By Father Martin Estrada
Because I am Catholic!
“¡Viva Cristo Rey!” — “Long live Christ the King!” — was the cry that echoed across Mexico during a time of religious persecution between 1926 and 1930. That exclamation, charged with faith and defiance, became the banner of thousands of Mexicans who defended their faith, even at the cost of their own lives.
On July 31, 1926, the so-called Calles Law went into effect in Mexico, restricting religious freedom: public worship outside church buildings was prohibited, religious expression was limited and foreign-born priests and religious were expelled. In response, the Catholic Church suspended all public worship throughout the country. Churches closed their doors, the sacraments were ceased and parishioners — outraged by what was happening — soon took up arms. This conflict came to be known as the Cristero War or La Cristiada.
My hometown, San Julián, Jalisco, proudly bears the motto “Cuna de la Cristera” — “Cradle of the Cristero Movement.” It was right here that, on March 15, 1927, one of the most emblematic confrontations took place between the Mexican federal army and a group of peasants who, armed with little more than their unwavering faith, defended both their faith and their identity as Christians.
For as long as I can remember, I listened to the elders tell how the Cristeros barricaded themselves in the bell tower of San Julián’s church to withstand the siege of federal troops. After many hours of battle, the defenders of the faith achieved an unexpected victory that became etched in the town’s collective memory. Even today, the scars of that confrontation remain visible: Bullet holes in the tower and the church walls stand as silent witnesses to that heroic feat.
However, seeking to make an example of the population, the army arrested Father Julio Álvarez in a neighboring town. They brought him to San Julián, where they held him throughout the night in front of the church. The next day, March 30, he was executed by firing squad one block from the church, on a site that was then used as a garbage dump. Before being killed, the priest declared: “An innocent man dies; my only crime is being a minister of God.”
St. Julio, who was canonized along with 24 other martyrs in the year 2000 by St. John Paul II, was known for his complete devotion to his congregation, especially the poorest among them. He had even taught himself to sew so that he could make clothes for the needy. His death only served to fuel the flame of resistance even further.
My father used to tell me many of the stories he himself had heard from his own father and from other elderly people who had lived through the war firsthand. One that I remember most vividly was about a cave near my house — the very one my siblings and I used to explore as children. That cave served as both a makeshift dwelling and a clandestine hospital, used to hide the wounded and evade enemy troops. There, in secret, wounds were tended to and rosaries were whispered in the dark.
On my mother’s side, the pain also left its mark: One of her uncles was cold-bloodedly murdered by the army, accused simply of wearing a scapular around his neck while planting his cornfields. In time, my maternal grandfather, with the help of his neighbors, built a small chapel named after Christ the King on a small hilltop where it can be seen from afar. It stands as a lasting reminder that the faith of those martyrs continues to serve as a guide and a source of courage for new generations.
¡Viva Cristo Rey! – Long live Christ the King!
Father Martin Estrada serves as Administrator of St. Francis of Assisi Parish in Dale and Associate Director of Hispanic Vocations.