In which we look at the journey of Faith on the
canonization superhighway. Not for the
person being canonized, but for his followers—and not on the storied “fast
track.” Canonization is a legal
proceeding with your hero on trial,
and although you expect that, like George Bailey in “It’s A Wonderful Life,” he
will earn his wings (or halo), it can be a weary, soul-testing and sometimes dispiriting
process. For exactly this reason, Pope
Francis’ advice for the followers of Archbishop Óscar A. Romero of El Salvador
seemed so insightful. He said we “must have faith that
the canonization of Archbishop Romero is proceeding at an appropriate speed.” Faith.
That’s exactly what you need.
Lots of it.
Imagine the person you admire the most, who preaches love
and holiness, is slandered, vilely accused, and based on those smears, unjustly
murdered. Even after his death, some
continue to revile him, while you hold on to a belief that, because of Faith, he
will be justified, redeemed, vindicated.
That process should sound very familiar.
In a sense, it’s a metaphor for the Christian history of salvation. Jesus
came, preached, was rejected by the world, was accused of political
insubordination and executed, but we believe that He did not die and will return
in glory. Although this piece is about
Archbishop Romero, it applies to the causes of many saints. And, although this piece deals with canonization,
its lessons can apply to many of the Church’s processes, which can be seen
through the lens of politics and palace intrigue, but we must trust that they
are guided by the Holy Spirit.
Alright, let’s hop on the time machine. It’s Sunday, March 12, 1983, less than three
years after Archbishop Romero’s assassination.
I live in New York, in a crowded two bedroom apartment with my parents
and three brothers. I’m keeping a diary
(no blog yet!). In my last entry that
evening, I write: “I believe I have been in
the presence of a saint when I have
been in the presence of Archbishop Romero.”
That’s it. That’s the moment I
knew it. I was 14 years-old at the
time. I did not understand the process,
or the requirements for beatification and canonization. In fact, I wasn’t even thinking that Romero
was a martyr—I didn’t really grasp the concept of
martyrdom. So, I wasn’t thinking that he
was a saint because he had been killed
in hatred of the faith, or because he had been killed at all. I just fervently
believed that he was a saint because I had met him when I was a boy growing up
in El Salvador and he came across that way.
I had attended his Masses, had been confessed by him. I was a witness to his holiness.
Alright, fast forward a couple of years. It’s winter 1985. I’m still living in New York, but in a
different tenement. I have found a book,
“The Word Remains: A Life of Oscar Romero,”
by Fr. James Brockman. But we are poor
and I do not yet know the luxury of buying
books at this point in my life. So, I
have to go to the library to read it. The
closest one with a copy is a distant branch of the New York Public Library. I have to take two buses to get there. But, I go there on Saturdays for several
months, taking the journey to read and re-read Fr. Brockman’s book. I remember waiting for the bus. It was so cold that my toes would hurt from
the exposure, and I was glad when they went numb. What was I doing? What was driving me to make this trip? The answer is that at the end of my journey,
I would have an encounter with holiness, an encounter with Archbishop Romero. Later, I had the audacity to write a letter
to Fr. Brockman, addressed to the book’s publisher (no Google to search for his
address). To my delight, some months
later, a letter came back from Fr. Brockman, with whom I was able to exchange
correspondence about Romero. Gingerly, I
broached the subject with Fr. Brockman, of whether Romero could ever be
declared a saint. He was unsure, but he told
me that he believed Romero was a
model of holiness.
It’s now March 1988; a sunny day in Boston. During college, I am in Harvard Sq., walking
toward an address I have found in a newspaper listing, for a gathering to honor
Archbishop Romero. I find the place,
right off the square. It’s small. Perhaps I expected some big meeting
hall. This place looks like some hole-in-the-wall
bookshop. Plus, I don’t see anything
that seems appropriate for the remembrance of an archbishop. No candles, no crosses, nothing remotely
religious or sacred. Immediately, red
flags go up when I spot, well, red flags. There are communist symbols, pamphlets,
materials in support of the Marxist rebels fighting in El Salvador. I draw no closer. Instead, I turn around and walk away, disenchanted. I have not found holiness at the end of this outing; I have not found Archbishop
Romero. God is not in the flurry, the
fire, or the earthquake.
(1 Kings 19:11-12.) This is what
I will find time and time again in the next couple of decades: distortion and
manipulation of Archbishop Romero’s message by those who wish to use it to
serve their own political ends. It is
very disappointing and disheartening.
Forward one more year.
It’s August 25, 1989. I am in
Manhattan with my best friend, a Baptist African-American kid who shares my
spiritual hunger and whom I am drawing into the Catholic Church. Five years earlier, the same year I wrote in
my diary that Romero was a saint, I had dragged this same friend to St.
Patrick’s Cathedral to pay our respects to another fallen archbishop, New
York’s own Cardinal Cooke. But this
time, in ‘89, we were in Manhattan on a more joyous note. We were there for the premiere of the Paulist
Pictures movie “Romero,” starring Raul Julia as the archbishop. A decade after I had last seen my childhood
hero, I would see him again, on the big screen.
It was uplifting, at a time when my spirit needed uplifting. El Salvador was in the midst of its civil
war, and I was constantly hearing depressing news from home. Salvadoran refugees were pouring out of the
country to flee the horrors of war. The
movie contained a positive message of valor and holiness amidst this, a glimmer
of Hope.
One year forward.
August 1990. I am in back in El
Salvador, for the first time since leaving the country. It’s not under optimal circumstances; I am
there because my grandmother, who raised me as a child, has passed away. But, at the end of this journey, I find
Archbishop Romero. His likeness is in a
big picture on the wall of my grandmother’s bedroom. I also make time to visit Archbishop Romero’s
grave at the Cathedral. The place is
mobbed by faithful, praying for miracles.
As I knew it as a child, the poor know that Romero is a saint before the theologians have confirmed it, and despite the fact that the dictators dispute it. The tomb is strewn with plaques thanking
Archbishop Romero for favors granted.
Now, fast forward one whole decade. I am back in El Salvador in March 2000 to
commemorate the 20th anniversary of Archbishop Romero’s death. I’m not alone. Between 100,000 - 500,000 people crowd the
square in front of the Cathedral to honor Romero. The atmosphere is festive. There is music and fireworks. By now, the war is over, the country is at
peace. There are still many who whisper
that Romero was a communist—the now standard slander against him. But I am happy to find kindred spirits—not
just political agitators, but people who admire Romero for his holiness. This camaraderie attests to our Faith (John
13:35). Also—and this is icing—I find that audio recordings and
even videos of Romero are popping up on the Internet. I have not heard Romero’s voice at all in 20
years, but it has been resounding in my head all this time, and now I can hear
his voice outside my head, also.
In the time since that trip to El Salvador, I have been
back a few more times. I have met many
more people who admire Romero for his spiritual qualities. There have also continued to be more ups and
downs like the ones described. I have
had the singular grace of befriending some of Romero’s family, including his
brother, and they are wonderful people (their
story is a gripping saga on to itself!).
I started an online community around Romero in 2002, but was kicked out of
it by vocal political activists who overran the group. They accused me of being a right-winger, too
religiously conservative, anti-Romero, and even worse. I saw Romero’s beatification process surge to
a near breakthrough in 2005, only to see it fall back to an uncertain status in
more recent years. Then, I started this
blog and have had the gratitude of developing into a place for the proper type
of reflection on Romero that I have always sought, going back to those trips to
the library. Of course, this last year,
with the announcement that Pope Francis has unblocked the beatification process, I feel the gratification of St. Paul when he said, “I have fought the good fight, I have
finished the race, I have kept the faith.”
(2 Tim 4:7.)
