MONS. ROMERO y SAN MAXIMILIANO KOLBE

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Desde sus nichos en la Abadía de Westminster entre otros mártires cristianos del siglo XX, San Maximiliano Kolbe (1894-1941) y Mons. Romero dan fe de la naturaleza alevosa de la persecución de los cristianos en nuestros tiempos, y del discernimiento que la Iglesia debe practicar para resistir el engaño de los tiranos modernos.

San Maximiliano cayó víctima de las exterminaciones de los nazis, detenido en las redadas en contra de religiosos y otros grupos desfavorecidos por los fascistas, y asesinado en un campo de concentración cuando el fraile franciscano polaco se ofreció para sacrificarse en lugar de otro condenado a la muerte que se preguntó qué sería de su familia si él fuera ultimado. Aunque su martirio antedata del de Mons. Romero por cuatro décadas, el holocausto de San Maximiliano nos ilumina las tinieblas de la ofuscación que dice que tales persecuciones son meramente revanchas políticas o actos de guerra. ¡Con que razón el Beato Juan Pablo II declaró a San Maximiliano el “patrono de nuestro difícil siglo [XX]”, al canonizarlo—y cómo puede aplicarse el mismo rubro a Mons. Romero!

La identidad singular entre los dos martirios se reconoce desde diversos elementos, tal como la mayor preocupación que tuvieron estas dos víctimas por el bien de sus hermanos y no por el propio. San Maximiliano fue conmovido cuando su compañero condenado a la muerte lamentaba, “Pobre esposa mía; pobres hijos míos”. Fue entonces que San Maximiliano ofreció inmolarse para salvar la vida de su compañero: “Soy un sacerdote católico polaco, estoy ya viejo. Querría ocupar el puesto de ese hombre que tiene esposa e hijos”. Similarmente, cuando Mons. Romero comenzó a recibir amenazas anónimas de muerte, su preocupación primordial fue que en un atentado en su contra, perecieran otros inocentes. El día de su martirio, cuando su participación en una misa privada fue publicada en un periódico, otro sacerdote ofreció celebrarla, pero Mons. Romero prefirió correr el peligro fatal que desplazarlo hacia otro. (WOODARD, Making Saints: How the Catholic Church Determines Who Becomes a Saint, Who Doesn’t, And Why 37 (Simon and Schuster, 1990.) Desde sus dos accionares, Mons. Romero y San Maximiliano confirman la insignia de un mártir: “Nadie tiene mayor amor que el que da su vida por sus amigos”. (Juan 15, 13.)

Tanto Mons. Romero como San Maximiliano dan testimonio de la fe cristiana. En su sacerdocio, San Maximiliano promovió la veneración a la Virgen y en especial a su Inmaculado Corazón. Por su parte, Mons. Romero se encargó del custodio de la Virgen de la Paz en los años de su sacerdocio en San Miguel y su devoción mariana resaltaba todavía cuando habló ya siendo arzobispo, “desde el seno inmaculado de María a todos los trabajadores de la Iglesia para que sean limpios y puros en su mensaje y tengan siempre los grandes ideales de María”. (Homilía del 8 de diciembre de 1977.) Resaltaba su devoción cuando predicaba que la Iglesia, “cuanto más mariana lo sea, lo será más cristiana, porque nadie fue tan cristiana como María”, ya que sólo “sintiendo tan íntimamente como María la misión y la santidad de Cristo se puede ser su representante” (hom. 22 de oct. de 1978) y llevar, “El ideal de alejarse más y más del pecado y evitar que entre el pecado en el mundo; el ideal de llenarse más y más de la vida de Dios, de la gracia santificante” (dic. 1977, supra).

Las hojas de vida de los dos hombres se mantienen en sintonía con sus virtudes. Los dos mantuvieron una intensa actividad misionera. San Maximiliano fue misionero en el Japón, y durante su corta carrera fundó dos periódicos, El Caballero de la Inmaculada y El Pequeño Diario; en el Japón, empezó a editar hasta ocho revistas católicas. Mons. Romero redactó el Semanario Chaparrastique (ene. 1945-sep. 1967), el Diario de Oriente (ene. 1968-oct. 1976); se publicó en La Prensa Gráfica (jun. 1969-ago. 1972); redactó el Semanario El Apóstol (sep. 1975-nov. 1976); y el Semanario Orientación (mayo 1971-dic. 1978). Su eficacia evangelizadora fue resaltada por el Papa Benedicto XVI cuando alabó el estímulo a los sentimientos religiosos de El Salvador después de que el Evangelio fuese “predicado también con fervor por pastores llenos de amor de Dios, como Mons. Óscar Arnulfo Romero”. (Discurso a los Obispos Salvadoreños, 28 de febrero de 2008.)  Los dos sufrieron las adversidades de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, pero monseñor en un grado mucho menor que San Maximiliano (el seminarista Romero se encontró atrapado en Italia después de su ordenación, donde sufrió hambre y alienación, y en rumbo a El Salvador sufrió una detención temporaria en un campo de labor en Cuba).

Pero sin duda, la similitud más importante entre Mons. Romero y San Maximiliano Kolbe es la capacidad de su martirio, de brillar tan fuerte como para despejar todas las dudas que plantean los verdugos al querer no solo eliminarlos sino también negar su martirio. Como lo reconoce Su Santidad, los tiranos modernos tratan de “manifestar de modo menos explícito su aversión a la fe cristiana ... [y] simula[r] diferentes razones, por ejemplo, de naturaleza política o social” para encubrir las persecuciones y tratar de negar la virtud de las víctimas y su estatus martirial. (Mensaje del Santo Padre a la Sesión Plenaria de la Congregación para las Causas de los Santos, 24 de abril de 2006.) La Iglesia no puede permitir que los mismos tiranos manipulen los hechos y pretendan dictar los procesos de canonización de estos modelos de santidad, o permitir un “veto” a los tiranos al aceptar sus pretextos o sus versiones de los hechos. (WOODARD 147, supra.)

San Maximiliano fue beatificado por sus virtudes, pero al ser canonizado, el Beato Juan Pablo II insistió en reconocer su martirio, y cuando los teólogos dudaron en aprobarlo bajo la definición tradicional del martirio, Juan Pablo lo llamo un “mártir de la caridad”. Bajo la definición tradicional, mártir es aquel que es asesinado por odio a la fe. Sin embargo, San Maximiliano fue asesinado porque él mismo se ofreció—argumentaban los teólogos puristas—no porque fuera señalado. Al insistir sobre el tema, Juan Pablo quiso decir que, “el odio sistemático de la persona humana (como en el nazismo y otros sistemas totalitarios) es una versión contemporánea del odio de la fe”, ya que “la fe predica la dignidad inalienable de la persona humana y aquellos que odian a la persona odian a la fe de manera implícita”. (Weigel.)

La misma lógica se extiende al caso de Mons. Romero—en ambos aspectos. En primer lugar, algunos católicos escépticos dicen que Mons. Romero no fue atacado por ser católico, sino por motivos meramente políticos: por la “radicalidad” de su prédica, por su supuesta parcialización a favor de un partido o de una ideología, y las motivaciones táctico-militares de querer neutralizar a un agitador. Pero—aparte de la falsedad de dichas acusaciones—Juan Pablo II, el mismo papa que resistió la tentación de desestimar a San Maximiliano, también insistió siempre en resaltar como aspecto definitivo del asesinato de Mons. Romero que, “se ha asesinado un obispo de la Iglesia de Dios en el ejercicio de su misión santificadora de la ofrenda de la Eucaristía … le han matado precisamente en el momento más sagrado, durante el acto más alto y más divino”. (Audiencia General del 26 de marzo de 1980.) Los que perpetran semejante acto, “ofenden el Evangelio y su mensaje de amor, de solidaridad y de hermandad en Cristo”. (Id.)

Igual que la muerte de San Maximiliano Kolbe, el asesinato de Mons. Romero ha sido un atentado en contra de la fe que la Iglesia tiene que validar y reconocer como tal.

ÓSCAR ROMERO and LEONARDO BOFF

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When Archbishop Romero met Leonardo Boff (1938-present), the Brazilian Franciscan and early champion of Liberation Theology, at the Latin American bishops conference in Puebla, Mexico in 1979, Romero reportedly invited: “Father Boff, help us to develop a Theology of Life.” (Greenan, 2010.) Some may see that as a critique of the existing official Church response to the situation of the poor as being inadequate. But also implicit in Romero’s proposal is an assessment that Liberation Theology—including, Boff’s scholarship—had been insufficient. A year earlier, Romero had warned that, “very profound revisions of the Christological doctrine as well as revisions in Liberation Theology,” would be required. (July 23, 1978 Homily.)

Romero gave Boff what he believed to be the appropriate framework for the required theology. He told Boff, “God is the Creator of life. He sent His Son so that we would have life in abundance.” (Greenan, supra.) Romero’s framework coincides with the one set forth by Blessed John Paul II, who told a conference on the “Theology of Life” that, “such a theology must start with and make constant reference to our Lord Jesus Christ, who ‘came that we may have life and have it abundantly’.” (Address to the Ecumenical Institute of Bossey, February 15, 1996—the reference is to John 10:10.) In his conversation with Boff, Romero lamented the atrocious human rights abuses in El Salvador and said, “We need to protect the minimum, which is God’s greatest gift—Life.” (Greenan, supra.) John Paul agreed, saying that the “proclamation of the Gospel includes not only the defense of human life as such, but also the obligation to promote everything that favors the development of human life and dignity.” (Bossey, supra.)

Romero’s differences with Boff are revealed upon comparing the criticisms that the Vatican made of Boff’s work, with Romero’s stances on the same subjects. In a 1985 «Notificatio», the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), in a document signed by its prefect, the then-cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, criticized four aspects of Father Boff’s work:

1) The CDF criticized Fr. Boff’s views on the structure of the Church, charging that he inverted the Second Vatican Council’s teaching on the primacy of the Catholic Church vis-a-vis ecumenism: Fr. Boff, “derives a thesis which is exactly the contrary to the authentic meaning of the Council text,” the CDF states, because Boff maintains that “the sole Church of Christ … may also be present in other Christian Churches,” while the Council teaches that, “one sole ‘subsistence’ of the true Church exists”—within the Church—and that “outside her visible structure only … elements of Church … exist.” («Notificatio», ibid.) While Archbishop Romero often spoke in the language of inclusion that emphasized the ecumenical sense of the Council teaching, he nonetheless was very clear that Catholics “possess the fullness of the means of salvation;” that “This is the Church that is the depository and the witness of the resurrection.” (April 15, 1979 Sermon.) Accordingly, he preached that, “Those who want to belong to this People of God, organized by Christ and called the Catholic Church, must accept these conditions.” (June 5, 1977 Hom.—the conditions he referenced were the unity of the faith, the sacraments, and the church’s structure.) “If they do not accept them, if they willingly reject them,” he said, “then they are schismatics, destroyers of the Church and have morally excommunicated themselves.” (Id.)

2) The CDF criticized Fr. Boff’s views on dogmas and revelation, condemning his argument that dogmas are good only “for a specific time and specific circumstances” and that their texts must “give way to a new text of faith proper to today’s world.” («Notificatio», supra.) Archbishop Romero had occasion to preach on the nature of dogma on his 60th birthday, which coincided, as it always does, with the Feast of the Assumption, and marked the anniversary of the “ex cathedra” proclamation by Pope Pius XII of the dogma that Mary was bodily ascended into Heaven. “The Assumption of the Virgin, body and soul, into heaven is not a pious opinion,” Romero declared: “It is a dogma of faith.” (Aug. 15, 1977 Hom.) He recounted how, “The great Pontiff, Pius XII,” made it a mandatory belief of the Church. The Pope “proclaimed as a dogma of faith … that Mary, after having concluded her life here on earth, was assumed, was taken up, body and soul, by God,” Romero recalled. The consequence of this is that, “we have an obligation, as Catholics, to believe this,” he affirmed. “Did Pius XII invent the fact that Mary was assumed body and soul into heaven?,” Romero asked. “The Pope does not invent dogma,” he asserted. “The Pope places his seal of authority and the seal of his teaching on certain beliefs and thus guarantees the faithful that this specific truth is contained in Divine Revelation.” He concluded, “We believe this truth, not because the Holy Father has spoken, but because God has spoken, and revealed this to us in Sacred Scripture and the living tradition of the Church.” (Ibid.)

3) The CDF criticized Fr. Boff’s views on the exercise of Church power, disapproving of his use of a Marxist production analysis of sacramental practice: “The sacraments are not 'symbolic material',” the CDF railed, “their administration is not production, their reception is not consumption.” Instead, “The sacraments are gifts of God, no one 'produces' them, all receive the grace of God in them, which are the signs of the eternal love.” («Notificatio», supra.) Romero, by contrast, taught that, “This community of faith lives a sacramental life,” (Apr. 2, 1978 Hom.), and he defended the administration of the sacraments under the existing hierarchy: the sacraments “are means of salvation that have been established in the Church, in the visible body that is united to Christ,” and “This Christ rules the Church through the ministry of the Supreme Pontiff and the bishops, as well as through the bond of the profession of faith, the sacraments, the government of the Church and ecclesiastical communion” (Oct. 15, 1978 Hom.—One is also reminded about how Archbishop Romero scolded activists who chanted political slogans at a funeral mass, chastising them to take it outside so as not to interfere with the liturgy and sacraments—Cavada.)

4) Finally, the CDF criticized Fr. Boff’s views that prophetic denunciation was not exclusive to the Church brass and could come from outside the hierarchy. The CDF agreed, but cautioned that, “prophetic denunciation in the church must always remain at the service of the Church itself,” and that it “must it accept the hierarchy and the institutions” and “cooperate positively in the consolidation of the Church’s internal communion.” («Notificatio», supra.) Romero preached that individuals might indeed experience a call to prophesy: “But this is not enough because this vocation has to be affirmed by the hierarchy that then unites us with the authorized teaching of the Church.” (May 13, 1979 Hom.) He added that his own preaching was subject to confirmation by the Supreme Pontiff. (Id.) Revelation might come to humble subjects such as St. Bernadette of Lourdes or St. Juan Diego, Romero preached, “But the hierarchy is needed to analyze and validate this inspiration and order all these things for the building up of the Kingdom of God.” (Sept. 30, 1979 Hom.)

Oscar Romero and Leonardo Boff both dream of a Theology of Life that addresses the suffering of the poor and promotes their liberation. But Oscar Romero believes that the poor would be better served if that theology was in line with the orthodox teaching of the Church. Leonardo Boff left the Franciscan order and the priesthood in the 1990s.

MONS. ROMERO y SAN MARTÍN DE PORRES

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Si bien es cierto que Mons. Óscar Romero y San Martín de Porres (1579-1639) coinciden en el amor por los pobres, a primera vista pareciera que sus modus operandi son totalmente contrarios. Mons. Romero denunciaba el atropello sistemático a los derechos de los pobres, mientras que el Santo de la Escoba “nunca planteó reivindicaciones sociales ni políticas” y se limitó a practicar la caridad de manera particular. (Juan XXIII canonizó a Martín de Porres, Diario La Primera, 10 de Febrero del 2012.) Los seguidores de Fray Martín cuentan que curaba a enfermos, levitaba, poseía dones de bilocación y clarividencia, y hasta hablaba con los animales, mientras que los seguidores de Mons. Romero advierten que no se trata de un “santo ‘milagrero’.” (Sobrino, El seguimiento de Monseñor Romero, Proceso, 9 de febrero de 2005.) En fin, parecería que es como el comparar el día y la noche.

La primera indirecta de que podría haber una mayor comunalidad entre los dos surge en las palabras pronunciadas por el Beato Juan XXIII durante la canonización del venerado santo mulato hace cincuenta años. “Hay que tener también en cuenta”—dijo el pontífice—de que el Fray Martín, “siguió caminos, que podemos juzgar ciertamente nuevos en aquellos tiempos, y que pueden considerarse como anticipados a nuestros días”. (Homilía de Canonización, domingo 6 de mayo de 1962.) El papa Pío XII lo declaró Patrono de la Doctrina Social y el mismo Mons. Romero predicaba que, “el mensaje de San Martín”, es que “no son las posiciones altas, privilegiadas, las que atraen las bendiciones mejores del Señor, sino las almas humildes que ... saben hacer de su escoba, de sus quehaceres más humildes o grandes, el instrumento de su santificación”. (Hom. 6 de nov. de 1977.)

De hecho, solo para poder ingresar a la orden de los dominicos como hermano pleno, el Fray Martín tuvo que romper esquemas: su origen racial y estado de hijo ilegitimo era un fuerte impedimento en aquella sociedad tan rígidamente ordenada. Es más: “A pesar de la biografía ejemplar del mulato Martín de Porres, convertido en devoción fundamental de mulatos, indios y negros, la sociedad colonial no lo llevaría a los altares”. (La Primera, supra.) Pasarían 198 años antes de su beatificación y 323 antes de su canonización, que no se dio hasta los tiempos del Concilio Vaticano Segundo y del movimiento de derechos civiles para los Negros en Estados Unidos. (Orsini. Esa larga espera bien pudiera sernos instructiva a los seguidores de Mons. Romero para que seamos más comprensivos con estos procesos.) El papa Juan retomó el hecho al declararlo santo: “juzgamos muy oportuno el que este año en que se ha de celebrar el Concilio, sea enumerado entre los santos Martín de Porres”. (Homilía, supra.)

La relevancia de San Martín no se limita ni a los siglos de la Colonia como tampoco a aquella época conciliar, sino que sigue vigente para nuestros tiempos. En el marco del 50 aniversario de su canonización, el Papa Benedicto XVI pide “que interceda por los trabajos de la nueva evangelización”. (Oración «Regina Cæli», 6 de mayo del 2012.) El mismo pontífice también elogió la labor de Mons. Romero en la evangelización cuando habló del estímulo a los sentimientos religiosos del pueblo que el mensaje cristiano haya sido “predicado también con fervor por pastores llenos de amor de Dios, como Mons. Óscar Arnulfo Romero”. (Discurso a los Obispos Salvadoreños, 28 de febrero de 2008.) Cuando este “amor de Dios” fue puesto a prueba, tanto Mons. Romero como San Martín de Porres respondieron en voz clara y sin ambigüedades. Ya sabemos que Mons. Romero hablo de manera profética, pero ¿qué de San Martín? Al ser acusado por desobediencia cuando desafió la prohibición de sus superiores de abrir un nuevo albergue para enfermos por peligro de contagio, el fraile mulato supo responder, “contra la caridad no hay precepto, ni siquiera el de la obediencia”. (Vicaría "San Martín de Porres".)

Tanto Mons. Romero como San Martín encontraron el rechazo y la humillación, tristemente en su propia Iglesia. El fraile mulato “perdonaba duras injurias”, nos dice el Papa Juan. (Homilía, supra.) Otros autores detallan cuan duras: en una ocasión, un religioso lo llamó un “perro mulato” en presencia de otros. (Vicaría, Op. Cit.) Tal era la discriminación racial de aquella época que nadie cuestionó el rechazo del novato Martín cuando trató de inscribirse en la orden de Santo Domingo, pese a que su padre, Juan de Porres, era un noble español perteneciente a la Orden de Alcántara y descendiente de cruzados. No obstante tan ilustre estirpe por el lado paterno, Martín fue aceptado solamente como un “donado”, y fue asignado los oficios más bajos y humillantes. (Ibid.) Por su parte, Mons. Romero no enfrentó un mal trato racial, sino que ideológico. Fue acusado afuera y hasta adentro de la Iglesia de tendencias marxistas, de fomentar el odio de las clases, de hasta de agitar a la violencia, pese a su insistencia de que solo lo motivaba “la violencia del amor”. (Hom. 27 de nov. de 1977.) La voluntad de permanecer al lado de los pobres y marginados bajo esas adversas circunstancias abona la santidad de los dos hombres. San Martín tomó su opción, asumiendo el rol de “hermano y enfermero de todos, singularmente de los más pobres”. (ACIPrensa.) “Proporcionaba comida, vestidos y medicinas a los débiles”, nos dice Juan XXIII, “favorecía con todas sus fuerzas a los campesinos, a los negros y a los mestizos que en aquel tiempo desempeñaban los más bajos oficios, de tal manera que fue llamado por la voz popular Martín de la Caridad”. (Homilía, supra.) Por supuesto, Mons. Romero asumió también un rol protagónico a favor de los más pobres.

Si bien el oficialismo demoró bastante en canonizar a San Martín de Porres, la aceptación a nivel popular ha sido inmediata por toda la América Latina desde que la devoción ha sido promovida por la Iglesia. De hecho, el santo peruano ha tenido mayor aceptación en El Salvador, donde las Obras Fray Martín de Porres fueron fundadas en 1956—aún antes de su canonización—con el fin de ayudar espiritual y materialmente a las personas más necesitadas del área de San Salvador. Los coordinadores de las Obras consideran a San Martín “uno de los santos más conocidos y venerados en el país”. (Sitio web de las OFM.) Y el mismo Mons. Romero constató la “forma típica” en que la fiesta de San Martín de Porres se celebra en El Salvador: “muchos niños vestidos de Fray Martín, como dominicos con su escobita y muchas niñas, vestidas de Santa Rosa de Lima -qué cosa más simpática- habían preparado una confirmación de jóvenes, junto con el P. Roberto, las Hermanas Religiosas Dominicas y las Religiosas Belgas”. (Hom. 5 de nov. de 1978.) Su imagen ha sido difundida masivamente por la cultura popular, en telenovelas, y hasta adaptado para un video musical de la cantante Madonna. Taraborrelli, Madonna: An Intimate Biography. Simon and Schuster, Nueva York (2002) pág. 173. Sin embargo, Mons. Romero insiste en que las insignias de la Iglesia, como San Martín, no pueden ser arrebatadas y que, lejos de las intrigas del mundo, “la Iglesia es esta comunidad, comunión de amor, comunión de fe, vida, esto es lo que quiere la Iglesia”, dice monseñor. (Hom., supra.)

Ahora hace falta reclamar la imagen de Mons. Romero como propiedad de la Iglesia que ha sido tomada por otras fuerzas y que es necesario regresar a su lugar propicio.

ÓSCAR ROMERO and DOROTHY DAY

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Archbishop Oscar Romero and Dorothy Day (1897-1980) are like photographic negatives—mirror images in some respects; and still quite diametrically opposite! Both are heroes of progressive Catholics (the National Catholic Reporter recently mused: “We sometimes ponder who has gotten the most coverage from NCR over the years, Dorothy Day or Oscar Romero. Probably about even”), but the popular hagiography often glosses over their differences. (See also, Marie Dennis, A Retreat With Oscar Romero and Dorothy Day: Walking With the Poor, Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 1997.) Their contrasts make Romero’s and Day’s commitment to social justice the more astonishing, and bolster and confirm their stands because they are reached through such opposite trajectories.

Both ended up becoming icons of Catholic social justice and held similar views, but they reached these positions through widely diverging paths. It can be said that Dorothy Day found Catholicism through social justice and that Oscar Romero found social justice through Catholicism. That Day was a rebel who got religion; and, Romero, a believer who stood up to the status quo. Both paths have been described as going through a “conversion,” but from different angles. In Day’s case, her “conversion” was “from a life akin to that of the pre-converted Augustine of Hippo:” she started out as a non-believer; she cavorted with “communists, socialists, and anarchists;” she even had an abortion. (Cardinal John J. O'Connor, “Dorothy Day’s Sainthood Cause Begins,” March 16, 2000.) Archbishop Romero’s trajectory was a study in the hermeneutics of obedience: he went from “operating out of a model of assistance and incipient promotion of human flourishing” to making a “qualitative leap with regard to social commitment,” because he felt that was what the Church wanted him to do. (Cardinal Oscar Andrés Rodriguez Maradiaga, “Monsignor Romero: A Bishop for the Third Millennium”—Compare Cardinal O’Connor’s statement about Day: “her life is a model for all in the third millennium, but especially for women who have had or are considering abortions...”)

Dorothy Day grew up as an activist. (C. K. Robertson, A Dangerous Dozen: Twelve Christians Who Threatened the Status Quo But Taught Us to Live Like Jesus, Woodstock: SkyLight Paths Publishing, 2011.) As a young person, Day lived in the Bohemian Lower East Side of New York, where she worked on the staffs of socialist publications after dropping out of school. Day was living in a common law marriage and was “[m]ade pregnant by a man who insisted she have an abortion, who then abandoned her anyway.” (O’Connor, “On the Idea of Sainthood and Dorothy Day.”) Having grown up with ambivalent religious instruction, Day saw herself as an agnostic, but she was drawn to Roman Catholicism, finally being baptized at age 30. After formally joining the Church, Day “proved a stout defender of human life,” and she “chided those who wanted to join her in her works of social justice, but who, in her judgment, didn't take the Church seriously enough, and didn't bother about getting to Mass.” (O’Connor, id., supra.)

Romero, on the other hand, was always the consummate churchman. “Monsignor Romero chose as the theme of his episcopate Sentire cum Ecclesia.” (Rodriguez, supra.) Romero chose this motto early in his career “specifically” because it denoted “unconditional adherence to the [Church] hierarchy.” (Romero, “Aggiornamento,” San Miguel diocesan paper, January 15, 1965.) As late as the 1970’s, Romero made an impression for “his profound piety, his simplicity, and his humility.” (Rodriguez.) Being in this modest man’s presence, one would have “no idea that [one] was in the presence of someone who would eventually become the most famous Salvadoran” and “perhaps the most beloved martyr of the twentieth century.” (Id.) According to Romero’s closest collaborators, Romero’s evolution, “was not a conversion in the usual sense of the term, of turning from the wrong path onto the correct path,” but, “it was, rather, the constant seeking of the will of God that led him to face bravely the structural sin that was crushing the little ones of his dear country.” (Id.) His process was “the natural evolution of those who live in a permanent state of conversion in total openness to God and neighbor.” (Id.)

In the end, both Day and Romero end up in about the same place—orthodox (Romero was, and Day became) but unconventional (Day was, and Romero became). “[R]adical though she was,” Day’s “respect for and commitment and obedience to Church teaching were unswerving.” (O’Connor, “On the Idea...”) This combination of faith and activism can lead nonbelievers and believers who cannot grasp the fervor in this mix to question its fidelity to the Church. “It has also been noted that Dorothy Day often seemed friendly to political groups hostile to the Church,” but “she was neither a member of such political groupings nor did she approve of their tactics” or beliefs contrary to Church teaching, even if she shared with them “a common respect for the poor and a desire for economic equity.” (O’Connor, “Sainthood Cause,” supra.) Of course, the same things can be said and, in fact, have been said about Romero (and are the ongoing subject of discussion in this blog).

Similarly, both Day and Romero take up and defend the cause of the poor. The juxtaposition of Romero as an “advocate” and Day as an “activist” (Robertson, supra.) is true in part, but it can lead us to overlook the fact that Day was persuasive in her outspokenness in defense of the poor and therefore was an advocate, too; and that Romero promoted particular projects to benefit the poor, which can be considered “activism” on his part. Romero promoted his Archdiocese’s Legal Aid Office, recruiting law students and lawyers to fact check the content of his homilies regarding human rights and to provide assistance in dire cases that no one else would take or that authorities denied having knowledge about. (One of these law student volunteers—Florentín Melendez—now sits on the Salvadoran Supreme Court.) Romero supported the Mothers of the Disappeared. He boycotted all government functions in protest of political repression. He counseled conscientious politicians, criticized unscrupulous ones and lobbied on pending or proposed legislation. In short, Romero was not all talk.  As for Day, the founder of the Catholic Worker Movement also was an author: “Her books and books about her and her Movement continue to be reprinted due to demand. The University of Marquette which holds her papers, letters, notes, etc., reports frequent visitors and researches.”  (O’Connor, “Sainthood Cause,” supra.)

The contrast in Archbishop Romero’s and Dorothy Day’s personalities can even be seen in their attitudes toward their own sainthood. Discussing threats against his life two weeks before his assassination, Archbishop Romero said that “martyrdom is a grace of God that I do not think I deserve”—adding that he would accept it, if it came, and offered it for the good of his people. (Rodriguez, supra.) Day was more curt on the subject: “Don't call me a saint,” she famously said: “I don't want to be dismissed so easily.”  (Day and Romero both died in 1980.)

Cardinal O’Connor’s words about Day can be applied to both her and Romero:

There are some who believe that [she] was indeed a living saint, that the cause of canonization need not therefore be processed ... But why does the Church canonize saints? In part so that their person, their works, their lives will become that much better known and that they will encourage others to follow in their footsteps. And, of course, that the Church may say formally and officially—‘This is sanctity, this is the road to eternal life, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to house the homeless, to love every human person made in the image and likeness of God.’

(“On the Idea...”)

MONS. ROMERO y la MADRE TERESA

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La Madre Teresa de Calcuta (1910-1997) y Mons. Romero son ejemplares de la famosa dicotomía de Dom Hélder Câmara: «Cuando doy comida a los pobres me llaman santo. Cuando pregunto por qué son pobres me llaman comunista». La Madre Teresa dio comida a los pobres y por eso ganó el premio Nobel de la Paz y ha sido beatificada por la Iglesia. Mons. Romero denunció por qué hay pobres, y por eso fue tildado “Marxnulfo”, no ha sido beatificado, y cuando fue nominado para el premio Nobel resultó finalmente desfavorecido cuando la Madre Teresa recibió el galardón.

Esta dicotomía no es de valores opuestos sino que armónicos, ya que, “la justicia es inseparable de la caridad” («POPULORUM PROGRESSIO» 22, «CARITAS IN VERITATE» 6), y al examinar las actuaciones de la Madre Teresa y Mons. Romero reconocemos la sintonía que mantienen. Ambos comprenden, “la hermosa y dura verdad”—nos dice Mons. Romero—“de que la fe cristiana no nos separa del mundo, sino que nos sumerge en él”. (Discurso al recibir el «honoris causa» de la Universidad de Lovaina, 2 de febrero de 1980.) Es necesario, nos dice, salir del templo, del santuario, a la ciudad, a la “polis”. Esta es la misma opción por los pobres de Teresa en 1948 cuando abandona el claustro de su convento y sale a las calles de Calcuta a ayudar a los ancianos, los moribundos, y los leprosos. Participando de su miseria, cuenta como sentía la tentación de regresar al albergue y la comodidad de su convento, pero tuvo la intuición de que, “Nuestro Señor quiere que yo sea una monja libre, cubierta con la pobreza de la Cruz”.

Tanto Mons. Romero como la Madre Teresa tuvieron que rodearse y empaparse en sus ámbitos no religiosos de un mundo sin Dios. “En el breve tiempo que me ha tocado estar dirigiendo la Arquidiócesis han pasado ya cuatro gobiernos diferentes con diversos proyectos políticos”, explica Mons. Romero, “La Iglesia por lo tanto ha tenido que ir juzgando de lo político”. (Lovaina, supra.) Por su parte, la Madre Teresa aceptó las instalaciones de un templo de la diosa Kali para dar muertes dignas, con ritos según las devociones de cada persona beneficiada, ya sean hindúes o musulmanes, de India, Pakistán, Etiopía, Tanzanía y otros lugares por Asia, África, Europa y Estados Unidos, donde sus misiones la llevaban. En esta inmersión total en esta dura realidad, de privación, lejos de la Iglesia y de la cristiandad, la Madre Teresa sufrió sentimientos de un vacío espiritual, hasta el punto de dudar la misma existencia de Dios.

Sin embargo, su propósito y motivación al emprender esta estancia en la austeridad es precisamente buscar a Dios, y a pesar de las acusaciones contra Mons. Romero de que había traicionado su misión religiosa y los sentimientos de la Madre Teresa de alienación espiritual, ambos encuentran a Jesús. “En ese mundo sin rostro humano”—nos dice Mons. Romero—se logra encontrar con el “sacramento actual del Siervo Sufriente de Yahvé”. (Lovaina.) Y le hace eco la Madre Teresa cuando nos dice, “hoy hay tanto sufrimiento—y siento que la pasión de Cristo está siendo vivida de nuevo”. (Discurso Premio Nobel, 11 de diciembre de 1979.) “Él se vuelve el hambriento, el desnudo, el sin hogar, el enfermo, el prisionero, el solitario, el no querido … Hambriento de nuestro amor, y este es el hambre de nuestra gente pobre”. (Id.)

Ambos valoran al pobre de una manera que difiere de las formas anticuadas y paternalistas de entenderlos. Tanto Mons. Romero como la Madre Teresa se fijan en el pobre no solo como un beneficiario de nuestra generosidad (léase: lástima) o un sujeto que nos permite experimentar la caridad (léase: remordimiento), sino personas que tienen algo que ofrecernos, y cuyo valor intrínseco sirve para beneficiarnos. Los pobres nos predican el cristianismo: “poniéndose del lado del pobre e intentando darle vida sabremos en qué consiste, la eterna verdad del evangelio”, dice Mons. Romero. (Lovaina, supra.) Madre Teresa está de acuerdo: “Ellos nos pueden enseñar tantas cosas hermosas”, dice, recordando como los pobres en uno de sus centros de atenciones le confirmaron un aspecto de su misión: “El otro día uno de ellos vino a agradecer y dijo: Ustedes que han hecho voto de castidad son las mejores para enseñar planeación familiar. Porque no es más que auto-control y amor del uno al otro”. Este tema que era de debate entre expertos, sociólogos y teólogos, también era competencia de una persona pobre: “Y estas son las personas que no tienen nada que comer, tal vez no tienen un hogar donde vivir, pero son grandes personas. Los pobres son gente maravillosa”. (Teresa, Discurso Nobel, supra.)

Algunos han criticado el camino llevado por la Madre Teresa por ayudar en casos concretos pero no cambiar el sistema que genera desigualdades e injusticia. Según esta crítica, “los ricos y los poderosos la amaban”, porque ella no les exigía nada y a eso se debe su premio Nobel y su beatificación, mientras que los teólogos que denuncian a los ricos son “depurados o suprimidos”. (Sara Flounders, Workers World, 25 de septiembre de 1997, traducido por Iniciativa Socialista.) La Madre Teresa tenía una respuesta a ese ataque: “Creen que la justicia social resuelve todos los problemas y no se dan cuenta que es insuficiente,” insiste. “Sin amor, no pasa de ser una nueva opresión. No habrá justicia social sin amor”. Es decir, a lo contrario de lo que muchos creen, el amor es más exigente que la justicia: “Por justicia se da al prójimo sólo lo que se le debe, pero por caridad lo que necesita”. Y Mons. Romero coincide en que la apertura interior a la caridad es más importante que la propia justicia: “a la Iglesia no le importa que haya sólo una distribución más equitativa de las riquezas: le interesa que se dé esa distribución porque existe realmente en todos los hombres una actitud de querer compartir no sólo los bienes, sino la misma vida”. (Homilía del 24 de febrero de 1980.)

Pero la Madre Teresa reconoce la necesidad de hacer justicia cuando denuncia, “Cuando un pobre se muere de hambre, no es porque Dios no lo ha cuidado. Es porque ni tu ni yo quiso darle lo que necesitaba”. Y está dispuesta a plantear preguntas incómodas: “Muchas personas están muy preocupadas por los niños en India, por los niños en África, donde muchos mueren, tal vez de desnutrición, de hambre y demás”, denuncia Teresa, “pero millones están muriendo deliberadamente”—por el aborto. (Discurso Nobel.) Mons. Romero está de acuerdo: “Si sentimos la represión porque nos matan a jóvenes y gente que ya es grande, lo mismo es quitar la vida en las entrañas de la mujer: es hombre como el profesor que es asesinado, como el Ministro de Educación que es asesinado; también el niño en las entrañas es un hombre que por el aborto es asesinado”. (Hom. 17/6/1979.)

Cuando la Madre Teresa ganó el premio Nobel, Mons. Romero le envió un telegrama dándole la felicitación. En él nos hace saber que comprendió que ambos trabajaban por el mismo fin:

Madre Teresa de Calcuta, India. Alégrome Premio Nóbel condecore en usted [la] opción preferencial [por los] pobres como eficaz camino para la paz. Quienes generosamente deseáronme semejante honor siéntanse igualmente satisfechos [por] haber estimulado [la] misma causa. Bendígola. El Arzobispo. (Hom. 21/10/1979.)

Y cuando la Madre Teresa estuvo en El Salvador hizo una peregrinación por la Casita de Monseñor:

ROMERO and OPUS DEI

[Index]

[EN ESPAÑOL – desde el blog de Eleuterio Fernández Guzmán]

[ITALIANO — Google Translate]

If you want to make both conservative and progressive Catholics squirm, tell them that Óscar Romero was friendly with Opus Dei. Reactions may be similar to the anonymous poster on a Catholic blog who could not wrap his mind around the fact that Romero had written to Pope Paul VI asking for the canonization of the conservative Catholic organization’s founder: “I cannot believe Archbishop Romero to have been an admirer of [Josemaría] Escrivá de Balaguer” (pictured)—the poster commented—“this letter could well be a fraud.”

The letter is not a fraud. Romero so admired Opus Dei that, during a visit to Rome, he went to its world headquarters to visit with Escrivá and the two hit it off. (Cejas.) John Allen Jr. writes that Romero’s letter came “before the 1977 murder in El Salvador of Father Rutilio Grande, an event that ‘radicalized’ Romero and led him to distance himself from some earlier conservative views.” ALLEN, Opus Dei: An Objective Look Behind the Myths and Reality of the Most Controversial Force in the Catholic Church, Doubleday, 2005. Perhaps, Allen would be surprised to learn that Romero did not distance himself from Opus Dei—and, in fact, Romero’s post-1977 preaching on social justice largely dovetails with principles espoused by Opus Dei. Romero made seven flattering references to Opus Dei in his Diary and his sermons between 1978 and 1980, and he attended an Opus Dei retreat on the day he was killed. He also visited Msgr. Escrivá’s grave in Rome and prayed tearfully before the tomb. (Sáenz.) Romero’s affinity with Opus was more than the brief flirtation some have supposed. Nor was the relationship broken off after Romero became archbishop. In fact, it deepened.

Archbishop Romero drew on Opus Dei’s concept of lay spirituality to bolster his view of how a just society should be constituted. In its tenets, Opus Dei sets out “to put into practice the teaching of the universal call to sanctity, and to promote at all levels of society the sanctification of ordinary work, and by means of ordinary work.” (Apostolic Constitution «Ut Sit», whereby Pope John Paul II authorizes the Opus Dei prelature.) The majority of Opus Dei members are lay people, and the membership includes secular priests. This construct comports with Romero’s vision, laid out in his last Christ the King sermon: “Not only does Christ make us subjects in his kingdom but we are made priests, that is, he shares with us the dignity that baptism conferred upon us when we became a priestly people”. (November 25, 1979 Homily.) Like Msgr. Escrivá, Romero envisions a priestly people who transform society through their ordinary work: “we are priests who consecrate the world to God,” he said. “The lawyer, doctor, engineer, government official, worker, day laborer, woman in the market place, student … when these people live out the beauty of redemption that was conferred on them at the time of baptism, when they live as a priestly people, then they consecrate their profession, their clients and their work to God.” (Id.)

This was the highest hope for Liberation Romero harbored. “How ridiculous are liberations that talk only about having higher wages, about having money and better prices!,” he preached. “Liberations that talk only about political change, about who is in the government ... such liberations are only talking about bits and pieces of the great liberation,” he said, which is, “the great liberation of Christ, the great Liberator.” (Id.) Separately, he called on political reformers to join their efforts to the Church’s plan of salvation, but the thrust of the transformative change that was needed was the work of the lay faithful. The day before his martyrdom, Romero reiterated: “The great task of Christians must be to absorb the spirit of God's kingdom and, with souls filled with the kingdom of God, to work on the projects of history.” (March 23, 1980 Hom.) He added, “My dear Christians, I have always told you, and I will repeat, that the true liberators of our people must come from us Christians, from the people of God.” (Id.) But for this to be possible, it was necessary that the Church train and organize classes of lay people to go be the worker ants of the Kingdom. “What is lacking,” he said, “is greater conviction and the honorable simplicity of women and men who are willing to commit themselves to service of God. This is God’s plan,” he added, “the simple life, the ordinary life—but giving this simple, ordinary life a meaning of love and freedom.” (Feb. 24, 1980 Hom.) This is what Opus Dei, “which emphasizes the values of prayer and holiness of the vocation of the laity,” offers, Romero wrote in His Diary. (Sept. 6, 1979 entry.) “I think it is a mine of wealth for our Church—the holiness of the laity in their own profession.” (Id.)

All this is not to say that there weren’t political tensions between Opus Dei and Romero—only that Romero had a sincere affinity for The Work (Opus means “work” in Latin). Romero chided some members of the organization when he remarked, “Opus Dei has many members and their leaders have told me that many members do not understand their role and have become fanatics.” (July 1, 1979 Hom.) “If the members truly lived what is stated in the fourth chapter of the Constitution on the Church, a chapter that outlines the spirituality of Opus Dei,” Romero went on, “then we could rely on many Christians who through their professions and their holiness would do much good for the Church.” (Id.) At the end of that year, Romero announced that he had received a letter of support from the then Prelate of Opus Dei—Msgr. Escrivá’s successor—pledging Opus Dei’s loyalty and allegiance to Romero. “[W]e work and [we] direct the carriage, as our founder ... used to say,” the Prelate’s letter to Romero stated, “in the same direction as the diocesan prelate.” (Dec. 23, 1979 Hom.)

Clearly, Romero maintained friendly relations with the leadership of Opus. In October 1978, Romero congratulated the society on its fiftieth anniversary. “The Church rejoices with every effort of sanctification in the world and at this time of the Church’s crisis,” he said, “desires that people not only live a personal and individual holiness but also strive for that communitarian holiness that gives witness to the light of the world.” (Oct. 8, 1978 Hom.) Later that month, he remarked on the continuing work of the Opus. “This holiness must be extended to the community because no one lives the Christian commitment for themselves alone,” he said. “Christians must be the odor of holiness and the seed of unity and salvation.” (Oct. 29, 1978 Hom.) After lunch with the Work’s clergy in March 1979, Romero gave them a signed photograph, inscribed, “To the Archdiocesan Opus, with my blessing as Pastor and Friend.”  (His Diary, supra.) He congratulated the society on the fourth anniversary of their founder’s death that September and again on their anniversary in October. “Hopefully this wonderful witness results in the needed changes of our society,” he wished: “changes which must be brought about in light of the Gospel.” (Oct. 7, 1979 Hom.) He lunched with the Work’s clergy, including his successor, Fernando Sáenz Lacalle, later that month, as he would again on the day of his martyrdom the next year. (Sáenz, supra.)

After Romero was killed, his vicar general, Msgr. Ricardo Urioste went into Romero’s room and in the desk drawer he found a penitential chain that is worn pressed to the knee, to cause pain for penance. “This practice is common in the spirituality of Opus Dei.” (Greenan, unpublished 135.)

Post Datum


Here is an Opus Dei video (in Spanish) summarizing Romero's visit with St. Josemaria.
Here is the letter that Opus Dei Prelate Alvaro del Portillo sent Romero, followed by its literal translation.

Opus Dei

General President
Rome. November 9, 1979

Most Rev. Mgr. Oscar A. Romero
Archbishop of San Salvador

Your Excellency/My dear Mr. Archbishop,

Through the Opus Dei Chaplain in your dear country, I have received your affectionate letter recalling the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the fundation of Opus Dei.

I wish to answer immediately to thank you for that expression of affection, and for joining our thanksgiving to the Lord for all the benefits he has bestowed upon His Work in this first fifty years of its existence.

I know that the partners and associates of Opus Dei--there as everywhere, thanks be to Go--work with commitment and are motivated only by the desire to serve the Church. I am aware of the fondness they have for you and of the fidelity with which they live the Spirit of the Work, which leads us to echo the instructions of the Reverend Ordinary in all the dioceses in which we work and to direct the carriage--as our Founder, of holy memory, used to say--in the same direction as the diocesan prelate.

I beg you to continue to pray for our apostolic work throughout the world. For my own part, I assure you that I will commend you daily during Holy Mass, praying for you and for your labor on behalf of souls which you carry out.

Thanking you again for your letter I remain yours truly,

Devoted in the Lord
Alvaro del Portillo

ROMERO y LEFEBVRE

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La diferencia entre Mons. Romero y Mons. Marcel-François Marie Lefebvre (1905-1991), líder del grupo cismático que ahora está negociando su re-inserción a la Iglesia, fue expresada por el mismo Mons. Romero cuando dijo: “Hermanos, es triste el cisma. Hemos de pedir mucho por estas situaciones cismáticas y jamás vayamos a pensar nosotros en una autonomía que es suicidio”. Resumió el tema sin alguna ambigüedad, declarando que él: “Preferiría mil veces morir, antes de ser obispo cismático”. (Homilía del 26 de Agosto de 1979.)

Dos arzobispos y dos destinos muy distintos, dos respuestas diametralmente opuestas a la misma situación. Tanto Romero como Lefebvre nacieron a principios del siglo XX, “Eran tiempos en que la misa se decía en latín y de espaldas al pueblo”, recuerda Mons. Gregorio Rosa Chávez, quien fue el asesor de comunicaciones para Mons. Romero. El entonces padre Romero transmitía la misa por la radio, explicando la liturgia y predicando la homilía: “Ésa era su fórmula para hacer ‘radiofónica’ una misa en latín”, explica Mons. Rosa. Tanto Romero como Lefebvre eran productos de esa era pre Conciliar, y ambos tenían fama de ser prelados conservadores, con ideas rígidas sobre las prácticas de la fe. Como sacerdote, Mons. Romero se enfrentó con las autoridades civiles cuando reusó un homenaje al prócer salvadoreño Gerardo Barrios, por ser masón. (James BROCKMAN, Romero: A Life [Romero, una vida]. Nueva York: Orbis Books, 1999, pág. 40.) Durante los años 70, se enfrentó con sacerdotes que sospechaba de ser marxistas. (Op. Cit., págs. 48-52.) Y Mons. Lefebvre por su parte hubiera estado muy de acuerdo, ya que él declaró en 1976: “¡no se puede dialogar con los masones o con los comunistas, no se dialoga con el diablo!”

Ambos tuvieron enfrentamientos con los cleros progresistas de aquella época. En 1968, Lefebvre abandonó su cargo como superior general de los Padres del Espíritu Santo debido a los reproches que le hacían los miembros más progresistas y la fuerte campaña que montaron en su contra. De la misma manera, Mons. Romero se encontró enemistado con el clero progresista en San Salvador en 1970, cuando era obispo auxiliar, y tuvo que ser cambiado a otra diócesis, en Santiago de María en 1974.  (BROCKMAN.) Pero después de encontrarse en esa misma situación de un cambio incómodo en su Iglesia, Mons. Lefebvre optó por la rebeldía y Mons. Romero optó por la obediencia—“obediencia hasta la muerte”, a la línea del Concilio, y a la predicación social de los papas. “Hermanos”, dijo Mons. Romero al principio del mes de su martirio, “la gloria más grande de un pastor es vivir en comunión con el Papa. Para mí, es el secreto de la verdad y de la eficacia de mi predicación estar en comunión con el Papa”. (Hom. 2 de marzo de 1980.) Cuando Lefebvre dialogó con Pablo VI y Juan Pablo II, endureció su postura, mientras que Mons. Romero fue a Roma a sostener “una confrontación de criterios como cuando Pablo iba a Jerusalén a hablar con Pedro de lo que predicaba y con la disposición natural de corregir lo que no está bien”. (Hom. 10 de febrero de 1980.)

Para Lefebvre, los cambios en la Iglesia después del Concilio Vaticano II como que sobrepasaban su fe en la Iglesia, en sus instituciones y sus pastores, para poder aceptarlos. Un gran contraste con la aptitud de Mons. Romero, quien llegó a decir, “Los cambios en la Iglesia, queridos hermanos” —y aquí como que se le ocurrió la obstinación de Lefebvre—“sobre todo los que hemos sido formados en otras épocas, en otros sistemas, tenemos que tener y pedirle al Señor esa gracia de tenernos que adoptar sin traicionar nuestra fe, ser comprensivos con la hora de hoy”. (Hom. 23 de marzo de 1980.) Para Lefebvre, la Tradición era un principio predominante en su insistencia, por ejemplo, en mantener la misa en latín, pero el Beato Juan Pablo II le reprochó ese concepto, diciendo que era “una imperfecta y contradictoria noción de Tradición”. (Carta Apostólica «ECCLESIA DEI», 4). Según el Concilio, observa el beato pontífice, la Tradición crece con las experiencias y las vivencias de la historia según va siendo interpretada por los pastores auténticos de la Iglesia, “cuando comprenden internamente los misterios que viven, cuando las proclaman los obispos, sucesores de los Apóstoles en el carisma de la verdad”. (Ibid.) Mons. Romero compara la resistencia al Concilio a las acusaciones a Cristo basadas en las leyes de los alimentos impuros que ignoraban lo verdaderamente sagrado y santo: “Quien sabe, hermanos, si muchas de las críticas a los cambios de la Iglesia proceden de este espíritu”, se pregunta. (Hom. 2 de sep. de 1979.) “Han hecho consistir una religión de tradiciones humanas. Tradiciones humanas son ciertos cultos, ciertas maneras de vestir, ciertas formas de rezar. Rezar de espaldas o de frente, en latín o español, son tradiciones”. Pero en lugar de seguir ciegamente estas tradiciones, “Busquemos lo que más agrada a Dios”, insiste Mons. Romero: “a todos nos toca un esfuerzo por hacer una religión que no esté vacía de los pensamientos de Dios por estar atendiendo las tradiciones de los hombres”. (Ibid.)

Aparte de las reformas litúrgicas, Lefebvre se oponía a la liberación de normas con respecto al ecumenismo, la libertad religiosa y la colegialidad dentro de la Iglesia—todo basado en el antiguo concepto de una fe dogmatica. En este sentido, la aptitud de Mons. Romero también hace mucho contraste a la falta de flexibilidad y adaptación de Lefebvre. En el libro “Piezas Para un Retrato” consta un relato que ilustra bien el proceso de evolución que Mons. Romero vivió en el campo del ecumenismo. Cuentan que llegaron a visitarlo ya siendo arzobispo de San Salvador, los miembros de una Iglesia protestante. “Le sorprendió que llegaran a verlo unos evangélicos. Tal vez era primera ocasión. Fuimos un buen grupo, el pastor y el cuerpo de diáconos con sus esposas, en representación de una pequeña Iglesia bautista, la Iglesia Emmanuel”. Después de una pequeña falta de confianza, hubo un acercamiento con ellos, tanto así que Mons. Romero habló sobre el encuentro en su próxima homilía. Sin embargo, al referirse a ellos, los llamó unos “hermanos separados”. Explica uno de los miembros de la asamblea: “Era el lenguaje habitual de la Iglesia católica en aquellos tiempos”. En la siguiente reunión, uno de los pastores le reclamó el lenguaje a Mons. Romero:

Monseñor se quedó pensativo unos instantes.

-Hagamos un trato -nos propuso-. Ustedes no me llamen más Monseñor sino hermano y yo no les vuelvo a decir ‘hermanos separados’.

-¡Trato hecho!

Y desde aquel día él nos llamó a nosotros ‘los hermanos de la Emmanuel’ y nosotros a él, ‘el hermano Romero’.

Aceptar los cambios y nuevas prácticas de la Iglesia fue un reto para estos dos hombres de la Iglesia del siglo XX. Se puede argumentar que por su obediencia, Mons. Romero murió el 24 de marzo de 1980, martirizado, y que por su rebeldía, Mons. Lefebvre murió el 25 de marzo de 1991, excomunicado.

ROMERO CRUCIS

[Indice (spagnolo)]|[Indice (inglese)]

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Nulla parla piu di fede popolare in America Latina che le stazioni della croce in Settimana Santa. Nella parrocchia di Assunzione Paleca a Città Delgado, questa devozione ha acquisito un gusto particolare di Mons. Romero. Le foto che seguono, dell Via Crucis di questo anno dimostrare la devozione Romerana tra i fedeli in El Salvador. Grazie alla parrocchia di Assunzione Paleca per il uso di questi immagini.

Gesù è caricato della Croce.

La processione percorre le strade di Paleca.

Annunciando la stazione.

Camminare con Cristo.

Gesù incontra le donne di Città Delgado (San Salvador)

IX Stazione: Gesù cade per la terza volta. (Vedere le immagini di mons. Romero in questo e in altri altari delle stazioni.)

Scende la notte.

X Stazione: Gesù è inchiodato sulla Croce.

Parrochiani seguono la processione.

Il Parroco (P. Gregorio de Jesus Landaverde).

XII Stazione: Gesù muore sulla Croce.

XIII Stazione: Gesù è deposto dalla Croce.

Gesù è Risorto!

CODE RED: CANONIZATION PROCESS FROZEN

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Archbishop Romero’s canonization drive is dormant. Although the sleep is not intractable, no plan has been announced to get it moving again. Therefore, we are changing our amber status (which indicates moderate or slow forward motion) assessed in October 2010 to red (signifying stagnation) as of April 2012.

Msgr. Ricardo Urioste, the president of Fundación Romero told the Salvadoran daily «La Página» that there was “no news in the process, the only news is the same as always—all we do is wait.” Super Martyrio made a similar assessment in October 2010, when we analyzed the pause in progress to be tantamount to a yellow traffic light. But, a year and a half later, that delay is more than just a yellow. This red light, though, is just a stop light—not a warning light. We do not find that an essential or fundamental factor for the canonization cause is compromised. We simply note that case has gone inactive, and that authorities in the Vatican and in El Salvador must act in order for it to snap out of its dormant state. As Gianni Valente of the Italian daily «La Stampa» wrote in a recent analysis, the cause has lapsed into “standby mode” and there has been no effort “to seriously restart the process through the ordinary steps and procedures.”

Among the possible explanations for a canonization drive to slow down, we can eliminate the most worrisome ones. We know that the Vatican authorities have vindicated Archbishop Romero from charges of doctrinal error and from allegations that his pastoral actions raised concerns that would halt his canonization altogether. Separate probes by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith examined those questions and failed to produce disqualifying facts. Additionally, the Romero case has advanced substantially, and actually moved at breakneck speed in earlier phases of the investigation. As we detailed in our analysis earlier this year, Archbishop Romero’s cause has progressed ahead of most others submitted 1980 and thereafter, and even though it lags behind a privileged group of candidates for the sainthood (such as John Paul II and Mother Teresa), it actually out-performed the “fast-track” saints we analyzed in the Phase I of the process, taking merely 1 year to complete this leg of the process (compare 6 years for Opus Dei founder Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer and 8 years for Padre Pio).

Loss of papal favor is another possible explanation for delay that we tend to discount. Papal support is useful because, as Fr. Daniel Ols, the relator of Archbishop Romero’s cause told the National Catholic Reporter in 2003, “if the Holy Father wants things to accelerate, they speed up.” Between March 2007 and February 2008, Pope Benedict mentioned Archbishop Romero three times in public, in less than one year. He has not mentioned him again—most notably, he did not mention him this past week, when the Pope was in Latin America during the Romero anniversary for the first time. The papal trip and the Romero anniversary were the two largest stories out of Latin America in the Catholic world, but they might as well have been on different planets. Yet, Benedict’s familiarity with Romero’s case (he was head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith when Romero was cleared) and enthusiasm of his previous statements make it hard to imagine he could have had a change of heart. In fact, some of the Benedict’s preaching so mirrors Romero’s that this blogger has wondered where the common language comes from.

The «La Stampa» story posits the prospect that the red light is really red tape: that “the coordination required between the Congregation for the Causes of Saints and the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith plays a role” in explaining why “the Roman phase of the beatification process has ground to a halt,” the article states. Also along the same order would be lackluster support from the Salvadoran bishops conference and lack of focus by Bishop Vincenzo Paglia, the Postulator of the cause—a high profile Italian prelate with a lot on his plate including, most recently, a much touted candidacy to be appointed Patriarch of Venice (it did not pan out). But all of these bureaucratic impediments are surely outweighed by the universal acclaim for Romero and presumed papal support for the cause. As Nancy Kelsey, an American Indian from the Ottawa and Potawatomi tribes who lives in Detroit told the National Catholic Reporter, “If he isn't made a saint, the Vatican is underestimating his staying power, the message of social justice; it transcends the civil war and it’s a universal message.”

There is one other explanation for the delay left, and it’s the most elusive factor of all. It may be that we have been looking for the Devil’s Advocate (the archaic term for a cleric who was traditionally charged with arguing against a canonization) in all the wrong places and, just as in the old Rolling Stones’ lyric: “After all it was you and me.” In an interview with the San Salvador archdiocese’s «Ecclesia» magazine, Romero biographer Msgr. Jesús Delgado posits that the Vatican does not think the time is yet ripe to beatify Romero because of continuing polarization surrounding his name, particularly in Salvadoran society. As «La Stampa» puts it, beatifying Romero would favor (or be exploited by) “popular movements inspired by Marxism and the revolutionary guerrillas of the 70s.” Therefore, we must wait until some of Romero’s admirers make an overture toward traditional Catholic spirituality by showing an interest in Romero’s saintliness, as opposed to only caring about his utility to their partisan objectives. As Pope Benedict stated it, “The problem was that a political party wrongly wished to use him as their badge, as an emblematic figure,” and the Church must re-contextualize his image, “and protect it from these attempts to exploit it.” (May 9, 2007 Press conference.)

In El Salvador, there are signs that the encouragement from former archbishop Msgr. Fernando Sáenz Lacalle and the current archbishop, Msgr. José Luis Escobar Alas, to express devotion to Romero through prayer and respectful piety as opposed to merely political expressions, have led to a flourishing of Romero spirituality. In fact, such devotion has always been there, especially among the humble poor who wait on God (Matthew 5:3; 6:33). Pope John Paul attested to this during his last visit to El Salvador (1996), recounting that, “When the Gospel of the Beatitudes was read in front of the cathedral where the remains of [Archbishop Romero] are kept” , the memory of Romero and his fellow archbishops, “reawakened in all the will to work together by building a more humane world.” (February 14, 1996 General Audience.) That devotion has multiplied—for example, the recent National Catholic Reporter story recounts how the young are making Romero part of their faith.  The article relates how, “As each anniversary of his death approached,” one Salvadoran family living abroad, “took their sons to Mass, to events that addressed the tragedy but also the good that has come from it over the years.” The Artigas even made a family pilgrimage to El Salvador: “"They saw people praying, placing their petitions," at the crypt, Artiga said, which showed his sons how some Salvadorans still revere him and pray to him to answer their petitions.”

Now, we must wait to see if more of Romero’s admirers will follow the Artigas in remembering Romero in a faith context. If they do so, they will be heeding Romero’s own words, when he pleaded in his last Sunday sermon, “my dear political brothers, one must … not manipulate the Church to make it say what we want it to say, rather we should say what the Church is teaching.” We must also wait to see if the hierarchy will be decisive in embracing its teaching function to guide the faithful and restore Archbishop Romero to his rightful place. As Fr. José M. Tojeira, Rector of Central America University argues in a forceful opinion piece entitled “We cannot wait 50 years,” the faithful expect the Church leadership to lead.

Photo: The faithful mark the 32nd anniversary of Msgr. Romero’s martyrdom in San Salvador with a Way of the Cross procession featuring quotes from Romero and drawing parallels between the Passion of Christ and social conditions of injustice and oppression. Credit: Frederick Meza, «El Faro.»

VIDEO ARCHIVO: MUERTE DE UN ARZOBISPO

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“Romero - Tod eines Erzbischofs” (“Romero - Muerte de un Arzobispo”) es un documental alemán elaborado por Rena y Thomas Giefer en el año 2003. El documental presenta los hechos que llevaron al vil asesinato de Mons. Romero el 24 de marzo de 1980, pero también amplía para presentar toda una reseña de la figura de Monseñor como el hombre que con sus ideales y principios cristianos de justicia social y solidaridad procuró que cambiaran las condiciones de pobreza de miles de salvadoreños. Figuran en el video los testimonios de varias personas que brindan elementos históricos para el desarrollo del reportaje, incluyendo colaboradores de Mons. Romero y comentaristas de los hechos.

Primera Parte

Segunda Parte

Tercera Parte

Cuarta Parte

Quinta Parte



«THE GRAIN OF WHEAT»

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Does it really matter what Archbishop Romero said in his March 24, 1980 homily—isn’t the most important thing about it that he was assassinated at the end?

(This is the second part of a series on the final seven homilies of Archbishop Romero started last year. To read the text of this homily in English, click here. For the original text in Spanish, click here. And, to hear a segment of the audio of Msgr. Romero delivering the homily, click here.)

At first glance, Romero’s final homily would appear to be strictly a private affair—its content, of relatively little interest to the outside world. After all, this Monday night Mass, held in a small chapel in a medical complex, was a personal service commissioned for the anniversary of the death of a Romero family friend, and was heard only by the mourning relatives of Sara Meardi de Pinto, some Carmelite nuns from the hospital, and a handful of faithful who stopped in for a weekday mass, perhaps after finishing work. But Romero himself opens it up at the outset: “My dear sisters and brothers,” he starts—“I think we should not only pray this evening for the eternal rest of our dear Doña Sarita, but above all we should take to ourselves her message, one that every Christian ought to want to live intensely.” Now, he’s addressing not just those gathered that fateful evening at the Divine Providence Chapel, but “every Christian.”

It makes sense, with this more universal framework, that Romero centers his brief sermon around a lengthy passage from the Second Vatican Council, which he recites to his audience. Vatican II is the Church process opened by Pope John XXIII and closed by Pope Paul VI, which sought to make the Church more relevant to the modern age, and contributed to its sharpening its stands on social justice—a call heeded by Romero in his own ministry and relied on as the basis for his pastoral action. Romero cites a passage from Gaudium et Spes, one of the documents produced by the Council, which calls on the faithful to work for justice:

[And] after we have obeyed the Lord, and in His Spirit nurtured on earth the values of human dignity, brotherhood and freedom, and indeed all the good fruits of our nature and enterprise, we will find them again, but freed of stain, burnished and transfigured, when Christ hands over to the Father: “a kingdom eternal and universal, a kingdom of truth and life, of holiness and grace, of justice, love and peace.” [Citations omitted.]

Gaudium et Spes, #39

This appeal of the Council, Archbishop Romero tells us, calls out to all us of us, and can—and must—be taken up by private citizens in our individual capacities. If we accept the invitation, the reward will be great, Romero preaches, invoking the Gospel reading for that day (John 12:23-26), which states that, “unless a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abides alone; but if it die, it will bear much fruit.” Just the same, Romero says, “those who out of love for Christ give themselves to the service of others, will live, like the grain of wheat that dies, but only apparently. If it did not die, it would remain alone. The harvest comes about only because it dies, allowing itself to be sacrificed in the earth and destroyed. Only by undoing itself does it produce the harvest.”

We each are like that grain of wheat: “Dear brothers and sisters,” Romero invites, “let us all view these matters at this historic moment with that hope, that spirit of giving and of sacrifice. Let us all do what we can.” Doing what we can does not mean that we all must join a political organization, or go march or strike, Romero suggests. He had started to make the point the day before in his famous “Stop the repression” homily. In that sermon, he had chided activists who try to turn a refuge into a barracks by forcing people who may have just sought sanctuary to do political work. “The refuge is a place where the sick also work,” he had said, alluding to the spiritual contribution of their suffering, if offered as a prayerful sacrifice to support the cause. “That husband and wife and their children who could not work, they wanted to send their children to occupy a church,” he had said, “but how can they go if they are sick? Let them offer up their pain and sickness. This has value,” he insisted. “But when we lose sight of the transcendence of the struggle, everything becomes made up of things that are sometimes even erroneous.”

The important thing is that we all need to contribute to the process of liberation, and no contribution is too small: We need to understand, Romero said, “that nothing can be accomplished without God and that with God, even the most useless work is still work when it is done with a good intention.” Sara Meardi de Pinto, the mother of a progressive newspaper publisher friend of Romero, he declared, had made her contribution, simply by supporting her son in his efforts for the cause, and by her suffering. “We know that no one can go on forever,” Romero said, “but those who have put into their work a sense of very great faith, of love of God, of hope among human beings, find it all results in the splendors of a crown that is the sure reward of those who labor thus, cultivating truth, justice, love, and goodness on earth.” Then he added, “Such labor does not remain here below but, purified by God’s Spirit, is harvested for our reward.”

As he had done in his great social commentaries at the Cathedral, Archbishop Romero imposed a final indispensable condition on works of social justice that we might pursue, for such works to be worthy: “we must try to purify these ideals, Christianize them,” he said, “clothe them with the hope of what lies beyond. That makes them stronger,” he said, “because it gives us the assurance that all that we cultivate on earth, if we nourish it with Christian hope, will never be a failure.” If we imbue our earthly works with a sense of Christian love, even if that effort should ultimately prove unsuccessful here on earth, “We will find it in a purer form in that kingdom where our merit will be found in the labor that we have done here on earth.” Then, Romero melded his memorial homily into a Eucharistic prayer. Presenting the bread and wine of the Communion banquet, he said, “May this body immolated and this blood sacrificed for humans nourish us also, so that we may give our body and our blood to suffering and to pain—like Christ—not for self, but to bring about justice and peace for our people.” At that moment, the assassin’s bullet thundered.

Thus was he killed, as he “celebrated the sacrifice of forgiveness and reconciliation” (Pope John Paul II, Remarks at the San Salvador Cathedral, March 6, 1983). “Consequently, his death was truly ‘credible’, a witness of faith” (Pope Benedict XVI, Remarks to Reporters, May 9, 2007). And thus a homily that was heard by a select few becomes relevant to the entire Christian world.