Venerable Nguyễn Văn Thuận was able to say Mass in a Communist concentration camp

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nguy%E1%BB%85n_V%C4%83n_Thu%E1%BA%ADn

https://us.magnificat.net/

"The archbishop was allowed one luxury: to write letters to friends outside prison. When he did, he often asked them to send him what he called “his medicine.” They knew what he meant. They sent him cough medicine bottles, filled with wine, and small bits of bread. Sympathetic guards smuggled him some wood and wire, and from that he made a small cross, which he hid in a bar of soap.

He kept all this in a cardboard box. That box became his own private altar. Every day, at 3 pm, the hour of Christ’s death, he would place drops of wine in the palm of his hand, mingled with water, to celebrate mass.

And the greatest ongoing miracle in history was able to take place. That cramped prison cell became as beautiful and as blessed as any cathedral, a sanctuary for the glory of God.

He did this for 13 years. "

https://aleteia.org/blogs/aleteia-blog/when-a-prison-cell-became-a-cathedral-a-lesson-on-eucharist-from-francis-xavier-nguyn-van-thuan/

"“Were you able to celebrate the Eucharist in prison?” is one question that many people have asked me. The Eucharist is the most beautiful prayer; it is the culmination of the life of Jesus. When I answer ‘yes’, I already know the next question: “How were you able to obtain the bread and wine?”

When I was arrested, I had to leave immediately, with empty hands. The next day I was allowed to request in writing the things I needed most: clothes, toothpaste… I wrote to my addressee: “Please, could you send me a bit of medicine for my bad stomach?” The faithful understood what I meant and they sent a little bottle of wine for Mass, which they labelled “stomach medicine,” as well as some hosts sealed in a flashlight to protect them from the humidity. The police asked me: “Do you
have a bad stomach?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Here’s some medicine for you.”

I will never be able to express my immense joy: every day, with three drops of wine and one drop of water in the palm of my hand, I celebrated my Mass.

It depended on the situation, however. On the boat that brought us north, I celebrated at night with the prisoners who received communion around me. At times I had to celebrate while everyone was bathing after callisthenics. In the reeducation camp, the prisoners were divided into groups of fifty; we slept on common beds and everyone had the right to fifty centimetres of space. We arranged it so that there were five Catholics near me. At 9:30pm the lights were turned off and everyone had to sleep. I curled up on the bed to celebrate Mass, from memory, and I distributed communion by reaching under the mosquito netting covering us. We made small containers from cigarette packages in which to reserve the Blessed Sacrament. Jesus in the Eucharist was always with me in my shirt pocket."

https://www.ctsbooks.org/the-eucharist-my-only-strength/