The Marian Martyrs of Rosica

119 Memoir “May God guide you in good paths.” said the Fathers, bid- ding us farewell. Father Laszewski came with us too, to help with the pastoral work in Rosica. We left the church far behind us. What a pretty, trim silhouette and a mighty spire — one of the most beautiful churches in the region of Vilnius, a wonderful baroque one with an ornate plaster ceiling. I wondered how tall it was. A splen- did new organ had been built just before the war, praise the Lord. We spent the night at Leonpol on the Dvina, and then we entered Soviet territory, the “inhuman land,” driving 13 kilo- meters alongside the kolkhoz fields (collective farms run by the state). Finally, we arrived in Rosica. We stopped on the hill. In front of us was the church, which had been built in the first decade of this century. It was maimed. The former tall spires were ruined, their remnants sticking out like the stumps of sev- ered hands. The big church door was bricked over, but two side doors had already been made accessible. People were working at the main entrance. We drove downhill carefully to prevent the nag from sliding out of control. Father Czeczott, a good cart driver, kept the horse going along the edge of the road. We arrived. By the church, there were stacks of lumber, many beams. “These are the disassembled rafters from the movie theater,” said Fr. Czeczott. I looked surprised. “Don't be surprised. Our church was used as a cinema. The projector is still up in the choir loft. Because the church ceiling was too high, the theater was created by constructing a lower ceiling. We have already removed the timber.” We entered the church. Deep inside, in the apse, there was a temporary altar. There were holes in the pillars of the main nave exposing the red bricks, like bloody wounds in the living flesh of the plastered walls of the temple. These were the holes from the ceiling rafters.