day,
the people took an oath to
defend the faith even with their
lives. Father Toribio joined in
that oath, as did Father Orona.
The act would prove prophetic
for both priests.
The following year that
defiance went a step further

when three hundred Cristeros

took over city hall in Cuquio
and held it for several months
with the support of the people.
Neither Father Toribio nor
Father Orona was directly
involved in the uprising, of
course, but just living in
Cuquio during this time was
enough evidence to convict a
priest in the eyes of infuriated
government agents. The two
priests became marked men.
Meanwhile, news of the

atrocities
of
the
Calles
government was reaching the
U.S., where American Catholics
were
pressuring
President
Calvin
Coolidge
to
do
something
about
them.
Coolidge eventually did, and
Calles, who by now was
chastened by the success of the
rebellion,
accepted
his
intervention and agreed to
back off on the confiscation of
Church property and banning
of religious instruction in

public schools.
This concession settled the
war, but it didnt please the
Cristeros, who felt betrayed by
the bishops. Actually, the
Cristeros had felt that way all
along. To them, the bishops
were too passive, leaders who
defended the people with
words but refused to stand up
and fight. One can imagine the
discussions that must have
taken place between Toribio
and his friends about how to

respond to the Cristero call to

arms:
When
is
violence
justified in self-defense? Should
priests publicly support the
Cristero cause even if some
Cristero extremists were as
guilty of atrocities as the
government?
Should
they
perhaps join in the rebellion
themselves? (One or two
radical priests actually did.)
Whatever
their
private
inclinations, the instructions of
the Mexican bishops to the

priests and people were clear.

They preached a message of
strict
Christian
pacifism,
warning
their people in
statements
against
even
thinking of raising the religious
banner urging to arms. But if
the
bishops
insisted
on
passivism, they were equally
insistent that priests not
abandon their people, urging
them to do all the good
possible
for
the
faithful
entrusted to them short of

taking up arms. And it is to the

credit of the priests and
bishops of the time that they
did stand by their people with
a saintly determination that
can be seen in the recorded
statements of the day.
Listen to me, rulers of the
State of Vera Cruz, one bishop
wrote to local authorities. You
can continue to multiply your
crimes, to destroy the lives of
priests and honorable citizens,
and to despoil them of their

temporal good. By brute force

and acts of savagery you can
hinder them from giving
worship to God within the
confines of the churches[But]
you can rest assured that not
for one moment will I abandon
the children whom I love so
much and whom Jesus Christ
placed under my care.
In return, the Catholic
people were equally loyal to
their leaders, turning out by
the thousands to whatever

religious
services
were
available, even if it was only
Communion stations. One day
in Guadalajara, a city of
180,000, more than 60,000
people received Communion. If
the intention had been to
stamp out Catholicism in
Mexico, the plan was failing
miserably.

CHAPTER 4

Lived Like the Early

Christians

ne can admire the courage

and
determination
demonstrated by priests
and
people
during
the
presidency of Plutarco Calles,
but one should not conclude
that life was easy. It was not.
Priests
were
hiding
like
fugitives, and parishioners who

harbored them did so at the

risk of their lives. The few
brave Catholics who dared host
a secret Mass in their homes
survived by paying off the
police and hoping for the best.
If they were unlucky, they
could see their land holdings
confiscated and given to army
officers, maybe even to some
turncoat who had been a paid
hand on that hacienda a few
weeks earlier. It was like living
in the Roman Empire during

the reign of Nero.

Of course, hostility between
conservative priests (many of
whom were influenced by the
rich) and liberal politicians
(many
of
whom
were
influenced by the Masons and
the European Enlightenment)
was not new in Mexico, and
anticlericalism had escalated
into periods of persecution
before, but the lengths to which
the government went to take
over the Church during this

period were unprecedented.

One date in particular was
burned into the memory of
Toribio and his fellow priests:
February 1927. During that
month Calles ordered every
priest in the country to report
to
Mexico
Cityto
be
registered for ministry! From
now on, he said, priests would
have to be licensed by the
government, like doctors and
other professionals, and to
minister without that license

would constitute a breach of

the law. It was a brazen effort
to bring the Church directly
under the control of the state,
and not surprisingly, the
priests refused to go along with
it. They simply ignored the
order and hoped for the best.
Ten years of tension had
come to a shocking climax, but
for Father Toribio and his
fellow priests in Guadalajara it
could not have come as a
surprise,
because
their

archbishop had already been in

hiding for several months. In
October of the previous year,
Calles had ordered Archbishop
Francisco Orozco and other
representatives of the bishops
to come to Mexico City to
discuss the worsening crisis,
but Orozco decided not to show
up. He feared the government
would send him into exile
again (which it eventually did),
so he went into hiding.
For the next year Orozco

lived in the most remote

regions of his spread-out
diocese, spending his nights in
the dwellings of indigenous
families
rather
than
the
haciendas of the rich, because
it would be harder to find him.
In one of his letters he
describes reading a book by
candlelight one night in the
house of a poor family when he
noticed a poisonous snake
crawling over his feet. He tried
to remain calm, and eventually

the unwelcome visitor moved

on.
Throughout this time the
archbishop maintained contact
with his diocese with the help
of a faithful young Indian who
traveled to the city once a
week on foot with dispatches
from his boss in hiding. That
was how the archbishop made
assignments. For priests like
Toribio Romo, it must have
been a strange world in which
to minister.

One piece of good news out

of Mexico City at this point did
encourage
Father
Toribio,
however. An attempt was
made to bomb the image of
Our Lady of Guadalupe in its
shrine in the capital, but while
damage was done to the
shrine, the image miraculously
escaped. (The twisted metal
cross is on display to this day
in
the
rebuilt
shrine.)
Ironically, a decorative silk
curtain that had been rolled up

above the picture unfolded in

the blast that day. It hung
down in front of the Virgin as
if to shield her eyes from the
mayhem around her and send a
message to those who would
destroy her.
Meanwhile,
like
the
archbishop, Father Toribio
went about his work as best he
could, risking his life every
time
he
ministered
the
sacraments.
He
celebrated
Mass in secret, well aware of

the risks to himself and his

hosts. He heard confessions,
knowing how the government
could abuse that sacrament. (In
one rural parish, government
agents posed as priests, then
used the information gained in
the confessional to arrest the
parishioners.)
And
he
distributed Communion many,
many times. That was the most
common form of Eucharistic
worship at the time because the
bishops had closed all the

churches in the nation eighteen

months earlier in protest
against
government
persecution. People flocked to
Communion stations because
they were all they had.
It is difficult for us today to
imagine a diocese functioning
under conditions like these, but
such were the conditions under
which Father Toribio and his
fellow
priests
ministered
during this period in Mexican
history. And these conditions

are historically linked to a

political figure mentioned only
in passing so far, about whom
more must now be said. His
name was Plutarco Elias
Calles.

CHAPTER 5

Suffered Under Plutarco

Calles

he politician responsible
for the killing of Toribio
Romo wasnt all bad. In
fact, were it not for the
religion issue, Plutarco Calles
might be considered one of the
better presidents of Mexico. He
had deep convictions about
justice and equality, and he

expanded
government
programs
for
the
disadvantaged in a nation that
has always had a gap between
the haves and the have-nots.
Who should be able to reach
out a hand to the poor? he
asked a reporter once, then
answered the question himself:
Only
one
agencythe
government.
During his time as president,
the government did indeed
extend a hand to the poor.

Calles made education more

available by expanding the
network of schools (he had
been a teacher himself once);
organized housing projects and
public
health
programs;
accelerated the breakup of
large
haciendas,
including
Church-owned lands; and made
travel a lot easier by building
more railroads. He even
conducted a campaign against
alcoholism.
Most
importantly,
he

institutionalized the succession

of power in Mexico. Up to that
time, changes in office had
been
marked by
violent
revolutions
and
shaky
coalitions, and the country had
been
run
by
military
strongmen. But Calles had a
deeper respect for the law than
most strongmen, and he
understood that the way to put
an
end
to
military
governments was a stronger
political system. With that end

in mind, he founded a political

party, the predecessor of
todays
Institutional
Revolutionary Party, or PRI, in
Mexico. By the time he left the
public
stage,
Calles
had
implemented a system in which
the succession of power in
Mexico was determined by a
group of leaders rather than by
individual strongmen. As one
historian put it, the political
party he founded provided a
civilized conclave in which

generals could resolve their

differences without drawing
their revolvers.
But those are not the
qualities for which Plutarco
Calles is remembered. What
has endured in the memory of
the Mexican people are his
hang-up about religion and the
number of innocent people like
Toribio Romo who were
murdered in cold blood because
of him. He was an atheist, like
many of his fellow politicians

(When I was an altar boy, I

stole the alms to buy candy,
he once boasted), and like
many politicians of the time,
he believed sincerely that the
fanaticism and superstition
of religion should be replaced
with pure reason. But Calles
dislike of the Catholic Church
went deeper than that; it was
visceral, and he was willing to
go to considerable lengths to
get rid of religion altogether.
When he was governor of

Sonora,
he
made
the
unprecedented decision to ban
every Catholic priest from the
state!
The
American
ambassador was so taken
aback by this that he wrote to
the Secretary of State about it
in 1926: The president has
become so violent on the
religious question that he has
lost control of himself. When
this topic has been dealt with
in his presence, his face turns
red and he has hit the table to

express his hate and profound

hostility towards the practice
of religion.
To understand this mindset,
some historians point to Calles
childhood. His father was an
alcoholic
(remember
that
campaign against alcoholism)
who showed no interest in
raising his children, and Calles,
raised by a maternal aunt,
grew up resenting his father.
Worse, he resented the origins
of his birth. He had been born

out of wedlock, and in those

days being illegitimate carried
considerable social stigma.
That stigma followed him
through lifeeven at the
height of his power there were
rumors about his ancestry
and he blamed the Church for
the pain that caused him.
Denying the authority of
religion may have been his
attempt to deal with it.
Either way, the subsequent
history of Mexico demonstrates

how miserably he failed in his

campaign against religion.
Calles didnt understand that
killing people like Toribio
Romo only made the faith
stronger. For all his brilliance
as
an
administrator,
he
miscalculated his adversary. A
striking example of that
miscalculation can be seen in
his reaction to the Mexican
bishops in July 1926, when
they ordered all the churches of
Mexico closed in protest

against the persecution. Each

week
without
religious
ceremonies,
he
smugly
commented to an associate,
will cost the Catholic religion
two percent of its faithful.
Of course, it didnt. Quite the
contrary! But it did cost him his
place in history, while the
martyrs he created won the
admiration of millions. The
irony is that for all his fury
against priests like Father
Toribio, Calles ended his years

searching for a supreme being

who would give meaning to his
life of wealth and leisure. For
some months before he died, he
attended spiritualist meetings
in an effort to communicate
with those on the other side of
the grave. By that time, Toribio
Romo had already been dead
several years, and people were
communicating
with
him
through prayer.

CHAPTER 6

Obedient Unto Death

equila, in the state of

Jalisco, has given its name
to the famous drink made
from the cactus plant, and
thousands of tourists visit there
every year to tour factories
with famous brand names like
Sauza and Jose Cuervo. But an
increasing number of visitors

to Tequila these days ask for

directions to another tequila
factoryan abandoned one in
a remote canyon some distance
outside the town. It was in this
hidden place that Father
Toribio Romo spent his last
five
months
of
priestly
ministry. Even today it takes
thirty minutes to climb down
there on foot from the road.
Father Toribio did not want
to move to Tequila in 1927
because he liked Father Orona

and was happy in Cuquio. In

fact, Father Orona wrote to the
archbishop petitioning that
Father Toribio be allowed to
stay in Cuquio. It didnt work,
of course. The people of
Tequila needed him, the
archbishop
explained,
and
Father Toribio was reminded of
his promise of obedience to his
bishop, made almost five years
earlier at his ordination. There
was one bright side to this new
assignment,
however.
His

brother Romn, who had

recently been ordained to the
priesthood, was assigned with
him, and his favorite sister,
Quica, was also planning to
live with him and help in the
parish.
We dont know where the
pastor of Tequila lived during
these dangerous times, but
Father Toribio and his siblings
lived
in
this
abandoned
warehouse,
presumably
because it was safer than living

in town. So the three siblings

turned it into a makeshift
parish plant, using two small
rooms as sleeping quarters and
the warehouse as a temporary
chapel. The people who owned
the warehouse provided them
with food and even took care
of their laundryat the risk of
being caught, of course.
As usual, Father Toribio set
up centers for catechism
instruction in homes on nearby
ranches. Many nights he went

into town to visit the sick and

celebrate Mass in the homes of
those brave enough to allow it.
The priests worked quietly in a
kind of stealth ministry, hoping
nobody would say or do
anything
to
attract
the
attention of the authorities.
That went on for five months
without any problems, but then
one night they got a fright.
Word passed around that
soldiers would be searching the
area, so Father Toribio and his

siblings decided to hide under

bushes in the canyon until the
danger passed. Early the
following morning the three
siblings, who had been up all
night, came out of hiding to
celebrate
Mass
in
the
warehouse. Not surprisingly,
they
found
the
people
anxiously waiting. It was Ash
Wednesday, and Father Toribio
preached about Lent and the
meaning
of
the
ashes.
Throughout that day people

continued to come for ashes, as

people do everywhere on Ash
Wednesday,
and everyone
relaxed because the danger
seemed to have passed. Of
course, it hadnt, as things
turned out.
Looking back now, it is clear
that Father Toribio sensed
something sinister at this point,
but he didnt talk about it. In
fact, his siblings thought he
was acting rather strangely.
Out of the blue on Wednesday

night, he told Romn to get to

bed early because he would
have to go to Guadalajara the
next day. When Romn asked
why, Father Toribio refused to
explain,
simply
saying,
Brother, I am ordering you
because I am your superior
here. And sure enough, after
Mass the following morning, a
saddled horse was waiting to
take Romn to Guadalajara.
But before his brother could
depart, Toribio asked him to

hear his confession and gave

him a sealed letter, instructing
him not to open it until he was
told to. Father Toribio then
returned to the makeshift
chapel,
and
Romn
disappeared up the trail out of
the canyon as his puzzled sister
looked on.
All through that day and the
following one Father Toribio
was pensive, saying little and
preoccupied with his thoughts.
One has to wonder what he

thought about during these

final hours. Certainly the
previous twelve months did
nothing to brighten his mood.
They had been like a year out
of hell: the closing of the
churches, the harassment of the
archbishop, the order for all
priests to report to Mexico
City, the murder of so many
priests, including many he
knew personally. Those priests
were martyrs for the faith, the
people kept saying to him, and

now he would probably be

numbered among them himself.
He must have asked God to
give him the strength to go on.
Meanwhile, Toribio kept
himself occupied throughout
Friday recording baptisms and
weddings and writing out
certificates for families who
had celebrated the sacraments
in recent days. He continued
working
into
the
night,
occasionally taking naps or
brief breaks but never going to

bed. On Saturday at 4:00 AM,

he woke Quica, who had fallen
asleep on the floor near him,
and asked her to prepare the
altar for Mass. The Eucharist
the celebration of Christs
death and resurrectionhad
always been the central pillar
of his spirituality and would be
especially comforting in a time
of crisis such as this. Lord, do
not leave me, nor permit a day
of my life to pass without my
saying the Mass, he had often

prayed, without my receiving

your embrace in Communion.
But when he got to the
chapel that morning, he told
Quica he was too tired even to
celebrate Mass. He returned to
his room, took off his alb,
threw himself on the bed, and
finally fell asleep.
About an hour later federal
troops found him there in a
peaceful slumber, one arm
covering his face. A soldier

moved his arm from his face

and yelled, This is the priest!
Kill him! Father Toribio woke
up, sat up in the bed, and said,
I am the priest, but do not kill
me. Before he could say any
more, a shot rang out along
with cheers of Kill the priest!
He got up and staggered a
dozen steps out of the building
before a second shot rang out
and he fell into the arms of his
horrified sister, who had
followed him. Quica looked

into his anguished eyes one last

time, and he died. She had
supported
her
brothers
vocation in both childhood and
adulthood, and now God had
given her the privilege of
holding him in her arms during
his last agony.
What happened next could
be considered a small gesture
of mercy. The officer in charge
of the troops allowed the
people to put Father Toribios
body
on
an
improvised

stretcher and carry it in

procession to Tequila. The
gesture was soon diminished,
however, when unruly soldiers
began to whistle and sing
vulgar songs along the way.
Quica ignored the insults and
walked barefoot behind the
body, praying the rosary.
In Tequila the time for kind
gestures was over. Soldiers
dumped the body in front of
city hall and forced the weak
and pale Quica to walk

barefoot to the barracks, where

they subjected her to hunger
and ridicule for three days
before releasing her. But when
she later joined her family in
Guadalajara, she was the one
on whom they leaned. We
should not cry, she told her
shocked
siblings.
Padre
Toribio is in heaven. When
Romn finally opened the
sealed letter his brother had
given him, he found a final
testament requesting that he

please take care of our dear

and aging parents and similar
expressions of concern for his
siblings.
The body of the twentyseven-year-old Father Toribio
was buried in the cemetery in
Tequila, where it remained for
twenty years. Eventually the
family moved it to Santa Ana,
to the chapel on the mesita,
where it lies today. Father
Romn became pastor of Santa
Teresita
Church
in

Guadalajara, where he served

for
almost
fifty
years,
becoming a highly respected
leader in the city. He died in
1981 at the age of seventy-six
and is buried in his church.
Toribio Romos story calls to
mind a statement made by
biographer Christopher Hollis
about Thomas More, the
brilliant and saintly chancellor
of England whom King Henry
VIII killed because he got in the
way of the kings plans for

divorce. Commenting on the

effects of Mores execution on
the English nation, Hollis
wrote: They killed holiness.
Before that colossal fact all the
excuses and the explanations
fade into nothingthere was
no room in England for both
such a man and the Tudor
state.
True. There was no room in
Mexico for both a man such as
Toribio Romo and the Calles
state either. And today there is

no room for doubt about the

effects of Father Toribios death
on the Mexican nation. He and
his
fellow
martyrs
gave
Mexicans the depth of faith we
have come to admire.

Prayer to Saint Toribio

Loving Father,
you have made Saint Toribio
an inspiration for your people.
Help us to follow his example
of self-sacrifice in the service of
others,
his commitment to justice
for those who are least important,
and his steadfast courage
in the face of threats to his life.
May his prayers turn our

weakness into strength

so that we may turn our crosses
into signs of your glory.
We ask this through Christ, our
Lord.
Amen.

Note to the reader

The author is working on a
larger book on this subject. If
you or your relatives have
personal memories of the
Cristero rebellion or the
brutality
of
the
Calles
government, please send them
to
jmurphycristeros@hotmail.com.