``Where
the Bishop is, there let the multitude of believers be;
even as where Jesus is, there is the Catholic Church'' Ignatius of
Antioch, 1st c. A.D
St. Michael and the Marine
This is a letter written by a marine to his mother after he was wounded
in 1950, during the Korean War. Various internet sources say that
Father Walter Muddy, Navy chaplain, was
shown the letter, verified its facts, and made it public the next year
at a gathering of 5,000 marines in San Diego, California. Thereafter,
the letter became famous, being published in print and read on
television and on the radio, as per the audio below. The text of the
letter follows:
Dear Mom,
I wouldn't dare write this letter to anyone but you because no one else
would believe it. Maybe even you will find it hard but I have got to
tell somebody.
First off, I am in a hospital. Now don't worry, ya hear me, don't
worry. I was wounded but I am okay you understand. Okay. The doctor
says that I will be up and around in a month.
But that is not what I want to tell you.
Remember when I joined the Marines last year; remember when I left, how
you told me to say a prayer to St. Michael every day. You really didn't
have to tell me that. Ever since I can remember you always told me to
pray to St. Michael the Archangel. You even named me after him. Well I
always have.
When I got to Korea, I prayed even harder. Remember the prayer that you
taught me?
"Michael, Michael of the morning fresh crop of Heaven adorning," you
know the rest of it. Well I said it everyday. Sometimes when I was
marching or sometimes resting. But always before I went to sleep. I
even got some of the other fellas to say it.
Well, one day I was with an advance detail way up over the front lines.
We were scouting for the Commies. I was plodding along in the bitter
cold, my breath was like cigar smoke.
I thought I knew every guy in the patrol, when along side of me comes
another Marine I never met before. He was bigger than any other Marine
I'd ever seen. He must have been 6' 4" and built in proportion. It gave
me a feeling of security to have such a body near.
Anyway, there we were trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread
out. Just to start a conversation I said, "Cold ain't it." And then I
laughed. Here I was with a good chance of getting killed any minute and
I am talking about the weather.
My companion seemed to understand. I heard him laugh softly.
I looked at him, "I have never seen you before, I thought I knew every
man in the outfit."
"I just joined at the last minute", he replied. "The name is Michael."
"Is that so," I said surprised. "That is my name too."
"I know," he said and then went on, "Michael, Michael of the morning .
. ."
I was too amazed to say anything for a minute. How did he know my name,
and a prayer that you had taught me? Then I smiled to myself, every guy
in the outfit knew about me. Hadn't I taught the prayer to anybody who
would listen. Why now and then, they even referred to me as St. Michael.
Neither of us spoke for a time and then he broke the silence. "We are
going to have some trouble up ahead."
He must have been in fine physical shape or he was breathing so lightly
I couldn't see his breath. Mine poured out in great clouds. There was
no smile on his face now. Trouble ahead, I thought to myself, well with
the Commies all around us, that is no great revelation.
Snow began to fall in great thick globs. In a brief moment the whole
countryside was blotted out. And I was marching in a white fog of wet
sticky particles. My companion disappeared.
"Michael, " I shouted in sudden alarm.
I felt his hand on my arm, his voice was rich and strong, "This will
stop shortly."
His prophecy proved to be correct. In a few minutes the snow stopped as
abruptly as it had begun. The sun was a hard shining disc.
I looked back for the rest of the patrol, there was no one in sight. We
lost them in that heavy fall of snow. I looked ahead as we came over a
little rise.
Mom, my heart stopped. There were seven of them. Seven Commies in their
padded pants and jackets and their funny hats. Only there wasn't
anything funny about them now. Seven rifles were aimed at us.
"Down Michael, " I screamed and hit the frozen earth.
I heard those rifles fire almost as one. I heard the bullets. There was
Michael still standing.
Mom, those guys couldn't have missed, not at that range. I expected to
see him literally blown to bits.
But there he stood, making no effort to fire himself. He was paralyzed
with fear. It happens sometimes, Mom, even to the bravest. He was like
a bird fascinated by a snake.
At least, that was what I thought then. I jumped up to pull him down
and that was when I got mine. I felt a sudden flame in my chest. I
often wondered what it felt like to be hit, now I know.
I remember feeling strong arms about me, arms that laid me ever so
gently on a pillow of snow. I opened my eyes, for one last look. I was
dying. Maybe I was even dead, I remember thinking well, this is not so
bad.
Maybe I was looking into the sun. Maybe I was in shock. But it seemed I
saw Michael standing erect again only this time his face was shining
with a terrible splendor.
As I say, maybe it was the sun in my eyes, but he seemed to change as I
watched him. He grew bigger, his arms stretched out wide, maybe it was
the snow falling again, but there was a brightness around him like the
wings of an Angel. In his hand was a sword. A sword that flashed with a
million lights.
Well, that is the last thing I remember until the rest of the fellas
came up and found me. I do not know how much time had passed. Now and
then I had but a moment's rest from the pain and fever. I remember
telling them of the enemy just ahead.
"Where is Michael," I asked.
I saw them look at one another. "Where's who?" asked one. "Michael,
Michael that big Marine I was walking with just before the snow squall
hit us."
"Kid," said the sergeant, "You weren't walking with anyone. I had my
eyes on you the whole time. You were getting too far out. I was just
going to call you in when you disappeared in the snow."
He looked at me, curiously. "How did you do it kid?"
"How'd I do what?" I asked half angry despite my wound. "This marine
named Michael and I were just . . ."
"Son, " said the sergeant kindly, "I picked this outfit myself and
there just ain't another Michael in it. You are the only Mike in it."
He paused for a minute, "Just how did you do it kid? We heard shots.
There hasn't been a shot fired from your rifle. And there isn't a bit
of lead in them seven bodies over the hill there."
I didn't say anything, what could I say. I could only look open-mouthed
with amazement. It was then the sergeant spoke again, "Kid," he said
gently, "everyone of those seven Commies was killed by a sword stroke."
That is all I can tell you Mom. As I say, it may have been the sun in
my eyes, it may have been the cold or the pain. But that is what
happened.
Love, Michael
Another Marine's
Meeting of St. Michael
This marine was mortally wounded and encountered St. Michael in a
battle with a demon over his soul.
