NOT LONG ago, relations between Church and State in Mexico were very tense. One of the laws was the absolute prohibition on clergy to wear ecclesiastical clothes and to perform religious functions outside the church. On Ash Wednesday I was invited by the parish priest of a poor and densely populated district of the capital to administer ashes in one of the various chapels of the parish. On such an occasion, more people are seen in church than at Christmas or Easter, including infants. Towards dusk, the number of people attending the rite grew disproportionately and I began to worry about the crowd at the church door, especially the safety of the children who risked being trampled on. So, I decided that everyone should go out, I closed the church door and I began to distribute the ashes, in an orderly manner, to the people standing outside on the pavement.

It was almost dark when a police car with all its lights flashing stopped in front of the church. Two policemen in uniform got out and hurriedly approached me. Naturally, my first thought was: “Oh, my God, they’re going to take me to jail this time!” Instead, the policemen took off their hats and asked me: “Please, Father, give us the ashes”. Receiving the ashes with devotion, they thanked me with a bow. There was a smile of relief among the faithful and the ashes procession continued into the evening.

I thanked Providence, even if my dinner was cold at home, but at least I did not have to sleep on the filthy straw mattress of a prison.