Oscar Romero

Today marks the 35th anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Romero.  The bulk of this post is from the homily last Sunday by Father Vince, St. Boniface Parish in Waukee.

For the last 10 years, St. Boniface has partnered with the village of El Recreo in the country of El Salvador.  This is the story...


"If we were to look at the poverty in our partnering village of El Recreo, El Salvador, a life of subsistence living would look similar in 1925, 1975, 2005. Interspersed in the first two dates were attempted revolutions by the poor against a repressive government who would easily murder tens of thousands to keep in power. In 1977 when the Archbishop of San Salvador died, the Church, as well as the wealthy class of Catholics, tapped an extremely introverted man who would not rock the boat. His name is Oscar Romero.

They were in the middle of a revolt by thousands of poor peasants who simply wanted a better life -- a life that was not offered by the government and the wealthy. The murdered bodies of peasants were strewn on the roads and town squares as a warning of what could happen to them.

For a year, Romero never spoke out. It took the murder of a priest to jolt him into seeing what was happening. From there, a saint was born -- one who will be beatified as a martyr by Pope Francis this spring, and declared a saint in 2016.

A saint HOW you might ask?

He took to the streets and to the radio. People would see the man in white getting out of his car, and his driver helping to remove dead people from the streets. On the radio he would read off the names of the dead, and the thousands of people who were missing, many never found. He begged the government and the ruling class -- mostly wealthy Catholics -- to stop repressing God’s poor and innocent. He begged our government to stop supporting the government of El Salvador. It took until 1992 when Pres. George HW Bush recognized we were backing the wrong side.

Romero received death threats.

His homily on the same Sunday we are celebrating today (the 5th Sunday of Lent) contained these words:

You have heard that one must not allow oneself to avoid getting involved in the risks of life that this age will demand of us; like the grain of wheat which dies, the harvest comes about by allowing it to be sacrificed. We will usher in a new age!

From that moment the poor knew he would never stop fighting for them. And the government also knew he would not stop. He would not back down. He said if they kill me, I will rise again in the lives of my people. Justice cannot be killed.

As he was celebrating mass in a small chapel that we visit every time we are in San Salvador, a small Volkswagen Passat pulled up outside the open front doors. He was beginning to lift the host and speak the words of consecration (‘this is my body given up for you’) -- his eyes would be on the Body of Christ held high. If for a second he looked out, he would have seen the young man taking aim.

But he picked up the cup and began the words to transform the wine (‘this is my blood given up for you’) and the shot rang out and they killed him. And the new Body of Christ fell dead on the floor.

The day was March 25, 1980 -- 35 years ago this week.

For the funeral, thousands upon thousands filled the Cathedral and Open Square and down the many streets. The crowd was estimated at 200,000 peasants who had walked dozens of miles. The government was surprised that the murder did not frighten the people away. So they put snipers on nearby roofs and shot into the Cathedral stained glass windows, and fired on the crowd. The funeral never ended.

To shelter the body of Archbishop Romero, dozens of people rushed to surround the coffin, some hit by gunfire. The crowd in the Cathedral was in such chaos that there was no room to get through to take his body to the basement. So they handed his body, one over the other over the other to down the steps.

Hundreds of people surrounded his body for the rest of the day so the government would not try to steal his body.

A grave was made in the basement, and he has rested there ever since.

To show you that some things never change: for decades, the new archbishops celebrate mass in the Cathedral usually attended by well-dressed people, and people of means. In the basement, masses are held near Romero’s tomb, usually attend by the poor and tourists. As far as I know, the new Archbishops have never celebrated mass in the basement. On any important anniversary of Romero, it is always held upstairs.

The war ended in 1992. But for an end to violence and war, the lives of the poor have seen little change.

Fast forward to 2005, the year St. Boniface first entered El Recreo. There was electricity in a building owned by the GeoThermal Company and the people of El Recreo could use it. Other than that, when it got dark, it was pitch dark. It was still a village where there is subsistence living. People went to the river for water, gathering wood for the fire, tended their crops, cooked their beans and tortillas and that would repeat and repeat and repeat.

We formed a partnership from which a true and lasting relationship has developed. In those 10 years, you have assisted in forming a civil government and taught them leadership skills; you have given water retention tanks, seed and fertilizer; built a church; sent every kid to school every year; built a clinic and supplied it; bought the only open field and turned it into a soccer field; built on it the only public rest room; and much more.

We’ve gotten back family, community, people we know and love, and they love us in return. They give us a challenge to see beyond ourselves into the lives in another world. They help us appreciate what we have. When we sit down to eat, we remember people who live on 600 calories a day, and two glasses of boiled water.

They allow Americans, who were on the wrong side of the war, back into their lives, to give us an opportunity to better represent what is good about America.

We celebrate mass in our church which is about the same size as the chapel in which Archbishop Romero celebrated mass, and was assassinated in. I can look out the open back doors and not see danger, but rather see the happy people who consider us their brothers and sisters. They ask about you because we are family, and we bring back something more priceless than any money can buy. Our high school youth, who have made two trips, will go again in June to learn about love in a new way and will never see poverty in the same way ever again. They will see the poor as their brothers and sisters. They will take out into their lives a new way of looking at life.

The words of Romero still ring true today:

Do not allow yourself to avoid getting involved in the risks of life that this age demands of you."

Today, my wish for you is to embrace risk - no matter the cost.