Beaches, alligators, oranges, Disney. These are some of the first words that come to mind when someone says, "Florida." For most of us, our kowledge of the Sunshine State's history is pretty shabby before the year 1970 when air-conditioning and Mickey Mouse made living conditions a llittle more attractive. What few realize, however, is that this land has been baptized in the blood of martyrs and before theme parks were built or hotels erected, there stood the cross of Christ on the shores of this state; a cross that would herald the coming sacrifice of its peoples for the sake of the Gospel in out country.
I first heard the name Antonio Cuipa while having dinner with a friend in the Diocese of St. Augustine. Immediately, I was entranced by the story of this young and vibrant Native American of the Apalachee nation who joyously proclaimed the Gospel to his fellow Indians throughout the Florida panhandle. A talented musician, Antonio would sing or place his guitar to share the beauty of song with neighboring tribes while catechizing them on the teachings of the Church.
One day, while working on the Mission grounds of San Luis located in modern-day Tallahassee, Antonio heard that a nearby settlement was being attacked. Without hesitation, he set out to aid the village hoping to protect its inhabitants. Upon his arrival, Antonio was captured by British-led forces along with his companions.
As punishment for their attempt to defend the mission, the Catholic Indians were tied to crosses outside the front of the Church and tortured horrendously. Throughout his execution, Antonio cried out from the cross comforting his brother and sister martyrs assuring them that they were not alone, for the Blessed Virgin Mary would soon take them safely to her Son in Heaven where they would live with Him forever. After hours of agony, their bodies racked and disfigured, these fearless Christians breathed their last, thus becoming the first of over 45 martyrs who would be killed for their faith in the year 1704.
Most would think that such a heroic tale of sacrifice, especially one that took place so close to home, would be well-known throughout the state. Yet, for some 300 years, the story of these martyrs has lain dormant, occasionally surfacing but never truly taking hold in the hearts of the faithful overall. It was as if the Holy Spirit was waiting for the right time and it seems that the time has finally come.
This past October, on Columbus Day, I joined more than 200 men and women in Tallahassee, Florida to witness Bishop Gregory Parkes of the Pensacola-Tallahassee Diocese officially open the Cause for Canonization of the Martyrs of La Florida. In an event that has been 309 years in the making, people from around the state joined together to honor the blood of these Christians who, like the apostles, "rejoiced because they were considered worthy to suffer for the sake of the name of Jesus Christ"(Acts 5:41).
I listened in tears to the biographies of 82 men, women and children who died between the years 1549 and 1706 were read aloud to the congregation. We heard about the courageous missionary zeal of the Franciscan, Dominican, Jesuit and diocesan priests and brothers who evangelized the La Florida territory -- which included Georgia -- without fear of scalping or torture. We recalled the Native American chiefs and leaders who forfeited their lives before abandoning their faith; the tale of a 14-year old Apalachee boy who was murdered after having his arms cut-off while praying to God in front of a church that had been set on fire by the combined forces of the British Army and Creek Indians. Even the unborn were not spared in these massacres, as babies were torn from their mother's wombs in acts of vicious hatred.
In the face of these inspiring and moving stories, one must beg the question: Why now? What significance lies in the fact that after hundreds of years of waiting and many other opportunities to recognize these martyrs, it is in our own lifetime that this cause for canonization has taken course? What is the Lord inviting us to reflect on and do?
I find it no coincidence that a vitalization of the Florida-Georgia Church is accompanied by a revitalization of the story of the Florida-Georgia Martyrs. The number of seminarians in the dioceses across our states is increasing exponentially. This surge of vocations is just one of the many heralds which point to a "new-springtime" in the life of our Church. In the face of odds that seek to undermine the very fabric of our faith -- abortion, euthanasia, redefinition of marriage, w67pseudo-atheistic educational systems, etc... -- our Catholic communities to speak truth to those who would warp our consciences as we strive to live the hope of Christ amidst a world losing itself to despair.
What could be more appropriate than to be made aware of our forbearers in the faith who also suffered against a society that sought their demise? What could be more encouraging than to be given a unique anamnesis (recollection of the past), that we as a Church have walked this path before and yet "the gates of hell have not prevailed" against us? (Matt. 16:18)
As Floridians and Georgians, we are the beneficiaries of a rich history of Christianity which is needed now more than ever. At a time when the hearts of so many are being poorly nourished by the lukewarm blood of superficiality, materialism and immoral license, it is the fresh and zealous blood of the martyrs that seeks to once again set our souls ablaze in the fires of Christ's salvation "taking away our hearts of stone and giving hearts of flesh" (Ezk. 36:26).
It is providential that when Juan Ponce de Leon first laid eyes on our territory he named it after La Pascua Florida; for truly this is a land of "Paschal Flowers." Strewn throughout our states are the white lilies of martyrdom, each of them a personal embodiment and memoriam of that premier Pasch of Christ on Calvary.
In the end, it edifies my soul to know that before Washington crossed the Delaware or Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence, before Lincoln spoke at Gettysburg or Lee surrendered in Virginia; before Martin Luther Kink Jr. marched in Selma or Neil Armstrong landed on the moon, there was a Catholic people in our land speaking the name of Jesus and sealing it in the soil of our nation with their own blood. How proud I am to take up their mantle: a mantle of faith, a mantle of zeal, a mantle of courage, the mantle of Christ in La Florida.
*This article was originally published in Fall 2015 edition of the print magazine "Seeds of Hope."
photo credit: Sr. Kateri Mitchell, a Sister of St. Ann, Mohawk Tribe, Executive Director of the Tekakwitha Conference
artistic credit:
Top: The Martyrdom of Antonio, original art by Jaclyn Warren
Bottom: The Landing at Nombre de Dios, painting by Stanley Meltzoff