Remembering Romero: Homily for January 20, 2008

2nd Sunday (Remembering Romero)
January 20, 2008

In today’s 1st reading, the prophet Isaiah calls the Messiah, “a light to the nations.” In our 2nd reading, St. Paul says that those who have been sanctified in Christ Jesus, are called to be holy.” In the gospel reading, John testifies after he has baptized Jesus, that “he is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.”
If we have been baptized with the Holy Spirit, we are called to be holy (Isaiah) and to be light to others (St. Paul).

Such a high calling – to be holy and a light to others – seems beyond our reach, and indeed it is beyond what we can achieve by our own efforts. It is only by the help of the Holy Spirit and with the accompaniment of others that we can fulfill our baptismal call to become holy and a light to others.
One example that comes to my mind, is the life and words of Archbishop Oscar Romero. He was a holy man who gives light not only to his own suffering people of El Salvador but also to the whole world.
He was assassinated while saying Mass in March 1980. He was killed because he was a voice for the voiceless thousands suffering poverty and violence under an unjust government.

Although he lived and died in a faroff country many years ago, I think that Archbishop Romero can serve as an example of what the Holy Spirit calls us to in our baptism – to be holy and a light to others.
Even in his own country and among many Catholics, however, his memory is not cherished. He was/is a controversial figure. While he was very popular with most of the people, he was rejected, even hated by others, especially the elites. Consider that of the six bishops in El Salvador at the time, only one attended his funeral.

Our annual delegations have made it a point to visit his tomb in the crypt of the cathedral of San Salvador, the capital city. Even Romero’s tomb is a point of controversy. Here we have noted the division of the church officials about Romero.

At first, Romero’s tomb was within the body of the cathedral, where thousands of people came to pay their respects and to pray for their needs. In 1992 it was relocated to the basement, also called the crypt. This was probably the result of a compromise with the wealthy, many of whom hated Romero, in exchange for donations to complete the extensive renovation of the cathedral.
Our first delegation in August 1992 visited the new crypt home of the tomb. It was dark and dusty and in the midst of the debris of construction. It was also less accessible to the people.

When the renovation was completed by the mid-1990s, the crypt was a much more acceptable place for the archbishop’s tomb. The crypt itself is a large empty space, with no special decorations. The tomb was elevated in a niche where a couple of dozen people could stand close to his tomb.
The tomb was a large rectangular concrete box, about 8’x5’ and waist high, so that people could stand and place their hands on it while they prayed. On one wall was a large portrait of Romero, and on the other wall was the inscription, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend.”
The Sunday morning Mass in that large crypt would bring 800-900 people together to celebrate the memory of their martyr-pastor who had stood with them in their hour of greatest need. We had observed their enthusiastic, festive celebrations of the Eucharist that included spirited music and joyful dance. It brought together the poor and common folk who knew him as a holy man and a light in their dark times.

But then a few years ago, Romero was taken from the elevated niche and buried under the floor in back of the altar. Gone was the large portrait and the quote.
Whereas in former years, a special committee took responsibility for the liturgy, now the young cathedral pastor took control over it. The result: the passion was gone, the festive nature of the Eucharist was diminished. In a number of ways it was becoming a clergy-controlled ritual, less a people-based celebration.
Armando Marquez, a co-director of CEBES, noted “They want to bury Monseñor Romero.”

It has been a very special honor for me and for this community that I have been invited to concelebrate the Mass several times. Three times I have been the celebrant and homilist.
On the Feast of the Epipany, two weeks ago, Armando told me that I was once again invited to concelebrate. He also invited me to say a few words at the Mass.
When I asked the young priest who was the celebrant at what point I should speak, he said I was not to speak. On the other hand, the committee which at least nominally make the arrangements, told me to go ahead and speak to the people. At the end of the Mass, I went to the pulpit to say my piece.

I asked Josie, one of the translators on the delegation to help me.
During the Masses in the communities in the mountains during the week before this Sunday Mass, I had asked Josie to tell about the demonstration we had both attended at the gates of the School of the Americas in mid-November.
The people in the five settlements were very interested in the description of a demonstration of over 25,000 Northamericans at the military school that had trained the death squads and many of the troops that conducted massacres in El Salvador. And they expressed their appreciation to us.

Now I asked Josie to repeat her five minute description of the demonstration at the SOA. At the end of her account, I did as I had done in the settlements.
In the Sunday afternoon vigil at the gates of the SOA, there was the chanting of the names of thousands of victims of the violence to which the thousands responded “Presente.” So I chanted “Monseñor Oscar Romero,” and the people responded “Presente.” This is to say that he is not dead, but alive in our hearts.

After the Mass, I wanted to thank the young priest for allowing me to concelebrate the Mass, but I could not find him. I had reason to believe that I exceeded what was appropriate, given the controlled situation at the Mass. And I have reason to think that this was probably the last time I would be able to participate in the Sunday Mass at the tomb. I had some regrets for what I had done.

After Mass, Josie told me what had happened to her. A woman came to her to thank her for her words. She said, “They came for my son. They killed him in front of me and made meat out of him.” Meaning, I think, he was hacked up by machetes.
After Mass, we went to the home of Oti and Roberto for lunch. Oti runs the women’s sewing cooperative that makes the hand puppets. Her brother Lolo was also there. He manages another coop that makes products that we bring back and market for them back here.

When asked to tell what he did during the war, Lolo somewhat reluctantly told his story. When he was about 9, the military came their rural village and his family ran away to hide. After a few days, the family returned because they had been sleeping in a ravine and they were hungry. There was no food left in their home that had been ransacked by the military.
When young Lolo saw his boyhood friend among his massacred neighbors, his grief and horror were expressed in screams and wildly running away from the scene. Lolo added that by the time he was 14, he hated every Northamerican.
He also added that the passage of time and our friendship has changed that. He thanked us for listening to his story. He also thanked Josie for her words and me for the “Presente” for Romero after the Mass.

The woman who spoke to Josie after the Mass and Lolo’s story changed my regrets about telling about a protest at the SOA and leading Romero’s “Presente.” This was, after all, the place where Romero was buried.

Romero had said that when he would be killed he would rise in his people. The nervous cathedral clergy with full backing of the present archbishop seem to be guarding the tomb lest Romero rise again in his people.
In fact it has been happening in spite of their best efforts to prevent it.
Despite the fears of his opponents, Archbishop Romero is not the source of anarchy and division. He has been a true pastor who worked for reconciliation in his divided nation.

In a city park of San Salvador there is a monument called the Monument of the Martyrs. It is a long black marble wall modeled after the Vietnam Memorial Wall in DC, on which are engraved the names of those killed in the war. Romero’s inch-high name is included among the 75,000 names of the victims of that war against the people. This expresses the truest meaning of Romero.
He suffered and died with his people. He was the good shepherd who laid down his life for his people.
He is an example of what we are called to in baptism – to be holy and a light to others.

Join me now in a “Presente” for Monseñor Romero.