Today is the feast of St. Paul Miki and Companions — 26 men of varying ages: Franciscan and Jesuit priests, catechists, and laymen. They were crucified in 1597 for the crime of being Catholic in a Japan that, at the time, was violently opposed to outside influence — especially the Catholic faith.
The foreign missionaries left behind knew it was only a matter of time before they, too, would be discovered. Anyone wise in the ways of the world would have sought escape, saved their own life, or denied the faith.
They did not.
Before the missionaries were martyred or expelled, they did something extraordinary: they prepared the faithful for a Church without clergy. They told them, one day men will come claiming to be ministers — here is how you will know the true Church.
They gave them three signs to watch for:
• A priest who was not married
• Devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary
• Union with the Pope in Rome
Generations passed. Children were baptized by grandparents. Prayers were whispered — distorted, half-forgotten — yet guarded like treasure.
For more than 250 years, Japan had no Catholic priests.
When Japan reopened in the 1800s, villagers quietly approached a French priest and asked:
“Are you married?”
“Do you honor Santa Maria?”
“Are you united to the Pope of Rome?”
When he answered correctly, they said:
“Our hearts are the same as yours.”
After centuries in hiding, the faith endured — not sentimental, not soft, but rooted, costly, and recognizable.
That story has been on my heart today as an example of mercy.
Because real mercy isn’t vague.
It puts others first, seeking their good.
It isn’t whatever survives cultural pressure.
It has edges, marks, and a memory.
True mercy clings to truth — even when truth must be whispered in the dark.
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