Man of Joy and Hope: A New Biography of Cardinal Thuan

Man of Joy and Hope: A New Biography of Cardinal Thuan

By Franci Revel Eckensberger, Lead Editor

To pray means to be at one with the environment in which we live, with the world and its multitude of problems . . . To pray is to unite with God and to bring God to humanity so that we fulfill His will on this earth. If we do not pray, we exclude God from the reality of our lives.
–Cardinal Nguyễn Văn Thuận

What does it take to maintain hope in impossible circumstances? What spiritual gifts can arise from that choice? 

Born in 1928 in Vietnam, Thuan seemed destined for leadership from a young age. As his sister Élisabeth Nguyễn says on our latest episode of A Resounding Yes!, his first “yes” to God occurred at only thirteen when he entered the seminary. Nothing could have prepared him, his family, or the faithful who now esteem him for where that young man’s fiat would lead. Appointed Bishop of Nha Trang in 1967 and Coadjutor Archbishop of Saigon in 1975, Thuan’s ministry lasted mere months before Communist forces arrested him on the charge of being a dangerous enemy of the people. 

Élisabeth is among Thuan’s last living relatives. She is the youngest of ten children, twenty-five years Thuan’s junior, and an accomplished writer and educator in her own right who remains devoted to preserving her brother’s legacy of faith, hope, and forgiveness. Élisabeth’s testimony, memory, and deep knowledge of Thuan’s works is integral to the biography’s perspective, which greatly emphasizes family and roots—”important in Vietnamese culture,” Fr. Lecleir explains in his introduction. The collaboration between Fr. Lecleir and Élisabeth honors this approach, as well as the generational sufferings and joys that inform it. Lecleir’s expositions and commentary punctuate transcriptions from Élisabeth and organize any necessary cultural and historical contexts for the reader around her narrative, though her story itself is likewise rich with grounding details and historical documentation. The result is both intimate and accessible, enriched by photographs, illustrations, Scripture, and Thuan’s own words that punctuate the text from the margins. Offset within Élisabeth’s diaristic reflections and almost always hopeful, those quotations are frequent, like small breaths of prayer amid an often harrowing story. They keep us focused on Thuan’s ultimate legacy. 

Lest this biography feel like an undertaking for the reader—the content is heavy and the context likely unfamiliar to many—the authors have broken it up into digestible thematic segments, and all of these previously mentioned organizational tools help to make it a book you can easily put aside and return to in small doses. The biography is distinctive in its combination of heartfelt storytelling with scholarly rigor. Straddling the line of highly informative and spiritually substantial, the book is a rich invitation to readers seeking a variety of engagements with Thuan’s legacy as well as a comprehension of Vietnamese culture

and history, with particular regard to the country’s Catholic presence. Man of Joy and Hope is structured to provide readers the necessary historical, cultural, and familial context for understanding Thuan’s witness—his “white martyrdom.” It also comes during the 50th anniversary of both the beginning of his imprisonment and the writing of his beloved book, The Road of Hope: A Gospel from Prison.

Élisabeth’s love for her brother is palpable and tender, as well as her sadness, her response to the injustice he endured, and her awe at his faithfulness. Her descriptions of Thuan’s imprisonment are visceral, earthy, and unflinching. We smell the mushrooms overtaking the damp mattress and the excrement from the latrines by his cell, feel Thuan’s aching limbs as he wanders the cell to keep his arthritis at bay, and see the changing of seasons in the cell as it filthily floods or otherwise bakes in the heat. Élisabeth mentions that Thuan never admitted to being tortured—though it’s unlikely that he was indeed spared this fate—but does describe his interrogations, saying that “his resilience . . . surprised the people who were trying to break him physically and mentally” (92).

The book goes on to illustrate Thuan’s ability to disarm those around him with his steadfast commitment to peace. Guards who came to interrogate him were left puzzled by his joy, while some were left utterly changed by his kindness towards them in the face of their own hostility. Fellow prisoners found courage through his example. The book provides multiple examples of Thuan looking the depths of suffering in the eye while maintaining that joy, hope, and faith do not depend on our circumstances. His example shows that it is the depth of our relationship with Christ and our ability to see Christ in the face of others, even those who wish us grave harm, that cultivate our capacity for joy. We foster this relationship by choice rather than chance. 

The Eucharist is at the heart of Thuan’s example of truly fulfilling union with God. When asked how he “retained his mental stability and capacity for love,” Thuan’s response was simple: “The Eucharist and prayer, for they are special moments of meeting with God” (128). There were times when he managed to celebrate Mass with the most minimal of resources—a few crumbs of bread—while the guards who likely “thought he was crazy” took a nap:

This is my altar, and this is my cathedral! It is the true tonic for soul and body. I feel the very heart of Christ beating in mine. I feel that my life is His and His is mine. He lives in me and I in Him, in a kind of symbiosis and mutual immanence. He remains in me. I will never be able to express adequately such a great joy. Every day, with three drops of wine and a drop of water in the palm of my hand, I celebrate Mass. (129)

“The strength of Jesus’ love,” Thuan says, “is irresistible.” For those who encountered Thuan in imprisonment, the Eucharist became for them, too, “strength in a life defined by sacrifice” (131). In the most dire of circumstances, the Eucharist—not a symbol of sacrifice but the true presence and living reality of God’s omnipresent love—became life’s central force and focus. In this account of Thuan’s life, we are met with the hand of God up close, especially in the power of the Eucharist, bridging the comfortable distance we can often maintain between our weakness and Christ’s boundless embrace. The gravity of Thuan’s suffering strips back our illusions of joy, hope, love, and forgiveness as complicated concepts to be grappled with and somehow “found” in our present settings. The Eucharist gave Thuan the strength to live these virtues without condition. Fr. Lecleir explains:

“Every time [Cardinal Thuan] said Mass, he held out his hands to be spiritually nailed to the cross with Jesus, to drink with Him the bitter cup . . . On the cross, Jesus could no longer preach or heal the sick or visit people. He was in a state of total abandonment, absolute immobility, wholly united to God.” (132) 

As moved and struck as we may be by Thuan through this biography, Élisabeth clarifies on our podcast that she is not personally a fan of the word “hero” as applied to Thuan—”he is a man deeply touched by God.” At his deathbed, she asked him: “After all of these things that you’ve done in life, after all this suffering . . . Do you really think that is worth it?” Thuan’s answer? “Oh, yes. If I had to do it again, I would . . . Just to see the face of God.”

He told Élisabeth that he saw the face of the crucified Jesus in his isolation cell at a moment so desperate, so seemingly divorced from God’s presence, that it may be hard for us to comprehend. In that cell, he heard a voice: “You didn’t recognize my cross. All of that violence, that hatred . . . That is the cross that I carry. Do you recognize my cross? Do you recognize my crucified face?” His understanding of suffering was changed. Thuan saw with clarity that Christ gave everything of himself in that moment of pure vulnerability, and gave it all in love. From this sacrifice, Thuan was spiritually nourished in a moment of complete abandonment and utter dependence on a God who, crucially, knows the depths of pain.

Élisabeth’s recounting of Thuan’s testimony encourages us to embrace the fact that the crucified Christ is present in our world today, and to recognize it and let it change us when we encounter it. The book asks us to look at all we have and ask God what we can do with it, no matter how large or small.

Man of Joy and Hope is essential reading for anyone seeking to understand what faith can accomplish when all else is stripped away. With careful organization, seamless integration of primary sources, and an intimate perspective, the biography succeeds on multiple scholarly and spiritual levels. Thuan’s witness reminds us that holiness is about our yes to God in each moment, dark or light, large or small, and we have Élisabeth and Fr. Lecleir to thank for highlighting that witness so thoroughly in this biography. May we all choose the joy of vulnerable union with Christ amid any struggle, trusting His light to endure against any darkness. 

Purchase the biography from Ignatius Press here. Purchase The Road of Hope: A Gospel from Prison here. Purchase Five Loaves and Two Fish here.

A Resounding Yes! is our podcast centered around Mary’s fiat and how we can say YES to the Lord. Listen to our episode with Élisabeth on Spotify here and on Apple Podcasts here.

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Lead Editor Franci Revel Eckensberger holds a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry from Cornell University. With years of experience as a copyeditor for academics, fellow writers, and various small businesses, she takes pride in maintaining clarity, consistency, and beauty in each client’s voice. 

Franci finds grace and insight in the Catholic Church’s rich relationship to language and invites that relationship to influence both her literary and editorial work. Saint Cecilia and Catherine of Siena continue to play a vital role in her journey to the faith as an artist. She lives in coastal Delaware with her husband.