Resurrection Night at Jilava, 1950
In the room, as in the whole prison, there was a nervous tension. Every day, especially at night, there were unannounced searches, beatings with fists under the chin, kicking or trampling, for writing on the sole of a boot or for not standing up straight in front of the militiaman. The programme of intimidation was designed to bring about the moral collapse and physical liquidation of as many of us as possible. Through the Morse code, we learned that even those who were taken to the courts for trials, appeals, inquiries and investigations were ill-treated, and that some prisoners even died under the beatings. And Maromet and Javan said in mockery: “Reduce him to bits!”
I learned that a group of prisoners sentenced to death were in room zero; if the execution of the sentence was not fixed, they were kept in miserable conditions with the intention of letting them die. Then, in the women’s section, a young woman under investigation had been raped by the investigating officer – who had threatened to kill her if she told anyone.
From time to time a prisoner would enter the room, or one would leave. Those who came brought news about Canal, about the terror there and the high death toll, about the beginning of forced collectivisation, or about the situation in other prisons or forced labour camps in the country. The horizon of the country was darkening under the heavy clouds of the concept of universal happiness.
We tried to bring a ray of spiritual light in the atmosphere of terror, to help everyone as much as possible by word or deed and by the power of prayer, to give an example of peace and trust. We have accepted with Christian resignation the hardships and miseries imposed on us by enemies seen and unseen. During Holy Week, we imposed on ourselves a programme of silence, meditation and prayer, after having tried on Palm Sunday to make everyone understand the meaning of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and the duty of each one of us to prepare to receive him in the Jerusalem of our souls. Day and night, the prayer relay continued without interruption, the living candle burning constantly. The silence, accompanied by constant prayer, which was no longer a secret to others, created a state of true peace for those present (…).
On Good Friday we sang the verses of the Prologue that we remembered from each state and the hymns “Holy God” and “Go to Heaven”. Then there was silence until the night of the Resurrection.
At midnight we rose. We were ready to receive the Risen Saviour Jesus Christ into our souls. He who by the Incarnation had become man and by the Resurrection had divinised man. Some of the children, to whom I had revealed that I had Holy Communion, received a crumb of it and were happy. Most did not consider themselves worthy to receive it.
If only we were always so strict with ourselves!
Silently, we prepared our clothes to begin, with piety and fear, but also with courage, the singing of the hymn “Christ is risen! From the corridor, from the entrance, we heard muffled noises, knocking, yelping and wailing, which grew louder and louder, accompanied by the rattling of the locks. It was customary in those years to mark major Christian or Communist holidays with special events that would remain in the consciousness of the prisoners. Beatings, blows, chains, Neagra and even killings were used to give a diabolical glow to these memorable moments.
We began to sing Christ is risen louder and louder, feeling the need to defend our lives with the cry of the resurrection. For a while I thought I heard knocking and cries of pain. Then I became convinced that, as we sang, they were diminishing in intensity and receding, as if an adverse wind were causing the consuming flames of a fire to drift away from a dangerous target. Later I understood that God, by a decree sent from above, had stopped the martyrdom that was to take place on the night of His Resurrection. We remained silent in our seats until morning. Everyone else in the room looked at us with questioning eyes.
Paul and Silas were singing psalms and praying in the prison, and all the prisoners were listening. God performs His miracles for every generation of believers who suffer for the truth.
In the morning we all prayed the prayer of thanksgiving to God for delivering us from the wrath of the enemies seen and unseen and sang “Christ is risen!” Through the peeled window pane in one corner, a few cork oaks, maples and pigeons could be seen over the shutter, on the banks of the defensive ditch, which had earlier sprouted and blossomed. A few small flowers, like sparks of light, were laughing in the sun. The protection and warmth of the ditch had encouraged them to grow. My soul was filled with light as I saw the hand of God who raises all from death with Himself, and I read this poem in it. I considered it a gift from the Spirit of Heavenly Mercy in honour of the Resurrection, and I recited it with emotion.
(Virgil Maxim – Hymn for the Cross Carried, Antim Publishing House, Bucharest, 2002, pages 242-244)