Romero and Me--and All of Us

Oscar Romero is now officially a saint.  I've written about him many times before, but I can't resist writing about him again.  When I made this collage card, I couldn't believe that he'd ever be canonized:

I was alive when he was martyred, but I didn't hear or read about it.  I remember reading about some of the more famous murders, particularly of the nuns, and wondering why people would murder nuns or missionaries who were there to help--I had yet to learn of the horrors of colonialism throughout history.

In my first year of college, I was asked to be part of a service that honored the martyrdom of Romero, and this event was likely how I heard of him first.  Or maybe it was earlier that semester when our campus pastor took a group of us to Jubilee Partners.

Jubilee Partners was a group formed by the same people that created Koinonia, the farm in Americus Georgia that most people know because they also created Habitat for Humanity--but they were so much more, in their witness of how Christian love could play out in real practice in one of the most segregated and poor parts of the U.S. south.  In the early years of Jubilee Partners, when I went there, the group helped people from Central America get to Canada, where they could get asylum in the 1980's, when they couldn't get asylum in the U.S.

My consciousness was formed by these encounters and by other encounters I had throughout the 80's.  I met many people in the country illegally, and I heard about the horrors that brought them here.  Then, as now, I couldn't imagine why we wouldn't let these people stay.

At the end of my undergraduate years, just after Platoon came out, my college had a screening of Oliver Stone's Salvador--what a powerful movie.  Stone does a great job of showing the importance of the Catholic church in that war-torn decade of that country.

Many of us may think that those civil wars are over, but many countries in Central America are still being torn apart by violence.  The words of Romero decades ago are sadly still relevant today:  "Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: stop the repression."

But his teachings go beyond just a call for an end to killing.  His messages to the wider church are still powerful:  "A church that doesn't provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn't unsettle, a word of God that doesn't get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn't touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — ​what gospel is that?"

And even those of us who are not part of a faith tradition can find wisdom in his teachings:  "Each time we look upon the poor, on the farmworkers who harvest the coffee, the sugarcane, or the cotton... remember, there is the face of Christ."

If we treated everyone we met as if that person was God incarnate, what a different world we would have!

But for those of us who are tired from the work of this weary world, here's a message of hope and a reminder of the long view:  "We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own."

On this day that honors a man who was not always honored, let us take heart from his words and from his example.  Let us also remember that he was not always this force for good in the world; indeed, he was chosen to be Archbishop because the upper management of the church thought he would keep his nose stuck in a book and out of politics. 

In these days that feel increasingly more perilous, let us recommit ourselves to the type of love that Romero called us to show:  "Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world."

Self Help from Saints and Others

Yesterday's leadership conference simulcast was about what I expected:  lots of self-help "you can do it" talk, with some nuggets of usefulness, with inspiring stories, with very little here is how you do it plans.

It was interesting to start the day by thinking of Archbishop Oscar Romero, who will be canonized on Sunday, Oct. 14, and then go to the leadership conference--such different leadership styles.  I thought of how much I would have to pay for the leadership simulcast, if I hadn't gotten a free ticket because of my faculty status at Broward College.  I thought of Romero, who broadcast his homilies on the radio so that all could hear.  I thought of John Maxwell, who feels we should invest in ourselves so he doesn't offer scholarships to his conferences.

Such different leadership styles.

I thought of Oscar Romero who used his platform to become a voice for those who had no voice.  I thought of his pleading for us to be better, his insistence that the killing must stop.  Romero had a vision of how his country could be a better place.  I thought of the presenters at the leadership conference who explained how they had become better, and how we could all be better--but not much talk of societal transformation.

Such different leadership styles.

I thought of Oscar Romero, who was chosen to be archbishop because he seemed like the bland kind of priest who wouldn't make waves or find trouble.  I thought of Romero, who could have had a fairly cushy existence as archbishop, but who couldn't ignore the call to do more.  Some of the speakers in yesterday's simulcast had a somewhat similar trajectory, most specifically Tyler Perry, who could have retired long ago and spent the gobs of money that he's earned--but he feels a responsibility to all the people who work for him.  There was a hint of the larger world, and I wondered what he might say if he was speaking in a different environment.

Such different leadership styles.

As I watched the simulcast while thinking of Romero, I thought I might be too judgmental.  Maybe the many people watching the speakers would transform their leadership styles, which might make the world a better place.  Maybe if we had hundreds of workplaces that were more "transformational" and "leadershift" styled, maybe that would be enough.  After all, at this point, most of the U.S. doesn't find itself facing the kinds of challenges faced by Romero's El Salvador.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

The Nature of Our Miracles

Tomorrow, Mother Theresa will be made a saint.  On Wednesday, on NPR's Morning Edition, I heard a story about the miracles that must be attributed to her, or anyone nominated for sainthood. 

It's not enough to work miracles in life on this side of the grave; one must also work miracles after one's death:  "The idea is that a person worthy of sainthood must demonstrably be in heaven, actually interceding with God on behalf of those in need of healing."  The doctors come in, and if there's no medical explanation, the healing is declared a miracle.

Now I'm all for sainthood, even though I'm not a Catholic, and I've always understood the importance of setting the bar high so that not just anyone becomes a saint.  But on Wednesday, as I heard the news report, I thought that the standard for miracle might not be high enough.

I thought of all the people I know who are alive now but would not be if we were living 50 years ago.  Cures that would have once seemed miraculous--especially many cardiac operations--are now routine, occurring across the nation, many of them each and every day.

Does anyone go back to previous saints to examine those miracles?  We could, after all.  The news story reports that "more than 95 percent of the cases cited in support of a canonization, however, involve healing from disease." I'm not suggesting that sainthood be revoked.  But it would be interesting to see if those stories of miracles hold up, in light of later medical developments.

To me, the true miracle of Mother Theresa is her faith, even as she felt God's absence, as her letters from her later years document.  If someone can do the great things that she did, even while being unsure of God's presence--that's the true miracle to me, to carry on in the face of great doubt.

The Beatification of Archbishop Romero

A ceremony to beatify Archbishop Oscar Romero happens today in San Salvador.  I never thought I would see this in my lifetime.  Romero is still a divisive figure in many circles, even 35 years after his martyrdom.  He is not universally beloved, like Mother Theresa.  You wouldn't think that his fierce commitment to the poor would win him enemies, but he combined politics and spirituality in a way that still repels many.

Beatification is a step towards sainthood.  A verifiable miracle is required for beatification.  For canonization (sainthood), a second miracle must be verified.  At every step of the way, every aspect of the candidate's life is supposed to be analyzed.

Romero left us much to analyze, with his daily radio addresses, his sermons, his letters.  I wonder if in future years, candidates for sainthood will have their Twitter feeds analyzed, their blog posts, their Facebook posts.  We lead such public lives, most of us, these days.

I know that I return to the life of Romero with some regularity on this blog.  He has been one of my spiritual touchstones since my college years in the 1980's.  Those days are beginning to seem very far away.  I remember President Reagan warning us of the possibility of Communists swarming over the border into Texas, if El Salvador fell.  I remember thinking that the Texans could take care of them with little effort.  We probably wouldn't even have to send extra weapons.

I remember meeting refugees from El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua.  Long before I knew as much about Romero as I do now, I knew that he was right about the horrors endured by the poor caught in the crossfire in those countries.

Unfortunately, they're still in the crossfire.  El Salvador has one of the highest homicide rates of all countries.  In his article in The New Yorker which looks at the life of Romero and the history of Central America, Carlos Dada concludes, "Due to criminal violence, mostly related to gangs and drug cartels, El Salvador has one of the highest homicide rates on the planet. Poverty, one of the structural problems so frequently pointed to by Romero, has decreased only because a third of Salvadorans have left El Salvador, and many of them send money back. Corruption has been rampant under both rightists and leftists. It’s a good time, it seems, to reread the teachings of the now celebrated Archbishop."

Today is also a good day to pray for those caught in the crossfires of policies gone terribly wrong.  It's a good day to pray for leaders across the spectrum who must decide how to respond.  It's a good day to pray for the poor and the dispossessed.

Sadly, it seems that every day is a good day for those prayers.