The title of this inspiration comes from a line in a conversation the late Salvadoran Archbishop, Oscar Romero, had with a companion. Older people may well remember Romero. And he is in the news again by virtue of being named a saint by the Roman Catholic Church. As one might suspect, there is the real human being named Romero and now there are “stories” about him---some of which are true and others are part of a legend that typically grows around those whose lives become saintly.
I remembered reading about Romero when he became Archbishop in San Salvador. I recall his murder and the consequent outrage, etc. Romero certainly had become a witness to and critic of the injustice of his native El Salvador. Right wing governments, who often were propped up by American dollars, made life miserable for the poor folks. It was a chaotic time. Too often the Catholic Church was complicit in the misery. That is why Romero’s story was compelling.
This came back into my awareness when I read a recent article entitled, “Archbishop Oscar Romero: setting the record straight.” The article is too long even to summarize. A few tidbits are worth mentioning to bring us to the main conversation I want to give focus. Romero was born into a poor family. But his life changed for the better as he began studies for the priesthood. He spent time studying in Rome and then back in his native El Salvador he climbed the hierarchical ladder. He spent nearly a quarter of a century in parish ministry. He witnessed the oppression and torture of people. This began to change the man. In 1977 he was named Archbishop of the capital city of El Salvador.
A key question for Romero was what kind of leader would he be? What did the hierarchical church expect from him? What did the poor, oppressed hope for when they imagined the new Archbishop at work? His three years remaining would be eventful. Because of who he became, he was assassinated while celebrating Mass on March 24, 1980. It is with all this in mind that I began reading this most recent article. The author, Gene Palumbo, claims that “seeing firsthand the poverty and oppression of rural farmworkers led him to change. On a trip to the Vatican in the late 1970s he was joined by another priest, Jesuit Cesar Jerez. Jerez was aware that Romero had earlier been very critical of Jesuits. So Jerez asked Romero about his change of heart.
Romero began to tell his story in that conversation with Jerez. Archbishop Romero says, “It's just that we all have our roots, you know.” His story continued. “I was born into a poor family. I've suffered hunger. I know what it's like to work from the time you're a little kid …” The Romero’s story sounds a bit like my story. He confesses, “When I went to seminary and started my studies, and they sent me to finish studying here in Rome, I spent years and years absorbed in my books, and I started to forget where I came from.” He forgot his roots.
I love the way he describes his change at this point. “I started creating another world.” How many times I have done that. We often try to become a different person. We forget who we really are and, often, try imitating someone else. In our culture entertainment stars are just that: stars. We want to become a star! In a way Romero could become a star. In a way he made it. He became an archbishop!
But he had prepared for a starring role that many in the military government and, even, the church did not want. He tells his own story. “When I went back to El Salvador, they made me the bishop's secretary in San Miguel. I was a parish priest there for 23 years, but I was still buried in paperwork…Then they sent me to Santiago de María, and I ran into extreme poverty again. Those children that were dying just because of the water they were drinking, those campesinos killing themselves in the harvests…”
Romero has an interesting way of talking about his process of being prepared for his ultimate witness---giving his life. He said to his Jesuit travel companion, “You know, Father, when a piece of charcoal has already been lit once, you don't have to blow on it much to get it to flame up again…” Romero was growing back towards his roots. He was becoming again a child of God---the kind of man who could become a saint.
His words are better than mine. He simply confesses, “So yes, I changed. But I also came back home again." Quakers don’t always have much investment in saints. But I want to be open and find inspiration where it comes. I find his story inspiring. And when he becomes a saint, I want to learn from that and applaud it.
Wherever back home is for each of us, I would like to think “back home” means in relationship with the God who loved us into being. And if we stray, that same God loves us back home again.
I remembered reading about Romero when he became Archbishop in San Salvador. I recall his murder and the consequent outrage, etc. Romero certainly had become a witness to and critic of the injustice of his native El Salvador. Right wing governments, who often were propped up by American dollars, made life miserable for the poor folks. It was a chaotic time. Too often the Catholic Church was complicit in the misery. That is why Romero’s story was compelling.
This came back into my awareness when I read a recent article entitled, “Archbishop Oscar Romero: setting the record straight.” The article is too long even to summarize. A few tidbits are worth mentioning to bring us to the main conversation I want to give focus. Romero was born into a poor family. But his life changed for the better as he began studies for the priesthood. He spent time studying in Rome and then back in his native El Salvador he climbed the hierarchical ladder. He spent nearly a quarter of a century in parish ministry. He witnessed the oppression and torture of people. This began to change the man. In 1977 he was named Archbishop of the capital city of El Salvador.
A key question for Romero was what kind of leader would he be? What did the hierarchical church expect from him? What did the poor, oppressed hope for when they imagined the new Archbishop at work? His three years remaining would be eventful. Because of who he became, he was assassinated while celebrating Mass on March 24, 1980. It is with all this in mind that I began reading this most recent article. The author, Gene Palumbo, claims that “seeing firsthand the poverty and oppression of rural farmworkers led him to change. On a trip to the Vatican in the late 1970s he was joined by another priest, Jesuit Cesar Jerez. Jerez was aware that Romero had earlier been very critical of Jesuits. So Jerez asked Romero about his change of heart.
Romero began to tell his story in that conversation with Jerez. Archbishop Romero says, “It's just that we all have our roots, you know.” His story continued. “I was born into a poor family. I've suffered hunger. I know what it's like to work from the time you're a little kid …” The Romero’s story sounds a bit like my story. He confesses, “When I went to seminary and started my studies, and they sent me to finish studying here in Rome, I spent years and years absorbed in my books, and I started to forget where I came from.” He forgot his roots.
I love the way he describes his change at this point. “I started creating another world.” How many times I have done that. We often try to become a different person. We forget who we really are and, often, try imitating someone else. In our culture entertainment stars are just that: stars. We want to become a star! In a way Romero could become a star. In a way he made it. He became an archbishop!
But he had prepared for a starring role that many in the military government and, even, the church did not want. He tells his own story. “When I went back to El Salvador, they made me the bishop's secretary in San Miguel. I was a parish priest there for 23 years, but I was still buried in paperwork…Then they sent me to Santiago de María, and I ran into extreme poverty again. Those children that were dying just because of the water they were drinking, those campesinos killing themselves in the harvests…”
Romero has an interesting way of talking about his process of being prepared for his ultimate witness---giving his life. He said to his Jesuit travel companion, “You know, Father, when a piece of charcoal has already been lit once, you don't have to blow on it much to get it to flame up again…” Romero was growing back towards his roots. He was becoming again a child of God---the kind of man who could become a saint.
His words are better than mine. He simply confesses, “So yes, I changed. But I also came back home again." Quakers don’t always have much investment in saints. But I want to be open and find inspiration where it comes. I find his story inspiring. And when he becomes a saint, I want to learn from that and applaud it.
Wherever back home is for each of us, I would like to think “back home” means in relationship with the God who loved us into being. And if we stray, that same God loves us back home again.
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