Bishop Gregorij Rožman is home. The remains of the late Bishop of Ljubljana were exhumed from his grave in the cemetery at St. Mary Friary in Lemont April 3 and given a wake service and memorial Mass at Blessed Anton Martin Slomsek Slovenian Catholic Mission April 7.

Bishop Anton Jamnik, auxiliary bishop for the Archdiocese of Ljubljana, Slovenia, accompanied the remains to Ljubljana the next day, with a funeral Mass and entombment in the cathedral there scheduled for April 13.

But the decision to move the remains of Bishop Rožman — revered as a great and gentle man among Slovenians who fled their home country to the Americas and even other parts of Western Europe — was not without controversy on either side of the Atlantic.

“This is a great loss, a great loss,” said Theresa Rozman, who was videotaping the Mass at the Slovenian Mission April 3. Rozman’s father — no relation to the bishop — took care of Bishop Rožman’s grave for 25 years before he died, and his father did before that.

Bishop Rožman’s example had great influence in why Theresa’s brother and son are both named Greg, she said.

“People are going to be very upset,” she said. “It’s going to reopen a lot of old wounds.”

Historic wounds

Those wounds stem from the tumultuous history of Slovenia, once part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, then the westernmost area of Yugoslavia. It was partitioned between German and Italian occupying forces in World War II, and erupted into civil war in the waning years of the war before becoming once again part of Yugoslavia, this time under the totalitarian Communist rule of Tito. It became an independent parliamentary democracy in 1990.

Bishop Rožman, born into a Slovenian region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, ended up serving as bishop of Ljubljana when it was part of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and through World War II, when most of his see was under Italian control.

The Italians could be brutal, enslaving thousands of Slovenians into labor camps, said Deacon John Vidmar of the Slovenian Catholic Mission. Vidmar counts his father and two cousins among those held in camps; his father survived; the cousins didn’t.

During that time, Bishop Rožman advocated for his people with their rulers, Vidmar said, appealing for the Vatican to intercede on behalf of the people in the camps and working with those in power to improve conditions for the people.

But when the Communists came to power in 1945, they saw Bishop Rožman’s efforts as collaboration with the fascists. In May 1945, just as the war in Europe ended, Bishop Rožman left what is now Slovenia for a meeting over the border in Austria and never returned; he was tried in absentia by a military court and sentenced to 18 years in hard labor — but most likely would have been killed.

Both Vidmar and Bishop Jamnik said evidence, such as his lack of luggage, leads to the conclusion that Bishop Rožman intended to return. Perhaps, Bishop Jamnik said, someone — his driver or secretary — got word that it would not be safe.

Bishop Rožman spent some time in Austria and Switzerland before emigrating to the United States in 1948. He found a home at St. Lawrence Parish in Cleveland, a center of Slovenian culture in the United States, and spent the years until his death in 1959 ministering to Slovenians here and in other countries. Stripped by the court of his Slovenian citizenship, he never set foot in his home country again.

“He was a refugee among refugees,” said Franciscan Father Metod Ogorevc, guardian and chaplain of the Slovenian Catholic Mission. “They loved him. He was a comforting figure.”

Pastor to refugees

Maria Zorjan, who now lives in Berwyn, met Bishop Rožman when she was a child in Argentina, where her parents emigrated from Slovenia. He confirmed her mother and sister, she said, and was scheduled to confirm her before he became ill. He never made the trip.

She was happy to be able to visit his grave when she moved to the Chicago area, and was upset when she heard his remains would be sent home.

“But we accept it,” she said. “He belongs to Slovenia.”

He was known best to the generation of refugees that left Slovenia in the aftermath of World War II; most of those who came to say goodbye at the April 7 Mass are their children, who perhaps met Bishop Rožman when they were small, but know him mostly by what their parents told them.

One of those who knew him best is retired Auxiliary Bishop Anthony Pevec of Cleveland, who, as a young priest, lived in the St. Lawrence Parish rectory with Bishop Rožman.

Bishop Pevec, who was the main celebrant at the Mass in Lemont, said Bishop Rožman was always unassuming and never spoke bitterly of his exile.

“He never felt sorry for himself,” Bishop Pevec said. “He just ministered to his people where they were.”

After Bishop Rožman became ill, he expressed a wish to be buried in the cemetery at the Slovenian Franciscan friary in Lemont, probably because the mission there was modeled on the most prominent Marian shrine in Slovenia, Ogorevc said.

“It was as close as he could get to home,” he said.

In Yugoslavia, news of Bishop Rožman’s death was never announced, and the accepted history was that he was a collaborator with the fascists who fled the country rather than face punishment. Before asking for the return of his remains, the Archdiocese of Ljubljana had the judicial case against him reopened; this time, Slovenia’s high court ruled that the original proceedings were so riddled with irregularities that their result was moot, so his citizenship was restored.

At the same time, Bishop Jamnik said, documents have been uncovered showing that Bishop Rožman worked to rescue thousands of people from death or imprisonment at the hands of the occupiers, so public opinion has turned in his favor.

Still, he acknowledged, not everyone will be pleased. But, Bishop Jamnik said, bringing Bishop Rožmam’s remains home is a step toward reconciliation in a country that has a long way to go toward coming to terms with its past.

“Bishop Rožman was the bishop of Ljubljana for 30 years,” he said. “It is right for him to be entombed in his cathedral.”