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THEIR KINGDOM COME -- INSIDE THE SECRET WORLD OF OPUS DEI |
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16. The Inner World of Opus Dei
MOST PEOPLE JOIN OPUS DEI OUT OF LOVE FOR GOD. BY THE SAME measure, most who leave do so for the same reason. Once inside the organization they may find that love of God comes second to love of the Father, who is perfect because he is the son of God. Not prepared to serve God through the Father, they opt out. Vladimir Felzmann, who left Opus Dei after twenty-three years to become a priest of the Westminster diocese in London, explained his departure in this way: 'As God brought me into Opus Dei, it was His love that let me out. Once I could see that I could leave without breaking my word to God, I left. But it took me many, many hours of prayer until ... I saw that the Work of God is not identical with God.' [1] FeIzmann believes that people who live inside Opus Dei for any period of time become so conditioned by 'mortification of intellect' that they become emotionally dependent and totally bind themselves over to the organization. It starts from the moment of their oblation and is strengthened by the 'means of formation' to which thereafter they must submit. These factors combine to form a powerful mind control system, making a mockery out of Opus Dei's claim that it never, repeat never interferes in the private or professional lives of members. Through this system highly intelligent people are induced to surrender their capacity for ethical reasoning to a superior authority, in some cases abdicating all moral responsibility for their conduct in the secular world. Never before published, Opus Dei's 'means of formation' are worth considering in some depth as they represent the conduit by which its recruits are transformed into Christian fundamentalists.
After serving five years as a novice, in order to be accepted as a numerary the oblate must swear an Oath of Fidelity in the presence of the regional vicar and two witnesses, one of them the oblate's spiritual director and immediate superior. The oath is administered before a plain wooden Cross without its crucified in the darkened chapel of an Opus Dei centre. A ring is then slipped upon the oblate's finger, for as a full numerary member he or she is now married - not to the Church, but to Opus Dei. To consolidate the marriage the oblate is required to read aloud a passage from the Work's catechism, affirming his or her responsibilities to the organization and its hierarchy. As in everything pertaining to Opus Dei, a reason exists for the oblation rite. Not only is it one of the distinguishing features of a religious sect but, according to sociologist Alberto Moncada, the symbolism of the empty Cross is important because it is intended to reinforce one's feeling of inadequacy and guilt. This is clearly set forth in Maxim 178 of The Way: 'When you see a poor wooden Cross, alone, uncared for, and of no value ... and without its Crucified, don't forget that that Cross is your Cross ... the Cross which is waiting for the Crucified it lacks; and that Crucified must be you.' Opus Dei denies that members must submit to an oblation rite or that they are required to take vows of any kind. Just as 'recruiting' is not a word used by Opus Dei, also 'oblation' and 'vows' are not part of its lexicon. But on 5 June 1946 Don Alvaro wrote to the Sacra Penitenzieria Apostolica in Rome explaining inter alia that Opus Dei members do emit vows, to the Virgin Mary, St Joseph, the three Archangels and the Apostles Peter, Paul and John. [2] Moreover, every 19 March -- the feast day of St Joseph -- Opus Dei numeraries are required to renew their vows of chastity, poverty and obedience in a partial repetition of the oblation rite. This practice still continues.
Just as important as the oblation and renewal of vows in cultivating Opus Dei's sectarianism are the six 'means of formation' -- known as the Confidence, Brief Circle, Examination of Conscience, Confession, Fraternal Correction and Weekly Meditation -- as they set the Work apart from all other organizations of the Catholic Church. 'The idea of the formative norms is to keep you humble and in a constant state of unworthiness. The norms have both a positive and a negative side. They act as a check on self-satisfaction. Anybody who is self-satisfied is a dangerous animal. But also it tends to worsen one's feelings of inadequacy and guilt,' explained Felzmann. Whatever one's rank inside the Work one must submit to the formative norms. Conditioning begins while still a novice. Every novice is placed under the supervision of a local director who observes and tests his or her reaction to spiritual suggestion. Novices are also assigned an Opus Dei priest through whom they must practise the sacrament of penitence at least once a week. The obligations become more embracing once one takes the oath of fidelity. Members are required to participate fully in the life of the local centre to which they are assigned. If a husband and wife are both members, they are never assigned to the same centre, nor attend the same Brief Circle, as the separation of sexes is strictly adhered to throughout the Opus Dei structure. Each centre also serves as a house of residence for a certain number of numeraries, insuring a constant mix between celibate and noncelibate members. Each member's first obligation is the weekly Confidence. This is a one-on-one session with the spiritual director who is always a lay numerary. Set topics are discussed, the recruiting of new members being the most important. Also reviewed is one's personal and professional conduct. Faults in attitude or personal behaviour, whether self-confessed or reported by others, are remedied by what is known as 'fraternal correction' -- an act of contrition, or punishment, required by the spiritual director. Members are encouraged to place full 'confidence' in their spiritual director. Several former members believe - and on occasion have affirmed it publicly -- that collusion exists between the spiritual director (a layman, not covered by the seal of the confessional) and the confessor (who must be an Opus Dei priest). This is a serious charge. But it is one that is almost impossible to prove. Opus Dei knows this and denies it vigorously. Still, the potential for manipulating minds and emotions is evident. Consequently, Opus Dei insists that once members receive the spiritual help they require (everybody needs spiritual help, according to Maxim 59), its job is finished. But one's professional career is the central pillar of each member's personal apostolate. Therefore it is of direct interest to the Work. This filters through in the Brief Circle, a formative norm that, like the Confidence, is held weekly. The Brief Circle is described as the ground-floor mechanism through which Opus Dei gains the greatest degree of leverage over its members. It is a group function that includes never more than twenty participants, all of them socially, intellectually and professionally matched to form a homogenous cell-like nucleus. Each Brief Circle is chaired by the local director. He opens it with a short talk, supposedly on the Gospel but invariably on some aspect of Opus Dei or the Father's teaching. Participants then recite aloud the 'Plan of Life', which provides discipline and structure to their existence. The full programme is as follows:
V. Help us in the name of God.
The Brief Circle establishes each member's spiritual menu. It has all the necessary minerals and vitamins for a healthy diet. Members are told that anyone who follows it religiously can become a saint. The eighth item of the Plan of Life, after reading from the Gospel or the works of the Father and reciting the Rosary, requires members to perform the third formative norm, the Examination of Conscience, or simply the Conscience. It is a private exercise that numeraries accomplish in the oratory of their residence, usually prior to the major silence, and others in the evenings before retiring. It requires ten or fifteen minutes to ask oneself the twenty-six questions of the Conscience, during which notes of weak points should be made so that they can be discussed at the weekly Confidence or raised in Confession. Four of these questions concern professional attitudes. Another three evoke the mind-conditioning character of Opus Dei's inner world: members are expected to be 'docile' with their superiors; they are required to practise due diligence in fulfilling special apostolates -- i.e., missions; and finally they are reminded of the omnipresent 'enemy'. The last of the means of formation is the least intensive, consisting of the Weekly Meditation: a meditation service in the chapel directed by the resident chaplain. Its purpose is to explain some activity of the Work, for example one of the norms or perhaps a new order from Opus Central, always placing it in a spiritual context as serving the wishes of the Father. The lifestyles of numeraries and supernumeraries are by necessity quite different. A supernumerary is expected to live a pious, disciplined existence within the context of his or her family. Lay numeraries are the second-level elite (priests being the first). A numerary's day is crowded with spiritual and other obligations that leave no time for idleness and little for leisure. Custom requires numeraries to rise in silence and kiss the floor, after which they are accorded a half-hour to wash and dress. This is followed by another half-hour of silent prayer before attending Mass in the residence chapel. After morning Mass the 'Major Silence' is broken and breakfast is served in the refectory, following which those who work outside leave for their place of employment. During the day they are required to read from the Gospel as well as some other spiritual book, and pray the Rosary. At midday they should recite the Angelus. Returning to the residence after work, the numerary completes his spiritual reading and spends another half-hour in silent prayer. Each member has some apostolic responsibility and usually this is the time to fulfil it. The apostolic duties might be presiding over a circle - there are three types of circles: St Raphael for persons under recruitment; St Michael for numeraries; and St Gabriel for supernumeraries - or meeting the local director. The numerary's day ends in the chapel for the Conscience. Afterwards, residents gather for a reading from the Gospel. The reading and commentary on it is assigned to a different numerary each evening. The commentary has to be reviewed by the director beforehand to make sure it hits the right spiritual note and that there are no out-of-place remarks. One passage that frequently gives rise to light-heartedness is a commentary on the Five Foolish Virgins. A remark at the end of the commentary such as, 'And don't you be like the foolish virgins and forget your lamp', can cause a bout of giggles that destroys the desired atmosphere of devotion. After the reading the Major Silence begins. Requiring male numeraries to sleep on the floor once a week is a custom. Women numeraries sleep on boards covered by a blanket. When an Opus Dei member greets a fellow member he must say, Pax. The automatic response is In aeternum. Another custom that started in the late 1960s is called 'Spoliation'. It applies only to numeraries and takes place on the Feast of St Francis of Assisi. On that day the director can come into a numerary's room and remove any object to which the numerary is thought to have become over-attached. 'This could be a teddy bear or a pair of gold cufflinks, but if it happens to be a watch given to you by your mother it hurts,' one former numerary explained. As the membership profile changed in the 1960s, becoming more professionally oriented, Opus Dei was accused of possessing a rakishly Capitalist image. Because of the bad press this generated, Opus Dei's hierarchy began to fear for its canonical status. Accordingly, the institute re-oriented its main apostolate towards primary and secondary schools, youth clubs and inner-city social centres, thereby moving the Work into areas that previously had been Jesuit preserves. As Opus Dei remains elitist, the preferred clientele for its grammar schools and youth clubs are middle-class children whose families can afford the relatively high tuition fees which go with the privilege of having their sons and· daughters become targets for recruitment. From registration to graduation, the spiritual development of its academic wards is followed and encouraged. At the same time a selection process singles out the more apt pupils, and little by little those selected are prepared for their formal incorporation into Opus Dei, preferably as celibate members. This new phase started in the 1970s. 'It focuses on guaranteeing the institution's survival by recruiting young adolescents at a primary level while the higher aim is controlling power in the Vatican,' Moncada, a former numerary, wrote in a controversial treatise on Opus Dei's sectarianism. But recruiting children under eighteen years of age is against the canons of the Church, and Opus Dei is unlikely to scoff openly at the legal prescriptions of the Church. 'To be sure, general principles of canon and civil law forbid incorporation before the age of eighteen. However, in this as in other aspects of its activity, Opus Dei has discovered how to combine external respect for the law with functional pragmatism which allows it, for instance, to snare youngsters with emotional complicity in their own loss of independence, all the while proclaiming neutrality and concern for the freedom of the affected children to parents worried about premature decisions,' Moncada explained. [3] Opus Dei denies that it recruits adolescents, but one only need consult the relevant source material on the subject (not, however, available to the general public -- nor even to all Opus Dei members) to understand the importance it attaches to the young mind:
With the extension of its school network during the 1980s, Opus Dei began attracting more reliable, dedicated members, trained from childhood to devote themselves to a lifetime of promoting the Prelature's worldwide strategies and interests. The Father, in the person of the prelate general, is the primary bond that encourages members to transfer their capacity for rational analysis to a superior authority. This authority conditions them to abide by internal covenants that would not be tolerated in an external society. Commented Moncada: 'Since one must be submissive to the Father and those who stand in his stead, and even "sacrifice one's judgement", the negation of individual rights is plain.' Such obedience frowns upon internal criticism and stifles all personal opinions concerning the apostolate. Under these conditions, one's brothers in the faith turn into secret informers. 'From the time of entering the Work, a member is forbidden to go to confession with any priest who does not belong to the institution. An ample literature on the theme of the "good shepherd" and the maxim of "washing dirty linen at home" legitimizes the sealing off of members' consciences from the outside and makes mental control by superiors more simple. Opus Dei priests, furthermore, employ information received in the confessional to design the strategy to be followed with candidates for membership. To tighten the circle of mental dependence and group loyalty further, all members must make a weekly "confidence", similar in nature to confession, with the director of their house or centre in which the most explicit sincerity is encouraged towards a person with no sacerdotal qualifications,' he added in his treatise. The absolute surrender of one's judgement to a superior, it has been suggested, breeds a form of ethical childishness. Another consequence is that it provokes abnormally high stress levels among younger members. 'Stress is a consequence of the constant dissimulating towards the outside ... Aspiring numeraries, for example, are advised to tell their parents that they have made no commitment to the Work. From the outset, one's sense of honesty is distorted, Moncada continued. Opus Dei rejects the suggestion that its means of formation result in a collective distortion of moral standards. 'Opus Dei does not get involved, indeed cannot get involved ... in the professional, family, social, political and cultural matters of its members,' it repeats. But Opus Dei remains keenly interested in influencing public opinion by placing certain of its members in key media positions. This obviously has advantages, but it also makes a lie out of the affirmation that it does not involve itself in the professional, social or economic affairs of its members. Opus Dei, nevertheless, remains firm in dismissing any such intention. Opus Dei controls the lives of its numeraries by a subtle combination of suggestion and 'holy coercion'. One example illustrating how the Prelature works in this domain, and the psychological damage it can produce, is told by a former British numerary: 'From the day I wrote my letter to the Father requesting admission, I handed over my [university] grant and all other income (e.g., allowance from my family) ... I was attracted to Country Dancing and Gilbert and Sullivan societies, but both of these were no-go areas for a numerary, who cannot attend theatres or mix with the opposite sex unless professional life demands it ... During my first year as a numerary, my Directress was a young Portuguese. She persistently told me that I had a flair, an asset for the apostolate. She heard my "Confidences". Opus Dei members have a weekly talk with their Director or Directress. This is called the "Confidence", and supplements the weekly confession with an Opus Dei priest. The Confidence, combined with a fortnightly talk with the priest (not limited by the seal of confession), is perhaps the most effective means of control within Opus Dei. Members are required to give a detailed account of every aspect of their lives: prayer, reading, apostolate, money, mortification plan of life, etc. 'My Directress suggested that with my distinction in English 'A' level, and command of the language, I might think of becoming a journalist. (Internal documents, as I later discovered, encouraged superiors to watch out for potential media professionals ... )' [5] After some years this UK numerary began suffering depressions, and one day collapsed from nervous exhaustion. She was put in the care of an Opus Dei doctor, who prescribed Librium and Tofranil, which she took 'out of obedience'. She was eventually enrolled in the University of Navarra's Institute of Journalism. When she returned to London she took a job on the foreign news desk of the Guardian. She never personally sought to be a journalist; in her own words she 'was not cut out to be one'. The depressions kept recurring, and she was finally admitted as an out-patient to a psychiatric hospital, where she was treated by a psychiatrist who was also an Opus Dei numerary. She finally left Opus Dei in 1971, after four years on medication and psychiatry administered by Opus Dei members. She had £100 to her name, and had to give up her job for health reasons. Her family doctor, who treated her for the next two years, compared her condition to that of a former prisoner of war. Her freedom restored, she reverted to her original career preferences -- dance and languages. Another example was given by a top Milan corporate lawyer who was attracted to Opus Dei by its work ethic. Then he found out, in his words, that 'complicity exists between the director and chaplain. They combine to interfere in your personal affairs and pressure you to make decisions that affect your private and professional life ... Every effort is made to make you spiritually dependent upon the organization. You must open your soul, be trusting and slowly they work upon you to empty yourself and acknowledge that in spiritual matters you are like a child, unknowledgeable and in need of help. Once you begin to accept the notion that you are a child in spiritual matters, then the next step is to get you to obey. "Obey intelligently but blindly," the local director would repeat.' Humble yourself before your superior. That is the sure way to sanctity. Accept that and you have become a member of Christ's militia. 'It is surprising the number of strong-minded people who will give in to this concept of spiritual immaturity and the need to entrust your soul like a child to the Father,' he added. 'You see others do it -- your peers, whom you respect -- and you start saying, "OK, why not me?" And soon you're hooked.' In his circle were one of Italy's leading investment bankers, the managing director of the second largest privately held financial and industrial conglomerate, and a retired Fiat director. Elizabeth Demichel was 'hooked' while a high school student in the Swiss city of Fribourg. Opus Dei has been active in Fribourg, a Catholic university centre of 40,000 inhabitants, since the 1960s. In her after-school hours Elizabeth frequented a youth club run by Opus Dei. She wanted to become a simultaneous translator and the club director suggested she take a four-year language course in Vienna. She was eighteen and it was her first time away from home. Her parents were only too happy when she announced that she had found lodging in a student hostel run by Opus Dei. The atmosphere at the Vienna centre was warm. Other young women there, most more advanced in their careers than her, helped her and smothered her with friendship. When she announced-to the directress that she would like to become a supernumerary, the directress replied that a 'state of grace' enabled her to detect vocations and she recognized in Elizabeth the vocation of a numerary. The directress explained that even though numeraries took a promise of celibacy, they enjoyed the same liberty as other lay people. Surprised by the revelation that she had a vocation, Elizabeth became confused. The directress suggested she should talk about it to her confessor, the house chaplain, which she did. He was understanding and proposed that she go on a three-day retreat to reflect and question her soul. She didn't really want to go on a retreat, but agreed anyway. During confession towards the end of the retreat, the priest suddenly affirmed, 'Well, you've decided, no?' Not expecting such a direct approach, Elizabeth replied, 'Yes'. And so she came to 'whistle' inside the confessional. Collusion? Of course not. Nevertheless she learned afterwards that the house numeraries held a celebration when told she had written her letter to the Father. After 'whistling', Elizabeth was more fully indoctrinated into the ways of Opus Dei. She was given the internal Catechism, a booklet with 500 questions and answers which novices must learn by heart. As it had to be returned to the directress's office each evening, she was only allowed to study it for two or three hours at a time -- in addition to her language courses. She was also required to study the Ceremonial Book -- the Vademecum de ceremonias liturgicas. Another secret document, it too was kept in the house safe, along with the Opus Dei song book which contains the internal hymns and songs that women numeraries sing at tertulias and other gatherings. The song titles included Going Fishing and I Whistle So You'll Whistle Too. 'Fishing' is Opus-speak for recruiting and 'whistling' is when a recruit decides to join. The women numeraries sing these songs in front of prospective recruits who are unaware of their meaning. When Elizabeth informed her parents that she had signed a 'contract' to become an Opus Dei numerary, she explained that it was not definitive because of a five-year acceptance period. Then towards the end of Elizabeth's final year of studies her parents suggested she should come home and think of looking for a job. They had spoken by then to the directress of the Opus Dei centre in Fribourg about the obligations of a numerary and were assured:
Not long afterwards, Elizabeth wrote to her parents: 'To travel to another country can only be approved by the Father, while travel to another city or even another centre must be approved by the local directress. Therefore if I should return to Switzerland, it is because the Father wishes it and I will accept that as the will of God ...' Concerned, the parents contacted the Opus Dei vicar delegate for Switzerland who assured them that he understood their concern and promised to do everything in his power to find a solution that would be in the family's best interests. Shortly afterwards, Elizabeth wrote to her parents: 'Daddy always wanted me to take a doctorate. That is exactly what I am now going to do! You also want me to leave Austria. That, too, I am going to do (after obtaining my degree)! In fact Monsignor Alvaro wants me to go to Sweden to enrol at the university there (it is important that it be re-Christianized) ... I have already enquired about the conditions of enrolment at the University of Stockholm.' After asking her parents to continue paying for her tuition, she added, 'Personally, I see in this request of the Father the will of God, Who always arranges everything for our greatest well-being.' A psychologist had advised the parents that any show of opposition to their daughter's intentions would be exploited to turn her against them. Elizabeth now told her mother that she was going to make a will in favour of the Work. 'Don't worry, it's only for the little things that we have in our room,' Elizabeth said. Her mother had read the Constitutions by then -- which the directress had never shown Elizabeth -- and knew that it was more serious. But it made her think. Whenever money is mentioned, Opus Dei becomes most attentive. She told her daughter that she was going to have a serious operation and wanted to bring her will up to date. She said Elizabeth was needed to co-sign the various papers with her brothers and sisters before going to Stockholm. Elizabeth talked to her directress, who agreed that she should go through Fribourg on her way to Stockholm. Permission for her to stay at home was denied. But her mother said that before the operation she wanted to take Elizabeth on a three-day retreat at a convent near Fribourg. The local directress agreed. During the retreat the mother mentioned the unethical practices of a sect she had read about. Elizabeth agreed that she could never belong to such an organization. At that point the mother showed Elizabeth a file on Opus Dei detailing everything she had mentioned. Elizabeth was shocked because the experiences related in the file so resembled what had happened to her and therefore it had to be accurate. As if an enormous weight was lifted from her conscience, she fell into her mother's arms. 'I can't belong to an organization like that, can I?' she cried. To extract Elizabeth from Opus Dei was not easy. She had to write to the Father in Rome asking for permission to leave. In the meantime she kept out of sight as numeraries who knew her waited on the commuter station platform near her home on the outskirts of Fribourg to intercept her. Finally the vicar delegate called and accused the Demichels of 'kidnapping' their own daughter. Opus Dei's first vocation in Britain, Father Michael Richards, also became disenchanted with the Work and in 1973 decided to leave. Tormented and by then a hypochondriac, he took a position as chaplain at the University of Bangor in Wales. He withdrew into himself and stopped taking medication, until he died of a cerebral haemorrhage in August 1977. When Vladimir Felzmann asked to leave the Work, the regional vicar took him to Michael Richards' graveside and said, 'You see, Vlad, what happens to people who leave the Work.' Raimundo Panikkar, one of the Father's most gifted sons of the 1940s and 1950s, was sent to India to open an Opus Dei presence there with funding provided by the NSRC. A few years later Escriva de Balaguer called him to Rome to become chaplain at Opus Dei's Residenza Universitaria Internazionale. But it was not long before Panikkar decided that Opus Dei was suffocating him and in 1966 he prepared to leave. In the midst of these preparations he accepted to give a lecture at the Sacred Heart Convent in Bonn, where his sister had been a student. When he arrived at Bonn railway station, two former university friends -- both lapsed women numeraries -- were waiting to accompany him to the lecture. However, before they could greet him, Panikkar was intercepted by the regional vicar, Rev. Dr. Alfonso Par, and another Opus Dei priest. They whisked him away to the regional vicariat in Cologne. Concerned, his friends informed the Archbishop of Cologne, then Cardinal Josef Frings, of Panikkar's apparent sequestration. Cardinal Frings immediately had his secretary call the Opus Dei centre and ask to speak with Panikkar as the cardinal wanted to invite the celebrated theologian to lunch. He was told that Panikkar had changed plans and was leaving instantly for Rome. Panikkar was escorted to Rome and then held at an Opus Dei residence for priests for the next ten days. Escriva de Balaguer was said to be furious over his suspected defection and asked that the Vatican secularize him. Paul VI, meanwhile, had been informed by a mutual friend of Panikkar's rough handling and replied that rather than the Church lose a priest, Panikkar should be released from Opus Dei. Panikkar in fact was expelled and, handed a one-way ticket back to India but no money, he was put on a flight to Delhi. These recitals of loss of personal freedom, in which the members themselves are often willing accomplices, were related by people who left the organization. What about the views of those who remain inside? The 'extraordinary freedom' that an Opus Dei member enjoys was explained by Manuel Garrido, the information officer at the Sanctuary of Torreciudad. When asked where, for a numerary, the division lies between the spiritual and secular world, he avoided giving a direct answer by insisting that individual members enjoy total 'freedom'. He was clearly intelligent, extremely engaging and no reason existed to doubt his sincerity. But one wondered what would happen if he wished to expand his professional horizons by undertaking additional studies in London. Would he be free to do so? 'Of course,' he answered. But the 'of course' was tempered by an important proviso. He would be required to submit a detailed proposal and reasons for soliciting the move to his superiors. And what would happen if his superiors said no? He replied that it would be his 'joy' to continue the work he had been doing for close to twenty years. He wasn't forced to, he insisted, but he did it because of his 'love' for God, the Father and Opus Dei. [6] That Opus Dei had developed a strong sect-like character did not seem to concern the Vatican unduly. The Work had amassed significant resources and was sworn to protect the Church from her enemies, which any pope could not fail to appreciate. Opus Dei's success was a reflection of the wisdom and foresight of its central directors. To understand the workings of Opus Central better a peek behind the massive black doors at 73 viale Bruno Buozzi in Rome is necessary. _______________ Notes: 1. Vladimir Felzmann, 'Why I left Opus Dei', The Tablet, 26 March 1983. 2. Rocca, Op. cit., document 22, pp. 154-155. 3. Alberto Moncada, 'Catholic Sects: Opus Dei', Revista Internacional de Socialogia, Madrid, December 1992. 4. 'The Seed Bed of the Work', editorial in Cronica VII, 1962. 5. Eileen Clark, Opus Dei -- An 11-Year Experience of the Women's Section, February 1995 (unpublished), pp. 4-5. 6. Manuel Garrido, interviewed at Torreciudad, 21 June 1994.
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