Twenty-fifth Anniversary of the Martyrdoms
of the Four North American
by Sheila Marie Tobbe, OSU
“I made my first trip to El Salvador
in December of 1979 to visit my friend, Dorothy
Kazel, and there I met her newly-arrived missionary
companion Jean Donovan. It was a journey that
transformed the way that I read the Word of
God and understand the Church.” I wrote
these words 25 years ago – just a few
days after the martyrdoms of Jean and Dorothy
– as the introduction to a reflection,
entitled "Beatitude Women". It described
how Dorothy and Jean lived the Works of Mercy
in the spirit of the Beatitudes and how their
compassionate actions of caring for the needs
of refugees, training leaders, and teaching
basic literacy skills were seen as “subversive,”
not only by the Salvadoran military who assassinated
them on Dec. 2, 1980, (along with Ita Ford and
Maura Clark, Maryknoll sisters from New York),
but also by high-ranking officials in the USA.
This reflection spoke too of the parents of
Jean and Dorothy who sacrificed their only daughters
and were the “blessed ones who mourn and
know God’s consolations.” It also
noted that we, those left behind, are challenged
by our martyrs’ lives and heroic deaths
“to hunger and thirst for justice.”
We keep their memories alive as holy women who
witnessed to meekness, mercy, purity of heart,
and peacemaking as they cared for the oppressed
and victimized, seeking justice for the campesinos
of El Salvador.
Twenty-five years later this same challenge,
“to live the Works of Mercy in the spirit
of the Beatitudes,” continues to call
us to faithfulness. We honor our beloved martyrs,
as well as the many thousands more throughout
the world, all those who have poured forth their
hearts in love, freely choosing to minister
in dangerous places, thus being willing to suffer
the “same fate as the poor” –
to be disappeared and assassinated.
As I reflect on my own journey of the past
25 years, I am deeply grateful for the privilege
of having been introduced to the Central American
people and mission life by my friend Dorothy
Kazel. During the two weeks of sharing in her
ministry there, many times the story of the
Good Samaritan came alive before my very eyes.
I felt like I was walking around in Gospel times.
I wept at the airport, not wanting to return
to the lifestyle of the USA. Dorothy lovingly
cared for God’s crucified ones, expressed
deep respect for the faith of her people, and
told me of how she found herself continually
evangelized by her beloved campesinos, people
living on the edge of survival. She embraced
Monsenor Romero’s wisdom and witness:
“The people are my prophets.”
Dorothy and I attended a spirit-filled but
lengthy Mass celebrated by Monsenor Romero.
His two-hour homily was broadcast throughout
the country on the Catholic radio station. As
we left the Cathedral, overflowing with people
standing on the benches cheering exuberantly,
she remarked: “That man is going to be
killed someday and it will be difficult to determine
who killed him because he speaks out against
violence perpetrated by the army and the guerillas.”
Three months later, he was dead - a year later
so was she.
1980 became a year of mourning, not only for
the two of them, but also for so many others
whom I met in El Salvador and Guatemala during
my first life-changing short visit there.
Ten year later, I returned to this land of
prophets and martyrs to serve in the same parish
where Jean and Dorothy had ministered. It was
the last years of the Civil War and we lived
daily with the sounds and sights and fears of
a raging war. Nevertheless, I soon experienced
the freeing realization that violence might
kill my body, but it could not kill my soul
because I was surrounded by a community of loving
people, so appreciative that we as a team had
stayed with them even after the deaths of our
loved ones. The people did their best to protect
us, at times risking their own lives for us.
Again the words of Romero took on flesh and
blood: “I will rise again in the Salvadoran
people.”
To pilgrimage with visitors from North America
to the sites of the martyrs were graced moments
for me. Each time there was a profound silence
as the sacred spaces proclaimed an intensity
of faith, an awakening to the dangers of love,
and an invitation to hope.
Yet I find myself wondering sometimes if we
dishonor our martyrs by putting them way up
on a pedestal, seeing them as larger than life,
as glorious heroes. Is that the way we distance
ourselves from the reality of their choices,
thus insulating ourselves from the demands of
“living the Works of Mercy in the spirit
of the Beatitudes” in our own circumstances?
What I remember most about Dorothy and Jean
is how very much they were “just part
of the gang”, very ordinary, with all
the same fears and hopes, anxieties and dreams
as all their friends. It’s that very “normal”
humanity that painfully challenges us as we
live a lifestyle of comfort and security, well-established
by our privileged place in the world economy.
By their own testimonies, each of these martyrs
articulated a real fear of death. Maura Clark
expressed it clearly: “If my time comes,
will I be faithful.”
Their struggle to be people of integrity and
commitment in the face of life-threatening situations
continues to speak to us. If the lives and sacrifices
of our many modern martyrs are going to have
any ongoing meaning in the world today, it will
be because we still feel their pain and are
open to listen to the Gospel calling us:
- to risk
- to challenge ourselves to fidelity to the
responsibilities of global/local citizenship
- to be a transforming presence of love,
accepting all people as children of one God
- to hear the cries of oppression around
us
- to live an ever-deepening awareness that
what is worth dying for is also worth living
for
- to pour forth ourselves in love, “living
the Works of Mercy in the spirit of the Beatitudes"
The theme of our Ursuline Congregation for
this year is “Love casts out fear.”
(I John 4:18) Our martyrs’ love cast out
fears within the hearts of their beloved campesinos,
enabling them to know their worth and live in
dignity. The love of the campesinos in turn
cast out the fears of those ministering to them
in traumatic circumstances, enabling them to
accept these realities and not be paralyzed
by fear.
May the grace of God be with us as we march
courageously into the future casting out fears
by our love, creating a world free of the violence
that still is destroying life in so many ways,
and seeking a peace that is rooted in justice
for all. AMEN!
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