God is with us
“Who is the great God like our God? You are the God who works wonders!” (Psalm 76:13)
Beloved brethren, for a long time I hesitated before making a final confession, fearing that the miracles I had witnessed might be profaned by the suspicion or unbelief of some.
Yet the Spirit finally urged me to confess. I carried with me a small piece of Holy Communion, reserved for moments of need. While pagans might take their own lives at the last moment of battle, Christians enter into communion with God through Holy Communion even before the death of the body. There were occasions when I felt I was at the threshold of death and dared to partake of Holy Communion.
In Jilava, when we shared crumbs among the children who desired them, we confessed our faults to one another and bound ourselves in a covenant: should any of us survive and find a priest, we would all testify to this act of Holy Confession. In Gherla, in room 99, and in Aiud, when I was isolated in the Zarca in 1958, Holy Communion preserved me—not merely physically, but spiritually—from falling away from the Truth. I felt intensely that abandoning the confession of the Truth would bring eternal damnation, yet I equally felt Her saving assistance.
Some of the children in Jilava marveled at how I could endure so many searches without a pinprick of Holy Communion being discovered. I kept it in a clean handkerchief, wrapped, knotted, or secured with a cord around my neck or even in my pocket, ready for critical moments. I never hid it during searches, trusting in its divine protection—and it never failed me.
During searches, we were stripped naked; clothes, undergarments, handkerchiefs, towels—everything belonging to us—was meticulously examined and often cut. Our bodies were inspected everywhere, even in the mouth, under the tongue, ears, and under fingernails, seeking anything that might attract punishment. Once, when a militiaman asked me to remove my boots, I bent to pick them up and discovered the handkerchief containing the Holy Communion lying untouched at my feet, exactly as it had been.
Once, a militiaman in Jilava asked:
—What’s in your handkerchief?
—I replied without fear: “The Holy Communion.”
—Take your bag and go to your room.
For more than fifteen years, I carried the miracle of God—the Body and Blood of His Son—within the sinful hands of earthly men, and I emerged from this ordeal unharmed.
I sought guidance from a priest but was not fully satisfied with the answer. After my marriage, I entrusted it to my wife, asking her to safeguard it until the right guidance could be found: “If I marry again, the first thing you will give me is this Holy Communion.”
Another twenty-seven years passed until 1992. From time to time, I asked priests what to do. When my wife sensed the approach of her end, she reminded me before confession and communion:
—What are you going to do with the Communion from the handkerchief? It is in the cupboard, in a small box. Please take care of it.
(Virgil Maxim, Hymn for the Cross Bearer. Abecedar duhovnicesc pentru un frate de croce, 2nd edition, Antim Publishing House, Bucharest, 2002, pp. 461-462)