INTRODUCTION
Schwarzenfeld is a backwater village nestled in the rambling, pinecovered
hills of southeast Germany. To an observer in the 1940s,
it is a typical Bavarian farm town. The houses are austere plaster,
topped by red-tiled roofs. A stately, white-walled castle broods
overhead like a relic from a bygone age, its presence whispering of a
history that stretches back to the medieval era. Only a far-flung train
station hints at a connection to modern times. For centuries, two
sharp gray steeples have dominated the skyline—one belonging to a
rococo parish church, the other to a hilltop shrine—and both stand
as a testament to the Catholic fervor that burns deep in Bavarian
culture. Months have passed since a car rolled along the dirt-paved
roads, for automobiles are a rarity here. A pedestrian ambling along
Schwarzenfeld’s main thoroughfare, the Hauptstrasse, is far more
likely to encounter a cattle herd lazing about the street, or farmers
hauling their wares by wagon. However, one fact makes this nondescript
village the most remarkable place in the Third Reich: in this
town, Germans have given their loyalty to an American.
This U.S. citizen is Fr. Viktor Koch, C.P., a missionary and
Pennsylvania native who left America to found a new province for
his religious order, the Passionists. All members of this monastic
community have vowed to sow a novel doctrine—they declare
suffering the great and terrible equalizer of humanity, uniting every
soul on earth regardless of nation, race, or creed. Intuition tells Fr.
Viktor that Germany, the vanquished aggressor of World War I,
needs this far-reaching message more than any other country. He
is a foreigner by birth, but not by culture or language. A son of
German immigrants, he speaks fluent Hochdeutsch with a round,
downy American accent.
Appointed to lead the new European province, he departs for
Bavaria in 1922, at age fifty. From the start he proves his mettle.
Accompanied by Fr. Valentin Lenherd, C.P., his closest friend
and fellow Passionist, he bears witness to the turmoil that wracks
his ancestral homeland. Inflation and unemployment ravage the
country like twin plagues. Not even a bucketful of German marks
can buy a loaf of bread. The Weimar government forbids new
religious orders from opening institutions in Germany, condemning
the Passionist mission to failure, but Fr. Viktor is undeterred. At
times like this, he is apt to quote his favorite adage: “God provides.”
Instead of conceding defeat, he wheels and deals with Bavarian
cardinals, holds whirlwind fundraisers in America, and opens two
monasteries—one in Munich, Germany, and a second in Maria
Schutz, Austria. He relishes each victory over the German government,
celebrating every triumph with a fine cigar.
In 1933, when he visits Schwarzenfeld and decides to build
a new monastery beside the Miesbergkirche, the hilltop shrine
overlooking their town, the population hails him as a hero. He has
$200,000 in U.S. funds at his disposal—enough to hire every ablebodied
laborer in the impoverished village, plus tradesmen scouring
the countryside for work. Thus, as Adolf Hitler beguiles a desperate
nation with economic miracles, the devout Catholics of Schwarzenfeld
find an American priest ushering them from poverty into plenty.
They reverently call Fr. Viktor “our Provinsche,” a moniker derived
from his official title, provincial.
When the winds of oppression and war sweep through Europe
once again, Fr. Viktor struggles to ignore grim predictions made by
Fr. Stanislaus Grennan, his superior in America: the German province
will prove to be a total failure. In 1937, the Nazis close his monastery
in Munich. Gestapo agents begin hunting down foreign missionaries
and drive them from European shores, including American Passionists
who joined the German mission. Through sheer coincidence,
Fr. Viktor finds a legal loophole that prevents his own deportation.
After the first panzers rage across Poland’s border, German priests of
military age receive call-up notices from the Wehrmacht. A province
forty-one members strong drops to thirteen overnight. The most
devastating event occurs in February 1941: Fr. Valentin Lenherd, his
comrade through tribulation, dies of cancer. Fr. Viktor barely has
time to grieve before the next threat unfolds.
By April 1941, Hitler’s persecution of the German Catholic
Church is entering a new phase. Nazi authorities have confiscated
monasteries throughout Bavaria, evicting their inhabitants and
reallocating the facilities for secular purposes. One organization
that benefits from these mass appropriations is the Nationalsozialistische
Volkswohlfahrt (NSV), the public welfare department
charged with the task of opening rest houses, military hospitals,
and shelters for German citizens fleeing cities plagued by air raids.
In Schwandorf, a town six miles south of Schwarzenfeld, NSV
office director Wilhelm Seiz receives orders from the State to house
one hundred children evacuated from Hamburg. Searching the
Oberpfalz, his attention falls upon a spacious residence that suits
his needs perfectly. Confiscating this building is not a straightforward
matter: a foreigner owns the mortgage, and an international
scandal might erupt if the occupants refuse to leave peacefully, but
the fires of Seiz’s determination are stoked. Though he is only a
minor official, he has cultivated connections in the party. He will
stop at nothing until the property falls into NSV hands.
The building he wants to acquire is Fr. Viktor’s monastery in
Schwarzenfeld, the Miesbergkloster.
