n the summer of 1998, in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the late Cardinal Basil Hume, a statue was unveiled above the West Door of London’s Westminster Abbey, one of ten specially commissioned to commemorate the lives of 20th-century martyrs. I remember at the time being particularly struck, for here was a man who seemed to cross boundaries of countries and continents, and indeed of denominations: it was Archbishop Oscar Romero of San Salvador.
For decades, unrest rose in El Salvador over the growing gap between the rich and the poor, those who owned land and those who worked on it. A succession of military leaders took control, the indigenous culture was repressed and attempts at land reform were violently put down. When Archbishop Romero began to speak out, he knew that he was putting his life in danger, but his desire to put Christ’s words into practice and help the poor and the destitute gave him the courage to go ahead.
In 1980, he was assassinated by the extreme right-wing security forces at the height of the unrest and repression in El Salvador. More than 60,000 people were killed in the twelve years of civil war that followed his death.
This year’s Holy Thursday, March 24th, marked the 25th anniversary of Oscar Romero’s death. There is a certain poignancy connected to this since Archbishop Romero, shot dead while celebrating Mass, was truly a man who laid down his life for others. In a recent conversation I asked Julian Filochowski, former director of a large relief agency (Catholic Agency for Overseas Development) and friend of the archbishop, to share his insights into Oscar Romero – the man, the bishop and the pastor.
"We have just heard in the Lord’s Gospel that we must not love ourselves more than him; that we must not refrain from plunging into those risks history demands of us; and that those wanting to keep out of danger will lose their lives.
On the other hands, those who surrender to the service of others through the love of Christ will live like the grain of wheat that dies. It only apparently dies. If it were not to die, it would remain a solitary grain. The harvest comes because the grain of wheat dies. The earth allows itself to be sacrificed, to break up; only in being broken does it produce the harvest.”
Archbishop Oscar Romero's last homily, minutes before he died, on March 24, 1980
What did you feel when you received a telephone call early on the morning of March 25 with the news of Archbishop Romero’s death?
I was shocked and sickened to lose a friend. But the sadness went deeper still: a light in the world had gone out. There are moments in life when one catches a fleeting glimpse of God at work in the world and of Christ’s presence among us. The man we all knew as “Monseñor” provided such a glimpse. For me, Oscar Romero’s three years as Archbishop of San Salvador had so many parallels with Jesus’ own three-year public ministry, up to the violent death he could probably have avoided but knew in the end he had to face.
I’ve heard you say that Romero was not what one might think of in terms of 20th century martyrs… he is reported to have been shy, retiring, uncontroversial.
It’s true. For nearly 30 years he worked as a priest and a journalist, and then as a bishop – first, for four years as auxiliary in San Salvador and later for three years in the rural diocese of Santiago de Maria. He was a gifted communicator, but was also known as rather conservative and not one to speak out about the injustices, the brutal killings and “disappearances” which took place daily.
I’d say the turning point in Romero’s life came when a death squad killed his close friend, Fr. Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit priest, in March 1977. He responded dramatically by calling the whole diocese together to celebrate one single Mass the following Sunday in the Cathedral of San Salvador. The Cathedral was to become his weekly appointment with the people of El Salvador, who, crammed in listened in total stillness. His now famous homilies were broadcast live on the archdiocesan radio station and it seemed as though the whole country was listening. His preaching took on a new fearlessness and directness; his voice rang out in taxis, on the street, in the shantytowns, and from this point he became the “voice of the voiceless.”
Despite the fact that the radio station was blown up several times and he was threatened with death, he continued preaching. The day before he died, he pleaded with the soldiers not to obey unjust orders saying, “I beg you, I order you, in the name of God, stop the repression!” In speaking out life this he was a marked man, yet like an Old Testament prophet, he never wavered but continued to speak of the massacres, the persecution, the disappearances, the corruption and slander.
How would you describe Oscar Romero?
For me, he was first and foremost a model “evangelizer.” By that I mean that he preached the Gospel of Jesus Christ clearly and explicitly in season and out of season. He brought the good news particularly to the poor, to those in distress, to the peasants living in near feudal helplessness, to the slum-dwellers, to the prisoners and their families. But he also made efforts at every stage, and this was crucial, to make the Word of God real and effective in the concrete situation of El Salvador, in the lives of the poor. The Gospel became a light with which to make a critical judgment on everything in society that is contrary to God’s plan. He preached the God of Life and he denounced with ferocity all the things which brought death to his people – not only the torture and killing by the army, but also the exploitation on the plantations and in the factories, and the unjust land system which brought a slower, but equally certain death through hunger and disease.
Romero called for conversion, preaching the same Word of God to all – to those in power he warned of the idolatry of riches and private property when they became absolutes, and at the same time to the new mass organizations on the “Left” he warned of the idolatry of the “organization” or the “party.”
As a pastor, his closeness to the poor was a fact. He called them “my people”; he was in their faces the disfigured face of Christ. In his life and in all his choices the poor came first so he made what we now describe as a “preferential option for the poor.” He himself would say that in turn he was “evangelized” by the poor and transformed by them.
What do you consider Oscar Romero’s legacy for us today?
Romero is a “solidarity generator”; he believed firmly that we are one global family. I heard him once give an example: “A building is burning and everyone is watching it burn with their arms folded. But if one of those watching is told, ‘I saw your mother and your sister in there and they still haven’t come out,” then the situation changes. If your mother were bruning, you would go in even though you would get burnt trying to rescue her. That is what it means to be truly committed. If we look at poverty from the outside as if we were looking at a fire, that is not to opt for the poor – no matter how well meaning we are. We should get inside as if our own mother and sister were burning. Indeed it is Christ who is there, hungry, suffering.”
Romero is also a “generator of communion,” urging us to strive for peace with justice, for communion with reconciliation. He was committed but not obsessive, an orator, but not a demagogue. He saw the good in everyone.
Twenty-five years later, what does it mean to remember Romero today?
Oscar Romero is still very much alive in the hearts of hundreds and thousands of Salvadorans today and many beyond El Salvador. He is a symbol of holiness and hope. His life inspires us as bread-sharing, justice-seeking Christian people.
From a Christian point of view, “remembering” means something very different from nostalgia. For Christians to remember Archbishop Romero must first mean to continue his work and to imitate that option for the poor which he embraced and his whole life epitomized.
(From Living City)