Early in January of this year, on the Sunday commemorating the Baptism of the Lord, Father Joe asked us to consider those moments in our lives which were more intense, in which we might have become aware with greater clarity who we are or who God is. He was using as an example what may have been the first religious experience of Jesus, when at the conclusion of his baptism his Father was heard to say, “You are my beloved Son.” Just as Jesus embarked on his public mission empowered by his knowledge of this special relationship, memorable moments in our lives can help us appreciate who we are, our unique relationship with a loving God, and what that relationship might call us to become.

Such an experience occurred in the life of Archbishop Oscar Romero, moving him from the safety of a secure and predictable existence as priest and bishop in El Salvador, to a clear and vibrant voice for the poor and the oppressed, an unrelenting and challenging voice attempting to bring Gospel awareness to bear on the problems of rampant inequality, violence and chaos which were devastating the country. He himself never characterized the significant moment as a “conversion,” but rather as a development from the time of his own childhood in poverty and his feeling of closeness to those with the same roots, but there is little doubt that the murder of his close friend Rutilio Grande, SJ, by forces opposed to the priest’s work with the impoverished people in his parish, was the special moment that clarified the archbishop’s thinking and sparked his determination to carry on where his friend left off and move on even farther to the whole of the nation. Archbishop Romero was assassinated while saying Mass on March 24, 1980.

That was thirty years ago. Scott Wright, who had co-edited a volume of Romero’s writings in 2000, has assembled additional material from letters and lectures of friends, sermons and radio broadcasts by the archbishop himself, and the moving reminiscences of the many people whose lives intersected with his and upon whom he had lasting effect. The resulting biography is more than the sum of its parts. It is a moving and compelling account of a man who never started out to take center stage but whose love of God and the people he was called to serve, coupled with a strong sense of justice, propelled him beyond his own shy and diffident nature into taking an uncompromising stance on behalf of the poor.

This “preferential option for the poor,” which was the focus of the Latin American Church gathered at Medellin in Colombia in 1968, took a long time to take root in Romero’s thinking and preaching. He preferred to try to straddle both the world of the campesinos and the world of the wealthy landowners, hoping to persuade each of their proper responsibilities as he saw them. It was his strong pastoral sense that gradually provided the opening into the world of increasing violence and degradation being visited on people helpless to come to their own rescue, even as he looked with askance at those among his own friends and colleagues who had moved ahead of him into that arena. The murder of his friend became the flashpoint.

Among Archbishop Romero’s many talents was his persuasive speaking ability, whether it was the Sunday homily or the popular daily talks on Scripture which he delivered over the radio station. This skill stood him in good stead when he put his newly honed convictions before the country at large, giving courage to the downtrodden and ammunition to his opponents. The violence and killings continued, but so did his voice until it was finally silenced on that day in March as he celebrated Mass in the small hospital where he lived. Military personnel trained at the School of the Americas (WHINSEC) in Fort Benning, Georgia were responsible for his killing, just as they would be later of the four American Women missionaries and the six Jesuit university professors and their two housekeepers. Jon Sobrino, the one Jesuit professor who escaped killing because he was out of the country at the time, makes clear Romero’s legacy:

Monsenor Romero inspires indigenous people and peasants, African Americans and oppressed, but also intellectuals, university professors, professionals, bishops, and humble catechists. Despite the passing of years, the commemoration of Romero’s life has not diminished. In times of war and in times of peace, countless human beings continue to celebrate him. In Romero, that which is Christian and that which is human is very present.

At this point, Scott Wright’s choice of title, Oscar Romero and the Communion of the Saints, begins to make sense. Referring to Elizabeth Johnson’s book Friends of God and Prophets, he points out that the Christian community past and present springs from the memory, the narrative, of those “clouds of witnesses”, both holy people and prophets, whose lives and mission are grounded in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. For us the readers, the distance in time since the death of Oscar Romero dissolves into insignificance when we consider our relationship within this remarkable community. We are presented with a wake-up call to be alert to those unique moments in our own lives which provide greater clarity for our own mission.