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Anton Luli.English,5.11,22.
Anton Luli spent his 50 years of priesthood between prisons and persecution
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Unfortunately, the current suffering of the Albanian population is not something new. With about 3 million inhabitants and just over 28,000 km2, its coasts bathed by the Adriatic Sea and bordering the former Yugoslavia and Greece, Albania is one of the European countries that has felt the most the repression of a dictatorship: Albania. Currently there is a process of recovery of freedoms, but in this nation, birthplace of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, the Church has suffered one of the bloodiest persecutions since the communists took power in 1945 and in 1967 its Constitution declared atheist to the state
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Witness to this painful history was the priest Anton Luli, who died on March 10 in Rome at the age of 88. Fr. Luli, of Albanian origin, was arrested in 1947 and released 42 years later. Many of his companions were martyrs. He did not shed his blood, but he did suffer deep moral and physical suffering because of his fidelity to Christ and his Vicar. He himself narrated his experience during the celebrations of the Priestly Jubilee of John Paul II in November 1996.
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In the Paul VI Hall of the Vatican, the Albanian priest spoke before the Holy Father on behalf of the invited priests who were also celebrating 50 years of their ordination: All our experiences, so diverse, made of prayer and work, of preaching and personal guidance of souls, of human closeness and of sacramental action, certainly marked by great joys and by the mysterious shadow of the cross, meet again, like paths that converge from different points, in the mystical place from which they started: the priestly Heart of Christ.
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Fr. Luli himself also offered his testimony, commenting on a mystery of the Rosary, before two thousand priests from all over the world gathered before the Virgin of Fatima in the First World Meeting of Priests, preparatory to the Jubilee 2000, celebrated in Fatima in 1996. .
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This was his testimony:
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I am Albanian and my country has barely emerged from the darkness of a most cruel and senseless communist dictatorship, which has directed its hatred against everything that could, in some way, speak of God. Many of my brothers in the priesthood died martyrs: I, on the other hand, have had to stay alive. As soon as I had finished my training, I was arrested in 1947, after a false and unfair trial. I have lived 17 years as a prisoner and as many forced labor. I have practically known freedom at the age of 80, when at last, in 1989, I was able to celebrate the first mass with the people. But as I think about my own life, I realize that this has been a miracle of God’s grace and I am surprised that I have been able to endure so much suffering.
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I remembered Jesus
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They have oppressed me with all kinds of tortures. When they arrested me the first time they made me stay locked in a bathroom for nine months: I had to curl up on the hardened excrement, without ever being able to fully extend myself, that place was so narrow. On Christmas night they made me undress in this place and tied me to a beam, in such a way that she could touch the floor only with the balls of her feet. It was cold; I felt the ice rising along my body: it was like a slow death. When the ice was reaching my chest I screamed desperately. My guards ran over, beat me, and then threw me to the ground.
Very often they tortured me with electric current: they put two wires in my ears. It was a horrible thing. For a time my hands and feet were tied with wires, and I was thrown to the ground in a dark place, full of large rats that ran over me without my being able to avoid it. I still carry on my wrists the scars from the wires that were embedded in my flesh. He lived with the torture of permanent interrogations, accompanied by physical violence. He remembered then the blows suffered by Jesus when he was interrogated by the High Priest.
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Once they put a paper and a pen in front of me and told me: Write a confession of your crimes and, if you are sincere, we could even send you home. To avoid blows and cane blows I began to fill some page with the names of dead or shot, with whom I never had anything to do. At the end I added: Everything I have written is not true, but I have written it because they forced me. The officer began the reading with a satisfied smile, sure that he had achieved his objective, but when he read the last few lines, he hit me and, blaspheming, ordered the policemen to take me outside, shouting: We know how to make this carrion talk.
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When I got out of prison, I was sent to forced labor as a laborer on a state farm: they put me to work reclaiming the swamps.
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