The following was written by a North American church person and friend of Sojourners who was working with Salvadoran refugees in Honduras in the early 1980s. - The Editors
April 12: Entry into Jerusalem
Today I woke up between the sound of gunshots and church bells. This morning the Christian base communities gathered to begin the celebration of Holy Week: the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. The refrain from the Misa Popular (Popular Mass) announces the hope of the people:
Lord of all the earth
Lord of all history
Who accompanies our people
Who lives in our struggles
Blessed are those who announce the gospel
The good news of liberation.
The people's reflection on the day's reading is profound: "Humbling himself, he took on the human condition, even to the point of death on a cross" (Philippians 2:8). "We too must do the same," said Maria. "We must take up the example of Jesus and follow. We've got to mix with the people."
This is the people's exegesis, a rereading of the Bible from the perspective of the poor. Here "the people" is a living reality, a drama and a passion, an incarnation of Christ. The mystique of the people is as profound as it is ordinary, drawn from everyday life.
But the Word of God has consequences. As we leave the celebration, the exits are guarded by the National Police. Four young men are detained, their arms stretched against a wall of the church. They are searched as the soldiers stand guard. Everyone leaves in haste. There is nothing we can do. As I look back, the sight of the arms stretched out against the wall leaves a vivid impression in my mind of the week's passion: the crucifixion of El Salvador.
April 13: Penitence
Today's reflection begins with the anointing of Jesus by Mary. Judas says: "Better that the money be given to the poor than wasted like this." Jesus replies: "The poor you will always have with you." The gospel calls us not to give bread to the poor but to be one with the poor. In the words of the slain Salvadoran priest, Rutilio Grande: "Not to give bread to the masses, but to be yeast in the masses."
In El Salvador [during the civil war] it [was] a crime to practice the works of mercy. To feed and give shelter to the refugees, to bury the cadavers thrown in the street, to defend the political prisoners or search for the disappeared [was] punishable by the most horrible death.
Monsignor Oscar Romero said, "Sin is what brings death to the Son of God." We see the fruit of sin in El Salvador today: the untimely death of the poor, the sacrifice of children, and the unborn ripped from their mothers' wombs.
And we see the hope of conversion in the struggle for liberation, in the popular organizations, and the Christian base communities. These are the "signs of the time," signs that God has seen the humiliation of the people, has heard their cries, and guides them now "with an arm strong and mighty" through the streets and hills on the way to liberation. We seek to love our brother and sister in a way which effectively destroys sin, announces the kingdom of God, and builds a loving society.
Today we returned to reopen the parish, here where the last two priests have been assassinated. It is a sign of hope, the decision of the people to go on living despite the war.
April 14: The Misa Popular
Last night there was a torrential rain in the barrio. This morning the sunrise is brilliant! The celebration of the base communities continues. The theme of conversion seems appropriate, given the day's reading: Judas' betrayal. People in each community recall signs of conversion in their own lives. One remembered "the life of Monsignor Romero," another "the possibility to live in community," still another "the intervention by one of the mothers" who obtained the release of the four detained by the National Police on Sunday.
The celebration is impressive, an expression of the anguish and the hope of the people, a testimony of the conscience of the communities, a celebration of vitality. Above all, it is a participation in the passion of the Lord of history. It is the expression of the base communities, which at this moment are the fabric of a new life, the place of conversion and support for the broader social struggle.
The songs of the Misa Popular resonate with the cries of the people:
Lord, the injustice pains and oppresses us
Come to our side, the side of the humble
The boots and the tanks crush us, Lord,
Whoever risks their life for all....
Lord, have mercy on your people.
All of this is preparation for a deeper commitment and presence among the people, a celebration which God promises.
April 16: Eucharist and Liberation
Today's reflections recall both the Passover in Egypt and the institution of the Lord's Supper. We began with these two historic events, recalling the daily Exodus of the people in El Salvador.
"The Eucharist and the preparation for it bring about in each one of us a radicalization," said one woman, "a conversion from sin which is necessary for us to unite together as a people toward our liberation." "This is the example of Jesus," said another, "who gave up all - body, blood, flesh, and bones."
"This is my body which will be given up (entregada) for you. This is my blood which will be shed (derramada) for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me." These two words - entregada and derramada - form the heart and soul of the Eucharist and the struggle for liberation.
Among the popular organizations and the base communities, entregada is a key word: the offering up of oneself to the people. And the consequences of this act are only too well known today in El Salvador: "to disappear, to be captured, to be tortured, and appear as a cadaver," in the words of Monsignor Romero.
This is the commitment exacted from those who truly give themselves over to the people. How many countless martyrs - those of conviction and the innocent - whose blood has been shed! But this is life-giving! Just to look at the faces of the people gathered here leaves no doubt: "Unless the seed falls into the earth and dies, there will be no fruit. But if it dies, how great the fruit!"
The blood of Abel cries out from the earth, and awakes now in the people of God. The Lord of history hears each cry. God does not forget the color of our blood. For this the Son of God was given up, his blood was shed: "So that we might have life and have it abundantly." The prayers of intention form a great cry of anguish and desire among the base communities. This is the new life of the people, a church born of the poor.
Tonight we return home to our barrios to rest. Shots ring out in the night. They bring to mind more profoundly the agony of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus brought before the soldiers for interrogation and thrown into prison. How many times has this scene been repeated in El Salvador? How many Judases have turned their own brother or neighbor over to the National Guard or Police? Who at this moment relives in their flesh the torture and abandonment of our brother Jesus?
April 17: Way of the Cross, El Salvador
Today we celebrated the Way of the Cross, a true Via Crucis among the people. The living drama and passion of the day is vibrant in the celebration of the base communities here. We began with a simple pronouncement: "Today in El Salvador, we are living through a true Via Crucis...a cross which we encounter in the mountains, in the prisons and at the roadblocks...a cross which we meet in the tears and anguish of countless mothers whose loved ones have disappeared, a cross borne before the tribunals and in the agony of those tortured and assassinated by the military and their death squads." This Via Crucis is nothing less than the daily path here in El Salvador that each one must walk.
The reading from the Suffering Servant of Isaiah is our meditation: Who is this "Man of Sorrows acquainted with our grief"? This one "disfigured who does not appear to be human"? How many loved ones can we recall, assassinated by unidentified assailants, maimed and slaughtered, disfigured by the machete and thrown in the street?
"Who are the poor in El Salvador?" "The dead." One man spoke, then another and another: "God has chosen the humble, the poor of the earth, those who count for nothing, nothing, nothing." "Those who are abandoned to the hands of their captors to be tortured and left to die in the street."
Who is this Lamb of God who knows our suffering and our grief? Hands are raised, people stand up, waiting their turn to respond.
Suddenly the word goes out: "La Guardia!" Silence. Looking back, we see nothing. The reflection continues. But the context of the celebration has changed. Expectations fill the air.... What will happen? The result is a Via Crucis which we live in the midst of the living drama of the celebration.
The Adoration of the Cross is next. A cross that not only symbolizes the suffering of the people, but above all is a sign of the sacrificial love of Jesus, of so many who have given their lives out of love for their friends. Just to touch the body of Christ on the cross as we await the arrival of the National Guard confirms our own commitment to follow the steps of Jesus to the cross.
Finally we share the bread and wine of the Eucharist. Then the blessing and dismissal. What will we confront on leaving? No Guardia or soldiers appear. We disperse.
But the expectation remains. At some determined hour tonight, or in the celebration tomorrow, they will come back, together with the violence and threats which are part and parcel of the lives of the Salvadoran people. Now there is peace. The living force of unity among the communities as we wait together. The commitment and testimony of love of these base communities. Via Crucis - El Salvador.
April 18: Baptism and Liberation
In this church Octavio Ortiz is buried. Here he was ordained in 1974 by Monsignor Romero. He was killed in 1979 in the early morning when a tank broke through the gate and the National Guard killed four boys and Octavio. Later their bodies were run over and disfigured by the tank.
Remembering Octavio's death, we have little doubt that the National Guard does not concern itself with religious sanctuary. In El Salvador the Guardia doesn't bother to knock. This is the daily tension under which the people live, and it is impressive to see the courage and hope they maintain despite a very natural fear.
Today we continue the reflection of the communities. The theme is taken from readings on the Exodus and on baptism. People remember their 430 years of colonial oppression in El Salvador. One woman said: "We too are passing through the Red Sea here in El Salvador, a sea of blood which drenches the people."
Baptism as well is a passage to freedom: "The old within us is crucified with Christ.... Whatever was enslaved to sin is destroyed" (Romans 6:6). This is the sin we recognized earlier in the week as our complicity in structures of oppression, structures which "grind the face of the poor in the dust" and sell their labor "for a pound of coffee." The idolatry of the capitalist system and the national security state which demands the death of the poor - all this has been crucified with Christ. The old has died and the new - a commitment to justice - is resurrected.
Baptism is an entrega, a preferential option for the poor in their struggle for liberation, "obedient to the point of death on a cross"...or as a cadaver in the street.
Easter Vigil: The Table of Creation
Tonight I accompanied the base communities to another barrio. We were able to look out over the city and see the volcano to the north. On the table the candles were lit.
We began with the account of the creation in the book of Genesis. With the approach of dusk, the celebration took on a new dimension: the victory and resurrection of Christ. We shared the bread and wine of the Eucharist.
With this bread and wine
The community lives
Sharing the goods of creation
A sign among the wolves, of liberation.
We went on to recall our baptismal commitments, in the context of the social reality in El Salvador. "Do you renounce the oppression which brings death to the poor of El Salvador?" "Do you renounce Satan?" "We do."
"Do you believe in one holy and apostolic church?" A church born of the people, where "the poor believe in the poor and Christ lives in our solidarity"? Pictures were held up and the names of fallen compañeros were called out. "Do you believe in the communion of saints?"
I looked at a picture as an old man held it up to the assembly. The woman next to me wept.
"Do you believe in the forgiveness of sins?" A time when "field will no longer be joined to field, house to house," condemning to a death before their time the poor of the earth. A time when this ancient yoke of oppression will finally be broken, "and the lands which have been destroyed will be returned to their rightful owners" (Isaiah 49:8).
"Do you believe in the resurrection of the dead and life eternal?" That one day soon the dead will come back and sit down together at the table of creation where "each one has a place and no one lacks for what they need"? From the hills of Morazan to the waters of the Rio Sumpul in Chalatenango, all will come back to work the fields of their ancestors: "They will build houses and live in them.... They will plant fields and eat the fruit of their labor" (Isaiah 65:21).
The poor will inherit the earth. This is the hope which overcomes all evil, a hope which has overcome the world - a hope which we must live in the midst of the terror which surrounds us on all sides.
Just now another shot rings out; the rain makes it difficult to distinguish sounds. Tonight the electricity in the barrio has gone out. Only the light of the candle burns - the light which burns in the mountains, and in the prisons and torture cells of the National Guard and Police.
Light of Christ! Easter has arrived. "No greater love is there than to lay down your life for your friends." Christ has risen in El Salvador!
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