San Romero of the Americas

Tomorrow in San Salvador Patti Moore and I will join those remembering Oscar Arnulfo Romero Galdamez, San Romero of the Americas, a man who turned toward the beloved people of El Salvador in their struggle for peace and justice, and who did not turn away in the face of all the threats that became reality on March 24, 1980.  Thirty-two years later, my Salvadoran friends still remember listening to his voice on the radio, how everyone tuned in to listen to the Sunday homilies in which he told the truth about the events of the unfolding civil war.

In his last Sunday homily on March 23, 1980, he had spoken to the soldiers: "In the name of God, then, and in the name of this suffering people, whose cries rise to heaven more tumultuously every day, I beg you, I pray you, I order you in the name of God: cease the repression!"

The next day he presided at a family memorial Mass in the small chapel at the Hospitalito Divina Providencia, where he lived in the simple house the Sisters had built for him.  The gospel for his homily was John 12: 23-26: Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. (John 12:24).  As he came to the end of his homily - when he must have seen the assassin's car driving up to the open door of the chapel, the rifle being aimed - he said: "May this body immolated and this flesh sacrificed for us nourish us also to give our body and our blood to suffering and to pain, like Christ: not for itself, but to give the idea of justice and of peace to our people."  As he turned to begin the Eucharistic prayer, a single shot was fired from the door.

Monseñor, your people of El Salvador will always remember you. 

Feliz dia de San José

Happy St. Joseph's Day!  I've had a great double celebration of our community's patron saint.  Yesterday I took Kathy Garcia and Mitch Costin (they flew in Saturday night) out to San José Villanueva where we handed over twelve special prescription eyeglasses that were organized  by our February mission optician, Heather Downes, and made and donated by an optical lab.  Lots of happy eyeglass-wearing faces!  Then we helped out, a little, while Iris Chacon of San Rafael Cedros did a first workshop for the families who will be receiving one of the water filters we're donating, and we got a chance to exchange hugs with our San José friends.

Today was an even more special Dia de San José because I've had the great pleasure of watching while Mitch Costin of Eugene - a great stand-in for the saint - did an amazing lot of plumbing, carpentry, and electrical work to a) stabilize our operating microscope, b) fasten the handwashing sink firmly to the wall, c) install a toilet paper holder, d) put up a new lamp above the dishwashing sink, e) put up the new paper towel holder Donna gave me, f) re-hang all the mirrors at the right height and g) unstick my sticky kitchen table drawer.  This afternoon Mitch and Kathy and I went in and had a two-hour gambol through EPA, the new fancy hardware store here, that will lead to a few more things being done tomorrow.  We also bought a new super-sized toolbox to hold all the new and wonderful tools that Mitch has found for us so that our PazSalud toolbox is no longer a wussy and pathetic sight, full of curtain rods and odd lots of tape, but a proper manly St. Joseph sort of toolbox.  It was great fun!

On top of all that, Mitch took some wonderful photos - the two in this post are his.  Oh yes, and I began the day by teaching a computer class at the Centro Arte para la Paz with the help of Patti Moore and her Spanish teacher Beatriz, where the kids - ranging in age from about 11 to 18 - tore through the material I thought would take up two classes in the first hour.  St. Joseph come to my aid as I try to figure out what we'll do on Wednesday and oh yes, St. Joseph, a special blessing please for Mitch Costin who does your kind of work with such joy.

Viva Santa Lucia! Viva Suchitoto!

First and most important, I'm happy to say that my neighbor made it through surgery after being shot, and is now out of danger.  I don't know much more, but that is good news. 

And then today is the vigil of the feastday of Santa Lucia, Suchitoto's patron saint, and it has been wildly full of events.  The Barrio Santa Lucia started the day with loud firecrackers and their morning procession to church.  In the afternoon I went to the Mass honoring Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (her procession, with all the children dressed in traditional outfits, happened yesterday).  Today's Mass was followed by another procession - yes, it does get a bit confusing - this one honoring Santa Lucia.  Down my street they came, first the altar boys with cross and candle, then the brass band, then the priest and a fiesta princess, then a statue of Santa Lucia (not the one in the church which is very old and very beautiful) carried by women, then about 75 people in the procession and finally, bringing up the rear, the Barrio Santa Lucia float, with its waving princess.

What could be better than that?  Fireworks, that's what.  After the procession and Santa Lucia make their way back into the church, it's time for the fiesta to begin.  They'd been set up in advance, both ranks of rockets and a number of figures (there's a representative one here) lavishly dressed in fireworks.  I found what seemed like a great place in the crowded plaza to watch, trying to avoid the hot pupusa stands and not stand too near to the works (it's a scene that would give U.S. fire marshalls instant anxiety attacks).  I hadn't paid enough attention to the wind, though, and the first barrage of fireworks came right in my direction - and CLOSE, so I was brushing cinders off my shirt and out of my eyes.  Then came the toros - men who put on "bull" frames that have been wired with firecrackers and run through the center of the plaza in an explosion of flames and small rockets.  They lit up various figures - a butterfly, a woman, a campesino - each of which had its own drama of sparks and flames and rockets.  And finally, they touched a match to the stage center and it went in a whoosh of colors.  More rockets.  And now there's a big dance going on next to the Alcaldia (City Hall) - just far enough away so I probably can get to sleep.

¡Que viva la fiesta!  ¡Que viva Santa Lucia!  ¡Que viva Suchitoto!

Fiesta!

It's fiesta time in Suchitoto, 12 days of daily processions, celebrations, parades, floats, bands, fireworks, dances that lead up to the grand patronal feast of Santa Lucia on December 13th (though I suppose it really should be a matronal feast).  Each neighborhood has its day to get up at 4 in the morning and process to church by candlelight for the 5:45 am mass - ours is tomorrow, and I won't need to set my alarm clock- the firecrackers will let me know it's time.  Each neighborhood also creates a carroza - we'd call it a float - that circulates throughout Suchitoto, visiting each of the neighborhoods, in the evening.  Here's yesterday's offering, from Barrio Concepción - they outdid themselves by creating TWO carrozas.  During the day there are special activities - today Barrio San José offered a celebration for the old folk, which I missed, and a kid's fiesta, and later fireworks and finally a dance.  Their carroza was preceded by Alcides who carried the long forked stick used to hold up the electricity lines so they wouldn't topple the display and followed by a small but marvellous brass band (clarinet, horn, trombone, tuba and a couple of drums). 

I especially enjoyed today's festivities because today we heard one of my favorite Gospel passages, where Jesus says that John the Baptist came fasting and we called him crazy, while the Son of Man came eating and drinking and we called him a glutton and drunkard....(Mt.11, 16-19).  I'm pretty sure that Jesus would love the way people celebrate here in Suchitoto.  I surely do.

Good Friday, Suchitoto

Good Friday began with the Stations of the Cross, an elaborate walk through the center of Suchitoto that included not only the image of Jesus carrying the cross, but also images of Mary, Veronica and Simon the Cyrenian - each introduced at the appropriate time. Just about everyone in town turned out for the Stations and poured into church at the end to pray.

A few hours later, the church was crammed again for the Good Friday service. We all went slowly and reverently in line to kiss the cross and then to receive communion.

The final act of the day should be the Santo Entierro, the burial procession: a number of alfombras, carpets, were lovingly prepared for the procession and a couple are pictured above, including the offering created by the youth at the Centro Arte para la Paz, the final photo. Just as everyone was putting final touches on the alfombras, alas! the heavens opened and the rain came down in buckets. So these photos may be the only witness to the intentions of the alfombra makers (they are generally made out of bark and colored salt, not very stable items in a thunderstorm).

A thunderstorm that ruins plans seems very appropriate to Good Friday, to a day that turned the world upside down.

Saints and Martyrs

The street I live on, while technically (to the Post Office) 4th Avenue South, is also Avenida Padre Rafael Palacios. Rafael Palacios was the priest in Suchitoto when he was assassinated in 1979; his body is buried in the Sanctuary of Santa Lucia. This mural remembers Palacios and Romero. The worn lettering underneath the mural translates, more or less: "They wanted to kill you, but you are more present in the people than before."

Adios, Mercedes

Mercedes Arias died today. I can't give you medical language on it, but apparently her heart attack led to a blood clot invading her brain, and then to bleeding into the brain. We will be saying a formal farewell tomorrow in Comasagua.

This is my favorite photo of Mercedes, taken at the 30th anniversary celebration of the death of Monseñor Romero, just a few weeks ago. Mercedes was only 15 when he died, but she has been one of the many Salvadorans who have lived his legacy. She was a quiet, determined and very effective woman, a great organizer, a strong voice for justice in her beloved community of Comasagua. She will be terribly missed by her husband, her children, her co-workers at the Centro de Intercambio y Solidaridad (CIS), her many friends, her town.

Go gently into God's hands, Mercedes. May your work of justice continue through all of us who loved you.

Reading Monseñor

A while back, I bought one volume of the six-volume set of Monseñor Romero's homilies, the volume that holds his reflections (in Spanish) on the liturgical readings for Cycle B, from June to November, 1979. Thirty years later, we're hearing those same readings proclaimed on Sundays.

Reading Monseñor's 1979 homilies is a multilayered experience. I'm aware of the passion and power of his reflections, of his deep love for scripture and for the church. He also comments every week on what is going on, the increasing repression and reprisals that would lead to his own assassination only a few months later. Reading what he said over the radio to the people of El Salvador (and everybody sat by their radio to listen, I'm told) I feel a great sorrow for the loss that is still to come, the loss of this great and clear and loving voice.

It's powerful to hold these homilies and the terrible times in El Salvador 30 years ago in mind and heart as I look at today's world. Better here, yes, but tonight there's another tense situation in Honduras, and there are places of loss and agony all over the world. I've also just finished The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million by Daniel Mendelsohn, a book that took me back 70 years to see and know some of the ordinary lives that were wasted in the Holocaust. Reading Monseñor and Daniel Mendelsohn, one sees the horrible, repetitive, banal quality of evil, of what can be unleashed when the restraints are off, when some humans have become prey, have been seen as less than human because they're Jewish or Tutsi or thought to be communists. The supposedly civilized times of my life have known too much of evil unleashed.

Moving!

Today Carlos came with a big truck and his nephew Omar and they loaded the truck with a small mountain of tubs - both the PazSalud supplies and the many things Grace and I had packed into the empty tubs - and off we went to Suchitoto. Grace and I went up in the car with our delicate optometric instruments and the autoclave and St. Francis. St. Francis, who had a place of honor at our door in San Salvador for the past 8 years looks right at home in the Suchitoto patio. It feels good to be halfway there - and tomorrow the furniture goes.

A visit to the campo

We visited the countryside today, taking what seemed like a long journey to visit Rosita and her daughters and son in the El Paraiso area of Chalate-nango. It turned out to be only about 42 miles one way, but given that I was driving, getting used to a stick-shift again (turns out to be like riding a bicycle - you don't forget), and navigating the challenging traffic of El Salvador, it felt like a looonnng trip.

Above top, Lupita, Rosita, me, and Edith (pronounced eh DEET, more or less, and I have no idea how she spells it in Spanish), and the two beautiful girls below. Rosita has been connected with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace and PeaceHealth since 1989 when she came to Jesuit Refugee Services at El Despertar in San Salvador. She was 11 years old then, and had lost both legs below the knee from crude amputations - perhaps resulting from an infection or gangrene, she didn't really know why. She met Sister Eleanor at El Despertar, and was eventually fitted with prostheses which she uses like a pro today. In the years Eleanor was away from El Salvador (1993 - 2000) Rosita had her three children, but without any lasting relationship to their fathers and no way to support herself, they were mired in deep poverty. Through the help of Eleanor and friends among the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace and at PeaceHealth, Rosita has been able to buy a small lot and have a two-room house built, very simple and campo style, but adequate space for her family; she has banana trees on the lot which yield fruit that they can eat and sell, a well, an outhouse, a small flock of chickens tended by a glorious rooster and some scrawny dogs and cats, and her daughters are going to school. It's a life that would still seem like deep poverty to any norteamericano, but for this little family it's security and a bit of hope. It was good to be there and to connect with Rosita.

The other wonderful connection today came when we went to the Archdiocesan offices so I could apply for a carnet - a card identifying me as a Sister. There, by blessed serendipity, Eleanor was able to introduce me to Monseñor Ricardo Urioste, who was Secretary and Vicar General to Archbishop Oscar Romero. He was sad that he had missed seeing Sister Andrea, whom he remembered from her work at the Calle Real refugee camp, and I was sorry too, as it would have been a joy to have witnessed their meeting. Like Oscar Romero, Monseñor Urioste has been a powerful voice for social justice in El Salvador. He is a humble, warm and friendly man, and it was a great honor to meet him.

Both Rosita and Monseñor Urioste remind me that I am living in a country filled with the memory of war, loss, holiness and hope.

Photos from Guatemala

Three photos from Guatemala: Above, a mural in the garden of the Franciscan church in Antigua shows a Mayan woman and child, Santo Hermano Pedro, Saint Francis and a Mayan man around a painted cascade that leads to the real fountain. The legend says, "Mother Earth is a gift of God for all: take care of her and share here as brothers. Below, on the left the Directora of the Clinica Maya, the indigenous medicine clinic at Clinica Maxeña, shows us the tres puntas plant, which has worked very well to bring down high blood sugar levels for diabetics. On the right - not a very good photo, but it shows all four of us, Susan, Andrea, Sheila and Beth, under the big Ceiba tree that was planted as a stick forty years ago at Sheila's Clinica Maxeña in Santo Tomas.

Relaxing in Antigua

Andrea, Beth and I wandered through the beautiful and confusing streets of Antigua yesterday - beautiful in the repeated simple patterns of adobe walls and ornate doors, confusing because for the newcomer one street looks much like another, and all of them somehow lead to the Cathedral, Plaza and Palacio of ancient Guatemala. We wandered and wandered in search of the restaurant we had liked so much the night before, one with bountiful vegetarian choices for Beth and a delightful courtyard setting, and we finally found it, but found it closed, alas.

Along the way we visited the tomb of Santo Hermano Pedro de San Jose Betancur, open for the holiday. Brother Peter, born a poor man in Tenerife in 1626, made his way to Guatemala and, destitute, joined the Franciscan breadline. Later he tried to study for the priesthood in the local Jesuit college, but couldn't master the subjects. Instead he became a 3rd Order Franciscan and gave the rest of his life to caring for those in great need, opening a hospital and school for the poor, a shelter for the homeless, and a religious order for women teachers, the Bethlehemites. No wonder his tomb and the Franciscan church were full of people praying. In the church, a mural of Franciscan life included portraits of four Franciscan brothers martyred during the civil wars of the 1980s, one in Salvador, one in Nicaragua, two in Guatemala: a potent reminder that the call to give all for Christ continues to be a dangerous invitation.

As we came back to the Plaza we saw a great crowd gathered and heard firecrackers going off in a storm of noise and smoke, young men running through the area of explosions, and then, majestically, a procession with the Holy Sacrament carried reverently around the plaza under a canopy - preceded by firecrackers and followed by devout candlebearers. A very latino combination!