Reflecting on the indigenous people living far from the Church, she felt “like a mother who had three or four hundred thousand lost children.” She travelled to remote areas to catechize them.
It was the year 1874, a time of rapid social and political change. In Rome, Blessed Pius IX was firmly guiding the barque of the Church, battered by the waves of the Risorgimento, while on the other side of the Atlantic, Colombia had begun emerging as a nation.
In 1863, the Constitution of Rionegro had generated a confederation of nine sovereign states, including present-day Panama. The territory of this nascent Andean nation was rugged and lush; the people, intelligent, combative and gifted with deep faith and love for the Holy Church. However, the political unity of the United States of Colombia was tenuous; its 18 successive presidents had been largely unable to maintain it. Its 23-year history had been marked by dozens of civil wars, mostly over regional issues.
“We must love our enemies”
It was against this simultaneously fervent and bellicose backdrop that St. Laura Montoya was born in the city of Jericó, on May 26, 1874. Her mother, Dolores Upegui, withheld her first maternal kiss until after the infant’s Baptism, which took place only four hours after her birth. Laura would barely know her father, doctor and merchant John of the Cross Montoya, for he died when she was only two years old in the civil war then ravaging Colombia.
The Montoya family gathered each day to pray the Rosary, always including, among other prayer intentions, a certain Clímaco Uribe, whom the girl imagined to be a relative.
“Mama, where does Clímaco Uribe live?”— she asked, one day.
“He is your father’s killer. You should love him, for we must love our enemies. They bring us closer to God, by making us suffer.”
“With such lessons,” the saint wrote decades later, “it was impossible for me, over time, not to love those who harmed me.”1 This episode is even more exceptional considering that the death of John of the Cross Montoya, followed by the confiscation of all his goods, left the widow with three small children in a state of almost abject poverty. The poor woman had to live in relatives’ homes, subject to the vexations and humiliations this entailed.
As if struck by a lightning bolt
Along with the pain of seeing her mother treated contemptuously, the innocent child suffered other grievous trials. For diverse reasons, she was cruelly rejected by the very people from whom she had hoped to receive affection. “It was God Who had to find my heart empty of all earthly attachment, so that He could, in His time, take absolute possession of it,”2 she wrote.
Finding herself thus rebuffed by her relatives, little Laura became a keen observer of nature, her “only friend.” This is where the hand of Jesus entered, preparing the field to grant her the grace that would orient her life.
At eight years of age, she was entertaining herself one morning, as usual, by admiring the order and industriousness of a row of ants carrying their provisions of leaves, when she suddenly felt something indescribable in her soul: “It was as if I were struck by a lightning bolt; it was a knowledge of God and His grandeurs, so profound, so magnificent and so loving, that today, after so much study and learning, I know no more about God than I knew then.”3
The virgin-apostle and the contemplative virgin
It is beautiful to note how God speaks eloquently through irrational creatures. It is even more marvellous, however, to see how He attracts by the example of virtuous persons, as happened with young Laura. At ten years of age, in the city of Donmatías where the family had moved after her father’s death, she met two young people who deeply marked her life.
Úrsula Barrera, whose inner beauty complemented and outshone her outward attractiveness, awakened lively enthusiasm in the child’s soul, especially as she watched her arranging the flowers for the altar. “Hers was a virginity inflamed by the love of God. […] She was my great lesson of fortitude to sustain my virginity.”4
The other, Dolores Restrepo, an apostolic soul in the fullest sense of the word, travelled enormous distances on foot to convert sinners. This wealthy young woman used her fortune to help the poor, whom she aided as a humble servant.
Laura saw a reflection of her vocation in these two exemplary youths: “Úrsula, the contemplative virgin, and Dolores, the virgin-apostle, were, unknowingly, my teachers, my mirrors, and the pedagogues of my vocation.”5
Spiritual communion rewarded with an ecstasy of love
In 1887, six years after her First Communion, Jesus granted her an extraordinary grace to fortify her faith in the Eucharist. She had the habit of offering her daily work to God every morning, and of renewing this offering frequently. She never lost an opportunity to receive Communion and liked to remain before the tabernacle, even in the absence of sensible graces.
One day, as she began a household chore, she offered it to Our Lord, as usual. At this moment, “undoubtedly as a response to my offering, God instilled in me a vehement desire to receive Communion.” She made a spiritual Communion and felt an extraordinary ecstasy of love, as if the Eucharist had pierced her soul. “It seemed that I understood how Jesus is in the Host and how the Divine Word is in Jesus.”6
She received numerous mystical graces in her life. From them flowed the strength and courage she needed to undertake her missionary epic, with its risks, misunderstandings and persecutions. Through these graces, Divine Providence was tempering her soul for her future mission.
A teacher with a thirst for souls
This mission began when she was 19. Overcoming all obstacles she obtained a teacher’s diploma for primary and secondary school in 1893. In January of the following year she made her teaching debut in the municipal school of Amalfi, where she was able to give vent to her thirst for souls. “I strove to make my students enthusiastic lovers of God.”7
Before long, her words and example began producing fruits of conversion and enkindling fervour. Many young girls of the cream of local society began receiving Communion frequently and bravely defending their faith in face of the attacks of anti-religious relatives. She obtained similar results in two other state colleges in which she taught.
In 1898, she joined a female cousin who had founded a private school in Medellín, in demand by the city’s elite. Because of her entire liberty of action there, the success of her apostolic activities grew.
Defamatory campaigns
The devil soon took revenge. A high-standing Medellín couple were preparing for the wedding of their daughter, Eva Castro. The bride-to-be was a disciple of Laura and invited her to be the maid of honour.
Only two days before the marriage, the girl informed her parents of her decision to break off the engagement, alleging a religious vocation. By inexplicable artifices, the malignant spirit managed to plant in the mind of the parents and relatives that the young teacher was to blame for this sudden change, and what was even worse, that she had acted with condemnable ulterior motives.
This twofold lie unleashed a wave of calumnies and defamations, first by word of mouth, then by the press, including publications from the capital of the Republic.
The first consequence was the closure of the school. Before long, the saint became the target of generalized abuse—even street urchins threw stones at her. Moreover, she was abandoned by those who ought to have defended her. Even her confessor, after submitting her to a merciless interrogation, told her that he could no longer have anything to do with her. All of this was further aggravated by the state of material penury to which she and her mother had been reduced.
Providence finally intervened, resolving their financial problems in an almost miraculous way. And a timely and well-composed “open letter” to Eva Castro’s father was published with the help of a family friend, setting forth the facts with such clarity that the defamatory campaign was quashed.
When, some years later, Laura opened a new school with the same initial success, it was also closed in the second year of operation—this time, not by the opposition of declared enemies of the Holy Church, but by a misinformed bishop.
These and numerous other setbacks in St. Laura’s life never upset her peace of soul and her confidence; she was convinced that the Cross is the surest sign of predestination. God was preparing her for a great vocation: that of being a missionary among the Indians, and the mother of numerous other missionaries.
Three or four hundred thousand lost children
For some time, she had experienced deep spiritual sorrow whenever she reflected on the thousands of indigenous Colombians who had no contact with the Church. “I felt like a mother with three or four hundred thousand lost children.”8 But the greater the desire in her heart to catechize these poor people, the more God allowed obstacles to multiply, as the saint details in her Autobiography.
In it, she gives a delightful account of how she finally received the green light to set out on this venture. Having managed to schedule an appointment with the Most Rev. Maximilian Crespo, Bishop of Antioch, she arrived at the Episcopal palace “with British punctuality,” on February 11, 1912.9
“So, you are the lady who has taken to heart the holy enterprise of saving the poor Indians?”—the Prelate asked amiably.
“Yes, your Excellency, at least of working for them a little.”
“Well, I welcome this work wholeheartedly, with my entire soul. […] I will always support it. If the diocesan funding dries up, I will use my own resources, which are not scanty. At the outset, take no more than four companions with you who are capable of assuming the office of superior in the future. Now all that is lacking is a priest, but God will provide.”
Imagine the saint’s joy as she prepared for this long dreamt-of undertaking!
A retinue of women preceded by ten pack mules
On the “beautiful morning of May 5, 1914,” she writes in her Autobiography, five missionaries set out—including Laura’s mother Dolores, 72 years of age, but with no less enthusiasm or determination than her young companions.
It was a spectacle never before seen by the inhabitants of Medellín—a retinue of women preceded by ten pack mules and two foot guides, with the clear objective of saving souls. Many heads appeared in windows to watch with admiring approval, while others scoffed. Nevertheless, as Prof. Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira affirmed, “the laughter of sceptics will never deter the victorious march of those who have Faith.”10
“Farewell little Mothers! Farewell little Sisters!”—cried the peasants, filled with emotion at seeing them pass by on the dusty rural roads.
After a tiring and perilous trip, they arrived at Dabeiba, the site chosen to establish their mission base. Despite the presence of two priests who accompanied them at the end of the journey to facilitate the first contacts, they were received by the people with contempt and hostility.
Won over with goodness and prayer
Settled into a small, makeshift dwelling, “Mother” Laura immediately drew up a plan of life aimed at perfection. The more arduous their sufferings and hardships, the greater was the joy that God granted them to confront them. Over a month later, natives began to appear. They were at first suspicious and withdrawn, but gradually came to trust the religious.
How were they won over? By the heroism of the daily life they saw these women lead, by their goodness and kindness in receiving the poor Indians and especially by their many prayers and sacrifices, the price of the graces that Divine Providence dispensed for the salvation of those souls. “From that first year we had a considerable number of adult baptisms, and fervent Christians from among the youth.”11
A new religious institution had been launched, three years later receiving Diocesan approbation with the name Congregation of Missionary Sisters of Mary Immaculate and St. Catherine of Siena. Pontifical approval would come in 1953, when the holy foundress was already enjoying heavenly glory.
The “awakened” Indian
God came to the aid of the heroic missionaries in prodigious ways in difficult moments. To overcome the hostility of the people of Dabeiba, He performed many miracles disguised as “remedies” prescribed by Mother Laura. For example, to an aged man on the brink of death, she prescribed water from a brook beside his house, boiled and placed for some hours under the shade of a plantain tree. The sick man took the “medicine” and was cured on the same day.
Even more impressive is the case of Próspero Jumí, an Indian dedicated to the missionaries from the outset. His mother, as well as other older Indians affirmed that he was already baptized. Succumbing to a grave illness, he died one evening, after receiving the Anointing of the Sick.
A few hours later, Mother Laura felt the inner conviction that the good native had died without Baptism. She urged her sisters to arise at midnight and pray the entire Rosary, asking the Virgin Mary to restore his life. Having done so, they returned to their sleep, confident they would be heeded. And so they were!
Early the next morning, crowds of astonished Indians arrived with the news that Próspero had “awoken” and was on his feet, in perfect health! Those who had been at the wake affirmed that they had seen Mother “awaken” the dead man. Próspero was soon baptized and lived several years as a good Christian.
“Mary, my Mother, save me”
Facing countless setbacks, “la madrecita e sus hermanitas”—“the little Mother and her little sisters” set foot in places where valiant missionaries had not managed to penetrate. They gave religious instruction to the Indians in the Chocó Department, in the Gulf of Urabá, in the Murri Valley. They founded houses in the municipalities of Santa Rita, Peque, Sinú, Cáceres and Sarare (present-day Labateca).
“My devotion to the Blessed Virgin was like the oar that moved my little boat. […] Mary is the smile of my life,” wrote Mother Laura, adding that the Mother of God was “the first acquaintance and pure love of the indigenous people.”12 They liked to repeat this sweet ejaculation that their little Mother taught them: “Mary, my Mother, save me.” The missionaries were touched to see that even the most hardened souls were disarmed upon hearing them speak of Mary.
“I do not need God! I don’t want your Baptism! I don’t like your law!”—one of them fumed.
“You don’t even like Mary, my Mother?”—the missionary rejoined.
“Yes, her I like! She is very dearly beloved!13
A type of vanguard of the Church
St. Laura spent the last nine years of her life in a wheelchair beset by many trials. Meanwhile, Providence blessed the expansion of her work. At her death on October 21, 1949, it had 90 houses in three countries and 467 religious sisters. Today, the Missionaries of Mary Immaculate and St. Catherine of Siena are present in 19 countries.
St. Laura Montoya, affirmed Pope Francis when canonizing her, “was an instrument of evangelization, first as a teacher and later as a spiritual mother of the indigenous in whom she instilled hope, welcoming them with this love that she had learned from God and bringing them to him with an effective pedagogy that respected their culture and was not in opposition to it. In her work of evangelization, Mother Laura truly made herself all things to all people, to borrow St. Paul’s words (cf. 1 Cor 9:22). Today too, like a vanguard of the Church, her spiritual daughters live in and take the Gospel to the furthest and most needy places.”14 ◊
Notes
