Monseñor

Tuesday was the 35th anniversary of Óscar Romero’s death. Who was Óscar Romero, you say? And, why should this anniversary interest you? I will try to answer.

I didn't know of Óscar Romero until a little over five years ago. I was studying at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities where one of the graduation requirements is that each student take a Global Justice class. I had already taken “Globalization at Our Backdoor” which explored aspects of the global economy readily apparent in Minnesota – factory farming, immigration & deportation, and refugee resettlement, among other things.

The requirement was filled. But for some reason, I picked up and read the flyer about travelling to El Salvador during March’s Reading Week. I don’t remember its details and cannot find an e-copy, but I guess the seeds of justice had already been sown within me; I could not set aside the possibility of going. I was serving nearly full-time as pastor to three small churches, had a young daughter with whom I didn't spend enough time. The expense was not insignificant. And I could certainly use that week to … well, read! Still, I felt led to go. I talked with my then spouse and, to his credit, he supported my hope.

So I registered for the class, began the reading, and, on March 18th, joined 20 others on the early morning flight, destination San Salvador. Details of the trip not recorded in my journal are lost in a memory fog (one consequence of Hashimoto’s thyroiditis) but the impact of that week remains. Through visiting with people who knew and worked with Oscar Romero, liberation theologians and activists martyred, with people involved in economic & co-op projects that help sustain poor communities, and time spent with representatives of political parties and at the U.S. Embassy, I came to see the world differently. I see the very real downsides to globalization and the impact U.S. international policies, trade agreements, governmental decisions, and military involvement have on peoples outside our borders that I would have never known had I not taken this class. I’m more likely to see social ills as systemic problems rather than individual ones. And, partly because of this experience, I recognize the great burden of privilege that I and those around me live with.

But, to Monseñor...

Óscar Romero was appointed Archbishop of San Salvador in February 1977. The government was pleased with the appointment of this conservative who would not make waves. But the assassination in March of another priest (and personal friend) known for his work among the poor had a deep impact on Romero and led to a sea-change in his theology and political understanding.

Traditionally, the Archbishop of San Salvador stayed in a palace in the city. He supported the government and was supported by them. This changed with Romero, who left the palace empty and began to speak on behalf of the poor of his nation and the priests who, for their efforts on behalf of the poor, were being attacked, threatened and even martyred.

In 1979, when a U.S. backed government came into power with escalating violence which would become civil war, Romero wrote to President Carter, warning that increased U.S. military aid would add to the injustice of people struggling for basic human rights. But with concerns that El Salvador might offer communism another foothold in Central America, such pleas were ignored and the U.S. continued military aid with terrible consequence to the people there. (If you doubt this, I encourage you to read about The Massacre at El Mozote by Mark Danner. Here's a shorter study by Stanley Meisler from Columbia University.)

In a nation dominated by terror and assassinations, Romero was a voice for the people. During his weekly (very pastoral) sermons – broadcast through the country – he included lists those “disappeared,” murdered or tortured. These broadcasts were the main source of accurate news. And the people loved him for this as much as for his caring attentions in church and in their communities. Romero built up an enormous following among Salvadorans.

But they did not call him Archbishop. Out of love for this servant of Christ who risked all in love for them, they called him Monseñor. (I can't say exactly what they meant, but knowing that Señor is Spanish for Lord, I believe this was the people's way of affirming that they saw Christ through this man. And isn't that something more of us could aspire to ... ?)

In the end, the government would not let his Christian witness continue. During Mass at the hospital near his home, on March 24, 1980, Archbishop Romero was assassinated. Only the day before, he had called on the nation’s soldiers, as Christians, to obey God's higher call and to stop participating in the government's oppression of the people. Like Martin Luther King, Jr. he knew the likely consequences of his actions, but continued because it was the only “right” choice.

Thirty years after his death, I was honored to share in a candlelight procession, walking with thousands of Salvadorans through the streets of San Salvador to the Cathedral in memory of one man’s love for God and for the people in his care. I’d never been political, had never marched out of support (or against) anything or anyone. But this was a profound experience. And it cemented in me the truth that we must stand for something, that in order for our lives to matter, we need to have something for which we are willing to speak up, or rally, or boycott, or sit out, or strike, or maybe even risk death.

    "We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest." 

Romero Prayer