Thanksgiving in times of hurricanes and COVID

It's Thanksgiving in the US, but I will give thanks here.

Honduras

1992 was an extraordinary year in my life. It was a time of grace, a time of learning to say “gracias a Dios” – thanks be to God. 

I had managed to persuade the parish of St. Thomas Aquinas Church and Catholic Student Center in Ames to provide sabbaticals to lay employees and I was the first to take advantage of the opportunity after eight and a half years of service in the parish.

But I took a different type of sabbatical. Instead of going off to study in a university. I spent almost seven months in El Salvador, serving for most of the time in the parish of Suchitoto. The parish, at that time, was served by a Salvadoran priest and had five US sisters working there, mostly in the countryside. 

I arrived in time to celebrate a ceasefire and the peace accords that brought an end to a bloody civil war, in which many perished at the hands of a US-supported military. The war also precipitated the displacement of hundreds of thousands.

I ended up in Suchitoto thanks to my connections with the sisters – four Dubuque Franciscans and one New Jersey Sister of Charity, who had served the area during the war. They ministered to the many communities that had returned to the countryside and lived in precarious situations, not least of all war and poverty.

Dubuque Franciscan Sisters Nancy, Pat, Kay (RIP), Carol

The pastor and they sisters ended up sending me to a remote part of the parish. It was a four hour walk to get to the community where a family took me in. I stayed there usually for four or five days at a time, participating in the life of the village, visiting other communities – training catechists and other pastoral work. 

I stayed with the Clavel family in their provisional housing, that Esteban, who had to flee the country to escape being killed, had fashioned out of the cattle stalls that once stood where he, his wife Rosa Elbia, and their children lived. I brought along a hammock for sleeping so that I wouldn’t displace anyone from their beds.

Esteban and Rosa Elbia

Life was simple. A makeshift latrine, water brought by the family from a stream about thirty minutes away, bathing in the stream, eating tortillas and beans (often very salty) with the family. The housing was so provisional that during the rains water streamed in under my hammock. But, in the midst of this, I experienced the grace of God. Almost every morning in that simple home, I woke up in my hammock with the words, “Thanks be to God,” on my lips and in my heart. In that poverty, sharing it with good people, I experienced the giftedness of God. The only appropriate response was thanksgiving. 

Today, Thanksgiving in the US, I find myself giving thanks. I had plans to spend Thanksgiving with the Dubuque Franciscans (two of whom I know from Suchitoto) but the access to a major bridge between Santa Rosa de Copán was washed out and is provisionally repaired. So, I’ll have a different Thanksgiving. This may help me recall how I have been blessed to serve in rural Honduras. 

I don’t live nearly as poorly and simply as I did in Suchitoto 28 years ago. But we are in the middle of a pandemic that has restricted my ministry. Also, we have been buffeted by two hurricanes that have left villages in the parish isolated and many places without electricity for several days. Many villages also lack water because the water lines from the springs up the mountains have been broken. 

But God is good. And people have responded to the needs.

Local people have collected clothing and basic grains to share with those who have lost their homes or been displaced. Others, including some Hondurans who live in the US, have sent money to help buy basic food stuffs and cleaning supplies. Two friends are sending some money and our sister-parish, St. Thomas Aquinas in Ames, will be sending money for reconstruction efforts and may have a fundraiser for our needs. Today, God willing, I'll be going with the pastor and others to take food, clothing, and more to a village that has been isolated since the first hurricane. It may be a grueling trip since we will probably have to take the highway to La Entrada and then the highway toward Copán Ruinas, since there is no access to that part of the parish from Dulce Nombre. 

But I am grateful that we can help. 

This will be a different Thanksgiving, perhaps getting to the essence of what this day should mean – recognizing the graciousness of God, remembering that all is gift, and responding in joyful love. 

Thanks be to God.

The martyrs of Los Leones, Platanares, Suchitoto

It is extremely important that we remember the witnesses to the love and justice of God, not just the grand saints that are known and recognized by the church, such as Monseñor Oscar Romero.We need to remember the saints at our side, at our doorstep. 

I have been investigating the story of the church in Suchitoto, El Salvador, since I spent six months there in 1992. I encountered many people of faith and many stories of those who had suffered and died because of the massive repression and then the bloody civil war - both of which were supported by the US government. 

One of the stories that has fascinated me has been the story of a 28 year old seminarian and twelve young people killed in Los Leones, in the canton of Platanares - a place not far from the repopulated settlement of El Barillo. 

About nineteen years ago I was able to spend time in a celebration in the ruins of the unfinished church where they had killed. Today, on the fortieth anniversary of the massacre, I want to share what I have written and which I hope can be published in a book on Suchitoto some day.I had hoped to get to the site of the martyrdom today for a celebration, but travel there is not possible, due to COVID-19. Instead, I offer this account,

The Massacre of Los Leones: José Othmaro Cáceres and 13 Young People, 25 July 1980

      José Othmaro Cáceres was born on September 19, 1951, one of fourteen children. He was raised in Canton Platanares in the municipality of Suchitoto. A pleasant and sincere young man, he entered the seminary of the diocese of San Vicente as a teenager. In 1980 he was finishing his studies in a seminary in Guadalajara, Mexico.

Photo of Othmaro Cáceres, shared at the memorial Mass

     A note in the archdiocesan newspaper, Orientacion, remarked that he was noted for “a great sense of friendship, joy, tenacity, openness to everyone, simplicity, piety, spirit of service, a deep love of his people, especially the poorest.” He was also a great soccer player. Othmaro’s brother Ariel remembers him as a very friendly and helpful older brother. When he came home from the seminary on vacation he would get up early to milk the cows and then would go out and help in the fields with a cuma, a type of machete. On his visits home he would also meet with the young people in the area who looked up to him and loved to follow him around. He cooperated with Padre Higinio Alas in the parish of Santa Lucía, Suchitoto.

Othmaro Cáceres

      On July 16, 1980, Othmaro arrived in El Salvador from the seminary in Mexico. He was going to be ordained deacon and then a few weeks later ordained to the priesthood for the diocese of San Vicente. After a visit home he planned to return to San Vicente, where he would be ordained. And so, on July 24 he went to visit his family in the canton of Platanares outside Suchitoto, even though he had been advised against this.

      On July 25, 1980, thirteen young men, with José Othmaro Cáceres were killed in Caserío Los Leones, Platanares, by a death squad from Fabián Ventura’s private army. This was a joint military operation with ORDEN and the armed forces that began about 11:00 am.

      Some of the young men may have had connections with the guerrilla forces. But this was a time before there were many organized guerrilla groups in the area. Some were digging shelters for the people as well as preparing supplies if the people had to leave the area suddenly. Many of the youth were actually involved in the work of building the small chapel. Three walls of the chapel are still standing but it still lacks a roof.

      Othmaro was meeting with the young people in the unfinished chapel. According to one report, they were meeting to plan his first Mass in the little chapel. The young people had taken a break in their meeting and were in the church, sharing candy, but Othmaro was outside.

The unfinished church of Los Leones, site of the massacre

      He had just left the chapel when Ventura’s troops arrived, coming from the road and the fields. He heard shots and hid in the grass. When he thought the troops were gone, he entered a nearby house. But they had not yet gone and caught him there. “You’re the one we’re looking for,” they said and accused him of being a guerrilla leader. According to one report, he asked his murderers, “Wait for me to prepare myself,” and knelt down to pray. He asked God for forgiveness and was then shot and then  attacked with machetes. He died of several shots in the chest; afterwards his head was destroyed by blows of a machete.

      Two of the young men killed, José Belarmino Leon and Santos Adrián Leon had been working on the church. An account from their mother, Santana Josefina Leon de Reyes, includes the following details:

      After they had killed the youth, they were seeking a girl names Esther. While seeking them they ran into Othmaro. “You’re the one we’re looking for,” they said. Othmaro lifted his hands and said, “Lord, pardon me.” They took him behind the house and killed him under a mango.

      They machine-gunned him perhaps only because he was studying for the priesthood.

   Those who were meeting in the church all were killed - some with candy in their mouths, others with candy in their hands.

      The death squad cried out afterwards, “We’ve won.”

      An edited version of another account from the testimony of Señora. María Angel Alas, widow de González, October 2, 1983, follows:

      On July 24, 1980, the seminarian José Othmaro Cáceres came to Canton Platanares. He had just arrived from Mexico and was about to be ordained. He was originally from Platanares.... He stayed in the house of Don Manuel Cáceres and his other brothers. That very night he invited my sister Fidelina Alas whether she would serve as his mother for his priestly consecration.

      The next day at 8:00 am he went to the chapel we were constructing for the canton. There he was waiting for his friends from the canton because they wanted to show him how the construction was going. I was present for the meeting and he was inviting us to attend his ordination when four trucks cam by way of the road with National guard, solders and by the field the civil Defense came so that the people wouldn’t flee out the back.

      At that time Fabián Ventura, the head of the Civil Defense, with members of the Civil Defense, entered with National Guard and soldiers. When they first entered, the civil defense members said: “Thus we would like to meet them.”

      Then the youth group which was with Othmaro said that they were just a group of friends meeting together. Then seminarian Othmaro joining his hands and lifting his face [alzando su vista clara], told them that they should let him speak with them. It was at this time that the Civil Defense led by Fabián Ventura began to shoot; the National Guard and the soldiers followed. The dead were: the seminarian Othmaro Cáceres, Belarmino Reyes (24), his brother Adrián Reyes (21), Angelito Rivas (14), Alfonso León (26) and the others young people - a total of fourteen; one young man who managed to flee and get into a straw hut which they set fire to and he died burned.

      I was able flee with Ester Deras, with Martha Alas, Julia Solórzano and a number of others and we ran away from that hamlet. When they left we returned and found the destruction which was horrible: the body of seminarian Othmaro was asked for by the priest of Suchitoto and was buried there. We buried ours in the canton. After that day the men no longer slept in their homes and began to sleep in the fields.

      There was a woman in the house where Othmaro had been before he was killed. A young woman named Nicolasa Leon, she was involved with Caritas which was distributing food and other necessities to the people affected by the violence. Although her name was registered as Nicolasa, she had been called Guadalupe from infancy when she had been healed after prayers to our Lady of Guadalupe. When the death squad entered the house,  they asked for Guadalupe Leon. She told them to look at her identity card and see that she was Nicolasa. They left her in peace. She and others look upon this as a second miracle of la Guadalupana.

      After the killing of Othmara and the twelve young people, Ventura went to a house nearby and hacked a mark in the door with his machete. “Here I leave my mark,” he said. “Next Friday I will continue from here on up [the road to Suchitoto].”

      There is a legend that the next Friday Fabián Ventura went to continue his killing at the turn off the Suchitoto-Aguilares road toward El Roble. At the entrance to the road he encountered a woman in white with her hand raised to prevent him from entering. He could not enter then. Other times when he tried to enter, he encountered the same woman. Who was it? Some say it was the ciguanaba; others say the Virgin Mary. (The ciguanaba is a Salvadoran mythic woman spirit who preys on men in the countryside.)

      After their death, the young people were buried near the unfinished chapel. Fr. Jorge Benavídes came out to take the body of Othmaro Cáceres into town where a wake was held in the Palacios family home. (Father Rafael Palacios was a priest killed in June 1979. The Palacios family lived in Suchitoto and Fr. Raphael is buried in the church.) The funeral Mass for Othmaro Cáceres was celebrated in the church of Santa Lucía in Suchitoto on July 26 with Monseñor Freddy Delgado, vicar general of the diocese of San Vicente, presiding.

      Some have wondered whether Cáceres was targeted or if his death was merely circumstantial. However, he had been involved earlier in the mission teams that assisted Padre Higinio Alas in the countryside; when he came home for vacations from the seminary he would help in the missions and spend time talking with Higinio about pastoral work.

      His death and the death of the others were the work of Fabián Ventura, death squad leader who had his own private army. Othmaro’s death is considered to be the straw that brought the Resistencia Nacional to plan the murder of Ventura. They killed him later that year with an attack on his home in the canton of Asunción, Suchitoto, at the same time they attacked his house for his mistress in what is now Haciendita Uno.

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Photos of the procession and Mass remembering the massacre, about 2001

Bleach

I will not get into the midst of a conflict over what exactly the resident of the White House said about bleach and COVID-19. I do not have the time or the energy or the desire to get into a senseless debate over what he said, what he meant to say, or some other debate by non-medical personnel over ways to prevent the spread of the virus or to help people recuperate from this deadly disease.

But I want to share when a few thoughts about a time I drank water with bleach.

Haciendita II, 2019

In 1992, I spent about seven months in El Salvador, mostly in the parish of Suchitoto where I helped the Salvadoran pastor and the five US women religious working there. I was assigned to one of the remotest areas of the parish, about a four hour walk from the town of Suchitoto. I spent most of my time there in the house of Esteban and Rosa Elbia and their children, usually spending four or more days sleeping there, while going out several days to other nearby communities. I slept in a hammock so that I wouldn’t take someone’s bed. I brought some food stuffs with me when I came and I ate tortillas and salty beans several times a day.

Esteban Clavel and Rosa Elbia

Every morning I heard Esteban calling his daughters to get up and go for water – about 30 to 45 minutes away. The sons also got up to begin to prepare for working in the fields or in other projects.

But every day water had to be brought in for basic needs.

I had a water bottle with a filter and so I avoided most intestinal parasites. I thought it was because of the filter but there was another factor.

The water always tasted a little funny. Only later did I realize that the family was putting a little bleach in the water to purify it. It seemed to work, though I would not recommend it now.

While I was there the community began working on a project to bring water in from the mountain. The men went up in groups to dig the trenches for the pipes. I joined them a few days for the hard work under the hot sun.  

Digging trneches for the water line, on Guazapa, 1992

Before I left the project was finished and there was a spigot with water in the middle of the community. I remember walking down the road and seeing a line of women with their water jugs lined up to get the precious water.

Last year I visited my friends. Esteban had died a few years before, a victim of chagas, a disease that comes from insects that burrow in dirt floors and dirt walls. But I saw Rosa Elbia and several of her children and grandchildren. It was a real joy to be with them. I had hoped to get back to see them this year, but we’ll see.

When I stopped in the house where I had stayed – now much nicer, one of the daughters offered me a glass of water. They have a new water project and the water is drinkable. No more bleach. They don’t even have to boil it, since they have a good source of water and a good chlorinating system for the village. No more 5 am calls to go out to fetch water. No more putting bleach in the water. Turn on the spigot and drink.

It should be clear that this is the way to deal with a real human need – long term solutions, communities working together to guarantee the community’s health, working with professionals in science and water supply.

It should be clear that I am not advocating using bleach, but when people are desperate and look for ways to survive, they look for simple solutions. Looking for short cuts can be dangerous. In addition, short cuts let us avoid asking the really important questions.

For the people of Haciendita II, the issue is community solidarity. What we all need these days.

We also need to remember that after this pandemic subsides, what we need to do is to build a world where people have decent water, decent health care, and decent education and where people begin to work together for the good of all, especially the most vulnerable and marginalized. That will mean that we begin to put the person, made in God’s image, at the center of our lives.

Meeting Christ - in many places

This past week I went to El Salvador for a little break.

The church in Suchitoto

I stayed in Suchitoto at the Centro Arte para la Paz, an amazing place with classes (for free) in art, music, drama, English, and more for the youth of Suchitoto. It is an effort sustained by donations and by the zeal of Sister of Charity Peggy O’Neill, a friend from decades ago. She was not there since she was in the US.

It was a joy to see the center which regularly has expositions on the history of the area. They are also restoring the former chapel of San José, which was in ruins when they bought the land and buildings (which were a former convent and school for girls, run by Dominican sisters who fled in 1980 due to threats.)

Restoration of the chapel in the Centro Arte para la Paz

I went to San Salvador twice, to see friends, to buy books, and to visit the tombs of Monseñor Romero and the Jesuit martyrs.

I spent some time at the tomb of Saint Oscar Romero, the martyred archbishop of San Salvador. There I recalled how I had dedicated my diaconate to Monseñor Romero, recalling his commitment to the poor and oppressed. I also prayed for friends. It was a time of renewal.

Romero's tomb

When I visited the Jesuit University, I spent a few minutes before the tombs of the Jesuits killed there in 1979. I stayed for the noon Mass and was surprised when the young Jesuit priest noted that he was leaving the next day to serve in Honduras, in Progreso. 

In San Salvador I usually take taxis, for security reasons. I got into one taxi near a shopping mall to go visit a priest friend of mine in a poor neighborhood. As I looked over at the driver, I noticed a contraption near the gear shift. All of a sudden I realized that his legs had been amputated and he used the contraption in place of brake and gas pedals. I was amazed; he did not let his “disability” disable him. I still marvel at how he drove in the awful city traffic with such acumen. But even ore I am amazed at his dignity. I will remember him for some time.

A highlight of my visit was my visit to Haciendita II, about 12 kilometers from Suchitoto, where I lived and worked in 1992. I saw many friends there, including many from the family I stayed with (sleeping in a hammock so that I wouldn’t take over anyone’s bed.) I got to see the youngest son, now in his twenties, with his wife and two kids. His son was a little shy, but at least he didn’t scream when he saw me, as his father did way back in 1992 when he was about three years old. This son, Esteban, is now an extraordinary minister of communion in the parish and I was able to bring him a pyx I had.

The church (of Saint Michael) in Haciendita II

Esteban with his wife and kids

I also met one of his cousins, in his early twenties, who has a vegetable garden in the land around the house where he’s living. I was delighted to see a young man (with a high school education) growing vegetables for himself and others.

José Aurelio in his garden

I also saw several of his sisters, two of whom are teachers (with college degrees) and another is a health promoted. Their parents, Esteban (who died of the consequences of dengue about 8 years ago) and Rosa Elbia, deserve a lot of praise for encouraging their children to study and to serve the community. It is also interesting that only two children are in the US, having gone there more than ten years ago.

Rosa Elbia with two daughters

I spent some time in another village with Lucía, a leader in the faith community. She has shared much with me about the church in the parish (for a book I hope to finish one of these days.) It was good to see her – but a little sad to see that she seemed weaker. She explained how she had headaches and couldn’t hear as well as before – perhaps remnants of the time during the war when a bomb went off near her and damaged her ear. But that didn’t keep her from sharing a mea with me – including some large thick Salvadoran tortillas.

Lucía

Salvadoran tortillas are huge

I visited another community, El Barillo, and visited briefly with three women I had worked with in 1992. I dropped into the church where they were preparing for a holy hour and happened to talk with a young woman whose three brothers had been killed in a massacre of the seminarian Othmaro Cáceres and about twelve young people in July 1980 in a nearby church under construction in the hamlet of Los Leones. I sensed that the pain is still there as she spoke of the massacre. I hope they have a celebration next year; I’d like to get there.

Church in El Barillo

Memorial in El Barillo to the martyrs of the massacre of Los Leones,

I also had dinner the last night with a family. I’ve known them since the 1990s. He, in fact, came to study English for five months in Ames.  It was great to catch up with them – and to see their two oldest girls who are studying in the university!

I left early on Friday to get home in the afternoon. The journey went well, but…

I stopped near the turn off to San Marcos Ocotepeque for a break and some snacks. As I left the parking area, I saw a man asking for a ride. I asked where he was going - Santa Rosa. Then he went to the shade of a nearby truck and his wife and two kids joined him in the back of the truck. I stopped for a pineapple and a papaya and got them some cut-up fruit. I asked where they were going - Colón, in the extreme northeast.

I stopped in Santa Rosa to get some supplies at a supermarket and let them off. They were still walking when I left the supermarket and so I offered them a ride to the turn off to Dulce Nombre. OK, they said.

When I let them off, I asked where they had come from.

As I was beginning to suspect, they had been deported from the US and had been travelling through Mexico and Guatemala - with nothing but two small backpacks.

I gave them a pittance that might help.

I nearly cried as I drove home after leaving them off.

These four people are the victims of an unjust society here in Honduras and of an unjust migration policy in the US.

Lord, have mercy. Señor, ten piedad. Kyrie, eleison.

There are many ways in which we meet Christ – in joys and sorrows, in Word and Sacrament, in friends and in the suffering. It is a privilege when we are able to recognize Him.

In the church in Suchitoto