A Call to Action
REMEMBER THE LIVING QUARTERS of the murdered Jesuit priests and the two women -- the blood-stained walls, the shattered glass, the bullet holes in the concrete walls. The blood-stained floors of the individual rooms were a stark contrast to the sitting room of the living area, where rocking chairs still encircled a table that held cups of unfinished coffee and ashtrays with crushed-out cigarette butts, representing an evening of conversation and closing evening prayer.
For me, it was in those moments of hearing the detailed story of the night of murder and violence that the impact of those eight murders -- and the 75,000 other murders -- finally was stored in my heart and soul.
I'd seen death, pain, and destruction in many other situations, but this, in a place of peace broken by the horror of evil, was once again a reminder of people's inhumanity to people. Yet it was also a reminder of the incredible power of the gospel message of freedom and liberation.
As I struggled to control the throbbing in my heart, someone showed me one of the bullets that investigators had found at the site -- and on it was stamped "Made in the U.S.A."
Maybe it was later, or maybe it was at that moment, but I was struck by the depth of responsibility that we as U.S. citizens and as U.S. churches carry in this bloody conflict; and the need for us as church people to call for repentance for our complicity in the ongoing terror, death, and destruction of the Salvadoran people.
It is a call that comes from the understanding that out of the depths of great pain and human destruction come life, celebration, and salvation. Yet often when we in the First World call for repentance, we repent, we weep, we are sorrowful; and just as quickly we move on to celebration and salvation. We often forget the final step which is the call to action.
At a commemoration service for the martyred, which also marked the first time the ecumenical community in El Salvador had been together since the deaths of the Jesuits and the women, I heard stories of persecution interwoven with words of hope and celebration. After all the moving stories and uplifting music, a teenage woman representing the youth of the Lutheran Church in El Salvador got up and said, "All has been said, all stories have been told. I cannot tell any more, but I do have one final reflection. I have learned and believe the words 'Do not weep for the martyrs, but rather imitate them.'"
It is these simple words that are a call to action for us. This is our call in the United States to become witnesses for the martyred, our opportunity to imitate them, to imitate the witness of the churches in El Salvador.
We need to be clear to our government officials so that they understand that the religious community does not define itself by national boundaries, and that the persecution of one body of the community is felt by the whole. It's as if we were all under that persecution.
Now is the time. We -- the powerful religious communities of the North -- are called to be imitators of the prophetic churches serving the poor in the South. We are called to use all of our resources to stop our country from supplying military aid, and call for a politically negotiated settlement.
We are called to use all of our resources to speak out against the persecution of the church, to demand that justice be served in violations of human rights and the innocent deaths of thousands. We are called, as imitators of our brothers and sisters in El Salvador, to accompany them whenever they ask and whenever is needed.
The question for us, my friends, is, Are we ready to repent and be forgiven? For, indeed, it is in that forgiveness that we are free to respond to this call for action.
Christine Grumm, who was vice president of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America when this article appeared, accompanied Lutheran Bishop Medardo Gomez on a trip to El Salvador in January 1990. This reflection was offered at a convocation of U.S. and Salvadoran religious leaders in Washington, D.C. on January 23, 1990.
The Promise of The Resurrection
I AM DAILY INSPIRED by the words of a Salvadoran friend and union leader. I asked him once if he never felt despair, never felt like giving up. After some thought he turned to me and said, "No, Karen; because despair is a First World luxury. "
It is our responsibility as the world's wealthy, my friend Oscar pointed out, not to despair, but to have the sufficient imagination to walk in the struggle with our brothers and sisters for whom justice is an issue of life and death. Not to give up until they do -- and they will never give up. For they know that justice is inevitable, that unjust structures cannot forever withstand a people's hunger for freedom and dignity.
We of the First World are simply left with a choice: We can turn our backs and walk away from a challenge, or we can have the imagination to walk with the Salvadorans to the end of their struggle.
Our presence may bring that closer and lessen the suffering and the blood spilled. But with or without us, it is inevitable -- that is the promise of the resurrection.
Karen Ridd, who was a Canadian volunteer for Peace Brigades International in El Salvador when this article appeared, was deported from the country after being picked up during a November raid on a church shelter by Salvadoran security forces.
'Go and Tell Them ...'
THE PERSECUTION AGAINST THE CHURCH became very strong after the rebel offensive began in November, but many church leaders who had been targeted did not want to leave our country. The experience of being away makes us very sad, because we are very far away from our people.
We resisted having to leave. But it was even our own people that came to us and begged us to leave. They said, "Save your life; we need you later." But probably what convinced us most is when they said, "Go and tell people in the United States our message: We beg of you, we want peace."
On another occasion I visited the refugee camp of Mesa Grande in Honduras. Our brothers and sisters had prepared a great reception, with large banners that read: "Welcome Bishop Gomez. We want peace."
I asked the brothers and sisters at Mesa Grande, "Why do you ask me to bring peace if I am not the one to bring peace?" But they said, "No, you can bring us peace."
I said, "I don't know how to do that. Tell me, what can I do to bring peace?" And they said, "You can travel, Brother Gomez. You can travel to the United States. Go there and tell our brothers and sisters that we want peace."
Peace in our country means simply the following: No to the military aid. Peace in our country means a more humane policy than the current U.S. policy. And this peace can be constructed with your accompaniment.
Peace means that delegations of your groups would come to El Salvador, that you would become closer to us, more knowledgeable of our reality. Peace means all of the prayer and the solidarity actions that you carry out for us.
I am very grateful to God for each one of you. The Bible, the Word of God, continues to be written. And the scripture is written with all of the solidarity actions that are carried out on our behalf. May God bless you, brothers and sisters, for your great love.
Medardo Gomez, who was bishop of the Salvadoran Lutheran Church when this article appeared, was forced into exile in November 1989. This reflection was offered at a convocation of U.S. and Salvadoran religious leaders in Washington, D.C. on January 23, 1990.
'We Have Right on Our Side'
WE ARE A HARD-WORKING PEOPLE, and our children deserve a better today and a much better tomorrow. Yet our rivers, our lakes, and our mountains are stained with blood.
We are a people who want liberty, who want an authentic democracy. We are against the forces of death, and we want a truly prosperous country that we construct with the work of all. For all these reasons, my brothers and sisters, in the name of the Salvadoran people, and in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I urge you to continue your struggle together until we have peace with social justice in El Salvador.
Until we tear down and destroy that position which has been shown to have failed over the last 10 years -- the position of a military victory -- we must turn to the only possible alternative. Now with moral strength, with all that we are, we say no more war. We want negotiation, and we want peace.
And that, beloved brothers and sisters, we will achieve as one part of the body of Christ because we have right on our side. This is what we believe, because we believe that the reign of God has come down, through the efforts of the Lord and through our own efforts. Let us continue on in the struggle.
Edgar Palacios was pastor of Shalom Baptist Church in San Salvador and the coordinator of the Permanent Commission of the National Debate for Peace in El Salvador when this article appeared. This reflection was offered at a vigil of U.S. and Salvadoran religious leaders on the steps of the U.S. Capitol on January 23, 1990.
Those Who Long for Peace
PEACE SHOULD NOT BE LEFT in the hands of those for whom party interests are more important than the needs of the people, but should be in the hands of those who truly long for peace. We need a humanization of peace.
We need to work for peace from the perspective of the suffering of the orphans and widows, and the tragedy of the assassinated and disappeared. We must keep our eyes on the God of Jesus Christ, the God of life, the God of the poor, and not on the idols, or the gods of death, that devour everything.
More compelling than spoken words, the reality of El Salvador -- the 75,000 dead, the 7,000 disappeared, the widows and the orphans, the 1.5 million displaced people and refugees, and the millions of impoverished Salvadorans -- cries out for peace.
Ignacio Ellacuria, the rector of the Central American University in San Salvador, was one of the six Jesuit priests murdered by Salvadoran armed forces in November 1989. These comments were made at a march for peace in San Salvador on March 4, 1989, and are included in El Salvador: A Spring Whose Waters Never Run Dry.
'All of Us Can Do Something'
WE HAVE BEEN TOLD by the faithful of El Salvador to weep no more, and instead to imitate the actions of the martyrs. And yet we've discovered that sometimes we cannot stop the tears.
At times like this, we remember not only our brothers and sisters who have lost their lives, but those who are being deprived of freedom right now. Parish workers from my community were tortured for 15 days at the hands of the security forces before they were allegedly handed over to the civil judiciary system.
While President Cristiani talks about a judicial system in El Salvador that works, in reference to the case of the murdered Jesuits, hundreds and hundreds of political prisoners in El Salvador right now are outside of any legal system. They have never been charged. So part of our weeping is not only for those deceased, those who have been murdered, but for those who continue to suffer in the prisons and the barrios of El Salvador.
To those of you who have seen the pain of the Salvadoran people, you cannot wait until the tears are no more; you march with your tears. You don't wait until you have conquered your fear; you walk with the fear. You don't wait until the anger has subsided; you speak with the anger.
The day that he was assassinated, Archbishop Oscar Romero, in his last sermon, spoke at a memorial service for a woman who had died the previous year. In that service he told stories about what this simple woman had done. And then he said, "All of us can do something. "
Whether this day we are doing civil disobedience, speaking with truth and anger to congressional representatives, praying and fasting, or writing still another letter -- all of us can do something; all of us can do something; all of us can do something.
Jim Barnett, who was a Dominican priest when this article appeared, served for four and a half years in a parish of displaced people near San Salvador. He left the country in November 1989 under threat of death. This reflection was offered at a vigil of U.S. and Salvadoran religious leaders on the U.S. Capitol steps on January 23, 1990.
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