Dwight W. Morrow, a U.S. ambassador to Mexico and a Protestant—likely Presbyterian—played a quiet but decisive role in ending the Cristero War (1926–1929). Though not deeply theological, he was sympathetic to the injustice faced by Mexican Catholics under harsh government persecution. Rather than taking sides, he built trust with both President Calles and Catholic leaders, using private diplomacy to broker a compromise. He persuaded the Mexican government to ease enforcement of anti-clerical laws and convinced the Church to resume public worship without armed resistance. Though the laws remained on the books, Morrow’s efforts led to a ceasefire and the reopening of churches. When the bells rang again after years of silence, he turned to his wife and said, “Betty, do you hear that? I have opened the churches of Mexico.”

“Volvieron a sonar las campanas” (Spanish)

En campos donde el incienso ardía,
gritó el silencio su herejía.
Las puertas santas se sellaron,
y al alba a los curas cazaron.
Pero el pueblo, firme y fiel,
clamó: “¡Viva Cristo Rey del cielo!”

La ley se forjó con ira y plomo,
y pies sangraron en polvo y lodo.
Niños, frailes, sin temblar,
subieron cuerdas para rezar.
México vio nacer su flor:
mártires de fe y de dolor.

No todos blandieron acero o lanza,
algunos solo su esperanza.
En cuevas ocultas se alzó el Pan,
mientras lloraban sin altar.
No por la espada, sino en oración,
recibieron muerte como redención.

Un hombre vino del norte frío,
sin cruz dorada, sin poderío.
Era banquero, pero sabio habló,
y en la grieta, el pacto sembró.
Susurros fueron su instrumento,
y paz brotó del entendimiento.

A Calles habló con calma y arte,
a los obispos, con fe constante:
“Ni uno ni otro debe aniquilar,
que vuelva el culto a su lugar.”
Y cuando el canto al cielo subió,
las campanas la guerra enterró.

“¿Las oyes, Betty? Ya repican.”
Sonrió, donde el alma salpica.
No fue la ley la que venció,
sino la tregua que él ganó.
Cuando oigas su eco celestial,
recuerda al mártir… y al embajador leal.

“The Bells Rang Again” (English)

In fields where censer's smoke once curled,
The silence screamed across the world—
Church doors were sealed, the Mass withdrawn,
God’s priests made outlaws by the dawn.
The faithful bled, their voices raised:
“Long live Christ the King!” they praised.

The laws were inked in iron wrath,
And feet were flayed along the path.
Boys and friars, calm and still,
Stood firm beneath the scaffold’s will.
Martyrs born of Mexico’s land,
With bound and blistered feet they stand.

Not all bore arms in Cristero bands,
Some clasped the Cross with empty hands.
In secret caves the host was raised,
While children wept and angels gazed.
They chose not sword, but holy breath—
And thus they met the kiss of death.

One man crossed from gringo shore,
No mitre bore, no bloodied sword.
But word by word he softened rage,
A banker turned a prophet-sage.
He whispered where both powers met,
And seeds of peace in silence set.

To Calles' pride, he lent calm speech,
To bishops worn, he dared beseech:
“Let neither side destroy the other—
Let altar meet again with mother.”
Then Mass returned with open gate,
And bells declared the war's abate.

“Betty, do you hear them ring?”
He smiled beneath their tolling swing.
Not law repealed, nor freedom won—
But breathing space for lamb and son.
So now when bells in silence gleam,
Remember martyrs—and Morrow’s dream.