Touched by a martyr on a pilgrimage

Wednesday, my pastor and I went on a pilgrimage to the site of martyrdom of a US missionary to Guatemala. On July 28, 1981, Father Stanley Rother, was martyred in the church center in Santiago Atitlán. Known affectionately as Padre Apla’s to his Tz'utujil parishioners, he had spent thirteen years there, as part of the Oklahoma Mission.

Padre German and I spent some time in prayer in the room where Blessed Padre Apla’s was killed. It is a sacred space, one of those “thin places” where heaven and earth meet. I was especially moved by the plaque indicating blood stains. Here he had shed his blood.

Why?

He once wrote, “To shake the hand of an Indian is a political act.”

As I understand, Blessed Stanley Rother was not a firebrand priest, but he was a priest who brought the presence of God to a people living in the midst of the darkness of repression and war. Rather, he was a priest who provided a place for people to recognize their dignity and their capabilities. He started any number of projects, some of which still survive in one form or another.

But what I find especially moving is his presence with the people. I heard a story of how he would regularly take lunch to poor parishioners and sit down and eat with them in their homes. He was their brother.

But to be present so that people can recognize their dignity and their rights was dangerous in Guatemala at that time – and is still dangerous in many parts of the world. He remarked on this in his 1981 Christmas letter:

A nice compliment was given to me recently when a supposed leader in the Church and town was complaining that ‘Father is defending the people.’ He wants me deported for my sin.

This is one of the reasons I have for staying in the face of physical harm. The shepherd cannot run at the first sign of danger. Pray for us that we may be a sign of the love of Christ for our people, that our presence among them will fortify them to endure these sufferings in preparation for the coming of the Kingdom.

     

He did not flee.

And this made an impression on the people. In Santiago Atitlán, we stopped at a cell-phone store to make a phone call. Padre German asked the young woman if she knew Padre Apla’s and if she had any memories. As she responded I could hear and see the tender emotion, remembering him. And, pointedly, she said

“Él no huyó” – “He did not flee.”

He stayed with them, despite the threats.  As he wrote to a friend,

[O]ur presence here means a lot for the people…

When I hear the people during Mass here on Sunday or Thursday, the cacophony of prayers going up to the Lord, His presence must be there. I am delighted to be a part…. At first signs of danger, the shepherd can’t run and leave the sheep fend for themselves. I heard about a couple of groups of nuns in Nicaragua that left during the fighting and later wanted to go back. The people asked them where were you when we needed you? They couldn’t stay and were forced to leave. I don’t want that to happen to me. I have too much of my life invested here to run.

We had a chance to talk to the pastor. He told us how he regularly gave blood in the hospital he helped found. The night before he was killed, the sisters asked him for a ride the next morning. He mentioned that he’d leave early because “tengo que dar mi sangre” – “I have to give my blood.”

That night he was killed and gave his blood as a witness of God’s love.

In a niche in the front of the main altar of the church in Santiago, there is a small vial of blood from the heart of Beato Padre Apla’s. We spent some time before the altar in prayer where the Blessed Sacrament was exposed, praying as people prayed the rosary on their knees. 

Seeing the Body of Christ in the Eucharist and seeing the vial of the blood of a martyr directly underneath, I recalled the call I feel as a deacon to give myself to others, entregarme is the Spanish word. I also recall that in the ordination rite, the deacon is called to live as one entrusted with distribution of the Body and Blood of Christ.

Are you resolved to shape your way of life always according to the example of Christ, whose body and blood you will give to the people?

¿Quieres imitar siempre en su vida el ejemplo de Cristo, cuyo cuerpo y sangre servirás  en el altar?

As I prepared for the diaconate, I was moved by several authors who noted the significance of the deacon as minister of the Blood of Christ.

Saint Augustine spoke of St. Lawrence the deacon in this way:

In the [Roman} church… he carried out the office of deacon. There he was a minister of the Blood of Christ; there, for the name of Christ, he poured out his own.

Both Pope Saint John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI noted the deacon especially as “a minister of the Blood.” For this reason, when there is communion under both species I usually distribute the Blood of Christ.

The pastor gave Padre German permission to preside at the five pm Mass in the church in Santiago Atitlán. I served as deacon, and so it was for me a great moment when as a deacon I lifted up the Blood of Christ at the end of the Eucharistic Prayer, conscious of the presence of Christ’s blood in the chalice in my hands and the presence of the blood of a martyr under the altar.

May the Blood of Christ and the blood of the martyrs, especially Padre Apla’s and Monseñor Romero, open my heart to give my all for God and for God’s poor.

But the poor are the ones who also evangelize us. There is a custom in Santiago Atitlán that entering the church before Mass and leaving the church, children grab onto the hands of the priest (and the deacon). But, as I entered the cloister beside the church on my way to the sacristy, a little boy came up to me and grabbed my hand. I was stunned – and went over with him to three other young children. They touched my heart, as I bent over to talk with them for a few seconds.

This was not something I expected but I see it as part of the legacy of one who gave his life for the people, accompanying them, touching them, and being touched by them.

May the blood of Christ and the martyrs keep me ever open to the touch of God – offered by the poor and the children. 

But I must recall that Father Stan Rother is not the only Guatemalan martyr, nor the only Guatemalan killed by the military in his parish. My first time in Santiago, I prayed at the shrine to the right as you enter the church where his heart and other relics were placed. I noticed how the local people would bow before the shrine where, I presume, they still preserve some of his relics.

But I remembered a memorial of metal crosses on the wall by the shrine. It was removed from the church and is now in the garden of the rectory. As we sat waiting to see the pastor, I counted at least 236 crosses, most between 1980 and 1992. They were victims of the repression. 

The blood of the poor, the blood of martyrs, the Blood of Christ. 

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For a recent biography of Blessed Stan Rother, Beato Apla’s, check out María Ruiz Scaperlanda’s The Shepherd Who Didn't Run: Father Stanley Rother, Martyr from Oklahoma. (Our Sunday Visitor)

The Blood of the Poor

Some who come to visit Honduras are very concerned about the security issues, especially since the two major cities, San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa, are among the five cities in the world with the highest percentages of killings.

This is not helped by the Honduran newspaper which often put bloody scenes on the front page and have three pages of “Successos,” reports of crimes and other violent events, replete with photos of bloody bodies.

Of course, most of those killed are the poor – caught in a web of organized crime, drug trafficking, police corruption, and a “justice” system in which very few crimes are investigated and very few killers are brought to trial and convicted.

But there is one aspect of the blood of the poor that is not seen – the effects of the extremely rich and the political and economic elites that profit from the poor. The world caught a glimpse of this in the bloody deaths in the Bangla Desh clothes factory. But it is much more pervasive, as people die from the effects of a society with glaring inequalities.

Dorothy Day once wrote about St. Ignatius of Laconi, a Sardinian Capuchin brother of the eighteenth century, whose feast is celebrated today by the Franciscans. He was the questor, the official beggar for his friary.

As Dorothy Day wrote in in May 1952 Catholic Worker:

      One way to keep poor is not to accept money which is the result of defrauding the poor. Here is a story of St. Ignatius of Sardinia, a Capuchin recently canonized [1951]. Ignatius used to go out from his monastery with a sack to beg from the people of his town, but he would never go to a merchant who had built up his fortune by defrauding the poor. Franchino, the rich man, fumed every time the saint passed his door. His concern, however, was not the opportunity to give alms, but fear of public opinion. He complained to the friary, whereupon the Father Guardian ordered St. Ignatius to beg from the merchant the next time he went out.

      “Very well,” said Ignatius obediently. “If you wish it, Father, I will go, but I would not have the Capuchins dine on the blood of the poor.”

      The merchant received Ignatius with great flattery and gave him generous alms, asking him to come again in the future. But hardly had Ignatius left the house with his sack on his shoulder when drops of blood began oozing from the sack. They tickled down on Franchino’s doorstop and ran down through the street to the monastery. Everywhere Ignatius went, a trickle of blood followed him. When he arrived at the friary, he laid the sack at the Father Guardian’s feet. “What is this?” gape the guardian. “This,” St. Ignatius said, “is the blood of the poor.”

Here in Honduras there are church leaders who are tempted to receive the gifts of the rich and to curry favor to the political and economic elites. The temptation affects church leaders from bishops to rural pastors. 

I know of at least one case where a priest was offered money for the church from a local drug lord. He refused. Another priest was offered money by a local politician for himself, but he publicly made sure that the money went directly to the church

 But there are at least two towns that have gorgeous new churches which are probably paid for by drug trafficking or other organized crime leaders.  

And who knows how connected other church leaders are to the powers that support and conserve the radical inequality here in Honduras (and throughout the world). According to Monseñor Luis Alfonso Santos, bishop of Santa Rosa de Copán during the 2009 coup, the coup was the work of political and economic elites. Why was it that he was one of the few religious leaders to condemn it? Another prelate, in 2010, actually compared the leaders of the coup to the founding fathers of Honduras.

The temptation of money and power is strong – for all people, especially those who hold positions of power in the economic sphere, the church, and the state. But it is also a temptation for all of us.

Let us always remember “the blood of the poor.”

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The quote from Dorothy Day can also be found in Robert Ellsberg's By Little and By Little: The Selected Writings of Dorothy Day,  pp, 108-109;