Mircea Mîrza and the clarification of faith on the road of suffering
One evening, before curfew, they were all lying on their beds, some asleep, others praying, thinking or telling stories. Next to me was a small group of students from Sibiu, and among them, the one telling the story, was Mircea Mîrza, a beautiful child who was a joy to look at. He had a pink, peachy complexion and a changing voice that he was always trying to make rougher, to sound at least like a “sea wolf”. Mircea was a student at the naval school. His story was interesting and I listened to it carefully, because I had gone through similar difficulties myself, but I wouldn’t have had the courage to tell it to others.
Mircea, on the other hand, spoke openly about how he had drifted away from the faith during his last years at school. Absorbed by positive studies, influenced by the school and its education, he had moved away not only from religious practices but also from the very idea of God.
He was arrested in Constanța and taken to Sibiu for investigation. As he came from a family of professional soldiers and had links with the Brotherhood of the Cross, he was considered dangerous and was kept in isolation, in a cramped cell with no light and a bed of damp, rotting straw. Mistreated during the interrogations, insulted, tormented by the cold, hunger and the cries of pain heard day and night, after about a month in solitary confinement he felt that his strength was failing him, that he could no longer do it; in this state it occurred to him to pray. It was the first time in many years that he didn’t even know if he remembered the Lord’s Prayer. Sitting on his straw mattres, he went down on his knees, clasped his hands together as he had been taught as a child, and began to say it slowly, careful not to make any mistakes. As he spoke the words, something like a warmth came over him. It was like a gentleness, a softness that came over him, wetting his eyes, bathing them in tears. Mircea said that he didn’t know if what he was saying in his mind was a prayer, but he was in such a state that he didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t even hear the guard approaching, when he opened the door he told him ironically to take all his luggage, he knew he had nothing but what was on him. He took him out and took him to a larger room where his colleagues were. When they saw the state he was in, they all jumped in to help him. The others knew that they had always been together since then, but Mircea told them about this experience for the first time and asked them what they thought of this coincidence. No one had a chance to answer, because the curfew was ringing.
(Constantin Iorgulescu – Prison of the Innocent. Memory as an Exercise in Forgetting, Vol. I, Crisserv Publishing House, Mediaș, 2000, pp. 41-43)