Priest Died on D-Day Helping Enemy Soldiers, and Now He May Become a Saint

He was unarmed, wearing a Red Cross armband, when a Nazi sniper killed him. He was a martyr, if not in odium fidei, at least of charity.

From Aleteia

By Theresa Civantos Barber

The only U.S. chaplain who died on D-Day may become a saint. His cause for canonization was opened in 2019.

“What’s D-Day?” my daughter asked last night. My husband had just mentioned that June 6 would be the 81st anniversary of that unforgettable day.

I paused, trying to think how to explain it to her. Images flashed into my mind: The soldiers, many just teenagers, waiting on the landing craft, tense and nervous. Wading into that fierce sea, bogged down with gear as they fought their way through strong winds and rough surf. Dragging themselves onto the beaches, only to face barbed wire, machine gun fire, and landmines. 

More than 4,000 young men died that day. How could I explain all that to my little girl? But those brave men deserve to be remembered, so I described as much as I could in an age-appropriate way.

The priest who died on D-Day

Each and every soul that died in that invasion should be remembered and honored. And indeed they are, every year, at the memorials in Normandy. 

But one man’s story holds special significance for Catholics. Did you know that a Catholic priest who died on D-Day may become a saint? 

The Conventual Franciscans, of whom Capt. Ignatius Maternowski was a member, have opened the cause for canonization for this military chaplain who died while trying to get medical aid for wounded soldiers — both Allied and Axis.

Here are a few inspiring facts about him (you can read more here and here): 

• Capt. (and Friar) Ignatius Maternowski was 32 years old and a “tough as nails” paratrooper of the 82nd Airborne: “He wasn't afraid to correct troopers who took the Lord's name in vain and was known to tell those speaking ill of the Church or confession to ‘put on some boxing gloves.’”
• As a chaplain, he didn't have to parachute behind enemy lines that night, but “he was determined to be there for the sake of the souls in his unit.”
• On D-Day, Father Maternowski celebrated Mass, gave his soldiers general absolution and boarded a C-47 Skytrain with the rest of the more than 13,000 paratroopers and glider infantry. He landed in Normandy near Picauville.
• Finding a glider that had crashed, he worked at helping the survivors, then realized there would be many, many more wounded in need of aid that day. With the help of a medic, he moved the wounded to a nearby cafe and grocery store in the town.
• His makeshift aid station was soon overflowing with the dead and dying, so he decided the best hope for saving them was to reach out to the enemy. Unarmed already, he took off his helmet and walked down the battle-torn street “with only his chaplain's insignia, a red cross armband and his faith to protect him.” 
• He reached the German position and asked their ranking medical officer to come to the American aid station and create a combined aid station in a house, where both sides could be treated. Instead of seeing enemies, he saw human beings in dire need of help.
• The officer came to see the aid station and then Maternowski escorted him back to his position. As he walked the dangerous street for the fourth time that day, a sniper shot him in the back and killed him. The Americans were unable to recover his body for several days, but at last laid him to rest at Utah Beach. 

A lasting legacy

Capt. Maternowski’s memory is strong in the town of Picauville, even though most are too young to remember the war. Local residents carefully care for and maintain a memorial at the site of his death.

Archbishop Timothy Broglio of the Archdiocese for the Military Services, USA, cited Maternowski as a role model for military chaplains everywhere, saying: “Father Maternowski’s heroic sacrifice is an outstanding example of Christian love in practice, even in the face of great evil and adversity.”

Now that his cause for canonization is open, perhaps the Church will get our first “paratrooper saint.” And that’s something I can’t wait to tell my daughter.