Reflections on Sistering....

Visits to sister communities always cause me to ask deep questions of myself, to reflect on the world in which we live, and to question, given our world, how am I, and how are we, as Christians, called to live, to respond, and to act.
 

We are living in a new world situation.  We are living in a world in which the poor have become visible, a world in which they are thinking out their own faith.  What is this world of the poor?  And how are we to come to know this world?  One excellent way is through our sistering relationships with poor communities.

 

The characteristics and reality of poverty go far beyond social and economic aspects.  “Poverty means death: lack of food and housing, the inability to attend properly to health and education needs, the exploitation of workers, permanent unemployment, the lack of respect for one’s human dignity, and unjust limitations placed on personal freedom in the areas of self-expression, politics, and religion.   Poverty is a situation that destroys peoples, families, and individuals; Medellin and Puebla called it ‘institutionalized violence’ (to which must be added the equally unacceptable violence of terrorism and repression).”[1]
   

Yet we Christians are called to a life of poverty.  Certainly it cannot mean the institutionalized life of the world’s poor.  Rather, for a Christian “being poor is also a way of living, thinking, loving, praying, believing, and hoping, spending leisure time, and struggling for a livelihood.   Being poor today is also increasingly coming to mean being involved in the struggle for justice and peace, defending one’s life and freedom, seeking a more democratic participation in the decisions made by society, organizing “to live their faith in an integral way” (Puebla, 1137), and being committed to the liberation of every human being.”[2]
  

Poverty of the Church is meant to be spiritual poverty, in the sense of a readiness to do God’s will.   Poverty of the Church also means “solidarity with the poor, along with protest against the conditions under which they suffer.”[3]
  

I believe that sistering is an integral expression of our commitment as well as the most direct avenue for learning about not only the world, but the faith response of the poor and their holy struggle for liberation.   This is a struggle that we are all baptized into.  These are the people, who, if we truly believe that “all are welcome here” gather around our Eucharistic table each week for reconciliation, nourishment, and greater communion in the family of God.  It is not enough that we merely acknowledge their presence at the table.   Indeed, it has never been enough that we merely acknowledge each other at Eucharist.   Nor was a friendly wish of “have a nice day”, or “see you next week” ever sufficient.  We continue to be reminded of our baptismal responsibilities through the final command with which we always end our Eucharistic celebrations, “Go now to love and serve the Lord and each other.”
  

It is important to get past the notion that the primary aspect of our sistering is to help those less fortunate.  Hopefully, our relationship is not centered to an extreme on the notion of their “dependence” nor on the need for the more “developed” countries and communities to rescue them from their misery.   Rather, it is through sistering that we struggle to understand and accept a life of poverty, the poverty of the Church.
  

Through sistering it is a personal, familial, and communal relationship that we are seeking, both on a human level and on a faith level.   Sistering offers us an opportunity to understand one of the principal signs of our times, and a corresponding challenge for us to examine and re-interpret our world and ecclesial situations in the light of the gospel.
  

“Latin American Christians are experiencing a tense and intense period of solidarity, reflection, and martyrdom.”[4]  Through our sistering we not only express our solidarity with them.  We are invited into reflection, and indeed, into martyrdom; their physical martyrdom and our own sacrificing of selves in the fashion of our Lord, to be broken and given for the life and liberty of others. Therein we could find our own liberation and salvation as well.
  

If we claim to be a part of a church that proclaims a “preferential option for the poor” or in the words of John XXIII (address of September 11, 1962) that our church is a “church of the poor” how does our church demonstrate and live out that preferential option for the poor?  How do we?  How do I?
  

In his groundbreaking book, The Theology of Liberation, the theologian Gustavo Gutierrez concludes with a final analysis.  He states that, “an option for the poor is an option for the God of the kingdom whom Jesus proclaims to us….The ultimate reason for commitment to the poor and oppressed is not to be found in the social analysis we use, or in human compassion, or in any direct experiences we ourselves may have of poverty.  These are all doubtless valid motives that play an important part in our commitment.  As Christians, however, our commitment is grounded, in the final analysis, in the God of our faith.  It is a theocentric, prophetic option that has its roots in the unmerited love of God and is demanded by this love.”[5]
  

If we understand the Church, and God’s preferential option for the poor, ought we not reflect upon the consequences for our Christian life?   And then live accordingly?
  

God has a partiality for the poor.  If we are to proclaim and live out Christian love how can we not aggressively enter into the ministry of Jesus, who shared in, lived out, and exercised that same salvific partiality?
  

Through our sistering we have made, and we exercise, an “option for the poor.”  We have entered into solidarity with their suffering and their pathways of emancipation.  Thus, we have become part of the People of God and the Church of the Poor.

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[1] Gustavo Gutierrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation, (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1990), p. xxi.

[2] Ibid., p. xxii.

[3] Ibid., p. xxv.

[4] Ibid., p. xx.

[5] Ibid., p. xxvii.

HISTORIC SALVADORAN ELECTION

Faith in Action in Chalatenango,

El Salvador, March 15, 2009

They prayed...

They prayed hard. They prayed for weeks before the first election in January. Then they continued to pray during the two months before the presidential election in March.

They prayed out of their pain. Out of their history. Out of their faith. Out of their hope.

They prayed to their compañeros and compañeras, massacred during the years of civilian slaughter from 1980 to 1992. They prayed to the martytrs of El Mozote and hundreds of other victims of slaughter at the hands of the Salvadoran military, a military trained and funded by the United States.

They prayed to their fathers and mothers, their sons and daughters, their aunts, uncles, and friends. Salvador prayed to his three younger brothers who were executed early during the war years. Maria prayed to her two daughters killed on February 11, 1990 in a helicopter gunship attack on the tiny village of Corral de Las Piedras, known today as Communidad Ignacio Ellacuria.

They prayed to the four churchwomen killed on December 2, 1980: Ita, Maura, Dorothy and Jean.

They prayed to their beloved San Romero, shot in the heart while celebrating mass on March 24, 1980.

They prayed to their six Jesuit theologians and to Elba and Celina, butchered at the UCA on November 16, 1989.

They prayed to their pastor, Fr. Jon de Cortina, who was with them through it all until his death in 2005.

They prayed that all those lives not be spent in vain. They prayed that those 75,000 saintly voices would beseech the Lord for a change in their government.

They engaged an army of martyrs to influence the election. They weren't shy about it. Their faith and their history demanded it.

They mobilized...

The Nationalist Republican Alliance (ARENA) party, and before them the oligarchy, had been holding onto power for years. Mostly through raw oppressive might, intimidation and fraudulent elections.

Any time the people tried to mobilize for survival, justice, or their rights, they were put down. Put down brutally, like in 1932 with "la matanza," the massacre of thirty thousand poor campesinos who tried to protest against their lives of slavery and poverty.

The National Registry of eligible voters in El Salvador is fraught with the potential for fraud. It is suspected that dead people are on the registry. Salvadorans who have long ago left the country are on the voter list. People are on the list with their single names, their married names, and perhaps a third time with one of their last names changed.

Then there is the problem with the DUIs. The DUI is the picture ID card that matches you to the voter registry and allows you to vote. It is the national identification card of El Salvador.

To vote you must present your DUI and have it verified against the Voter Registry lists.

The system of issuing DUIs is also fraught with the potential for fraud. It seems that if you lose your DUI you can petition for another without much difficulty. If you claim to be someone else, perhaps someone who is dead, you might get a DUI. If you move to another community you might be able to get another DUI. And apparently, even if you are not Salvadoran, you might be able to get a DUI.

In the January municipal elections the ARENA party had used an apparently legal, but unethical method to win some mayoral elections. In the city of Chalatenango the ARENA party brought in extra voters from other cities and towns to vote in the municipal election. Employing this "strategy" the ARENA mayoral candidate won by a mere 35 votes.

The people of the Chalatenango region knew that ARENA would likely try this approach again for the presidential election in March. Where would ARENA recruit these "outside" voters? Honduras and Guatemala.

El reten in Guarjila...

The people felt they had to take action. Eight days before the election the community set up a road block, a "reten," on the main highway coming through the town of Guarjila.

The ARENA mayor of Chalatenango told us that their action was illegal.

We witnessed this "reten" in Guarjila on Saturday, the day before the election. By that time the people had convinced the National Police to work with the community to stop incoming vehicles. The "reten" worked. Fifteen Hondurans were detained by the police in Guarjila.

Salvadorans who live near the border know their neighbors. They travel back and forth to Honduras for business and pleasure. Some of them have family and friends living there.

So when "outsiders" travel through their communities they recognize who is a citizen of El Salvador and who might not be.

When these fifteen Hondurans were identified in Guarjila the police took them to the community's "casa comunal" for questioning, asking why they would come to El Salvador to vote illegally.

The Salvadorans know the reasons. People who are very poor are especially susceptible to vote buying. These Hondurans were recruited by the ARENA party, offered $50 to come into El Salvador and vote with fake DUIs that were provided.

The people of Guarjila felt sorry for these poor Hondurans so they offered food and drink. But, they were determined to minimize this attempt by the ARENA party to illegally win their election. The police agreed, and escorted these fifteen "illegals" back to the border near the town of Arcatao, telling them to return to their homes and not interfere with the democratic process in El Salvador.

They voted...

We served as Official Election OBservers in Chalatenango City as members of the CIS International Observer Mission in El Salvador.

The people turned out, and their efforts to thwart fraud proved greater than the weaknesses of the system and the fraudulent tactics and smear campaign of ARENA.

The FMLN won the election by 51.3% over 48.7% for the ARENA, with a margin of roughly 70,000 votes delivering this historic victory to the left.

And historic it was, especially in light of the repressive rule that the Salvadoran right-wing had exerted over the people since "la matanza" in 1932.

They celebrated...

People were saying it was the culmination of 77 years of "la lucha."

They rejoiced. They shed tears of happiness. They lit firecrackers. They held celebratory rallies.

And they prayed. This time their prayers were prayers of gratitude.

Returning to Guarjila after the election we participated in a procession in honor of St. Joseph. Then, Padre Luis offered a mass of thanksgiving with the community in the renovated community chapel. The community expressed thanks for the solidarity of their international friends.

Their challenges...

El Salvador is a county of poor people, some of who are literally starving to death. They are the "crucified people" identified as such by Ignacio Ellacuria and Jon Sobrino. They have been ignored by their government for years.

We met a woman named Evelyn who used to work in one of the maquilas in San Marcos. There she worked from 7am to 8pm six days a week. She was only allowed to go to the bathroom three times a day. Work standards are set by the second. Evelyn worked extra hours because she didn't realize that she could decline the "overtime." Her fingers swelled so much that when she cut them she didn't even realize it.

Evelyn is now part of a group of artisans who are trying to survive. Evelyn left her first husband because of his abuse. She now is married again and together they have six children. Sometimes they must live on $1 a day. A pound of beans costs $1.25.

There are 104,000 workers in maquila factories in El Salvador today.

Salvadorans continue to flee their country. While we were in El Salvador a relative of Armando in Guarjila left to go "norte." Ten days after he left he was in Los Angles on his way to Omaha, Nebraska. He is one of the estimated 500 young men and women who have left Guarjila.

Reporting live from Guarjila, El Salvador...

Carlito y Carlita