THE canonization of Archbishop Oscar Romero last Sunday, October 14, was very timely. Robert Barro, an economist from Harvard once wrote an interesting investigation titled “Economics of Sainthood.” He argued in his findings that the Catholic Church does not declare saints devoid of socio-political reasons. Saint making, according to him, has been a centuries-old activity. Given the number of canonizations and beatifications, there are available data that allow us to detect patterns of rationality behind the Catholic Church’s choices for saints as well as their timing.
Apparently Barro is right. Saints are declared for public veneration because they are the right people at the right time. This is not to discount in any way their holy examples as well as their sacrifices. An important question however is, why are their examples, and why is their life worth remembering not only now but whenever they are most needed?
Romero, former Archbishop of El Salvador, was killed nearly four decades ago. Hailed by many as a champion of social justice, he stood out as a model of martyrdom in recent Christian history. However, his ultimate choice to live a life of Christian witnessing did not develop overnight.
A few days before his canonization, The Atlantic Magazine provided an informative review of the newly declared saint’s life. Accordingly “Romero did not start out as a leftist reformer.” The article continues: although he was already known as “a down-to-earth pastor; to his fellow priests, he was an organization man.” In fact, “when the Second Vatican Council relaxed the dress code for priests, he continued to wear a long cassock (and disdained priests who did not).”
A few more descriptions still from our source: “as the auxiliary bishop of San Salvador, he was an episcopal bureaucrat, consumed with paperwork . . . (and) made his weekly confession to a priest who was a member of the traditionalist movement Opus Dei.”
Eventually, however, Romero was bothered by the increasing violence and oppression in his place. In the end he stood against the military government. He sided with the poor and the oppressed. Because of this he became controversial. It would even take the Vatican around forty years to officially acknowledge his prophetic virtues.
His message was very ordinary: “I implore you, I beg you, I order you, in the name of God: stop the repression!” Indeed, these are ordinary words. It is not theologically sophisticated. It is in no way philosophically profound. But these are words which many bishops and priests of today are hardly capable of saying. In fact, many church leaders have difficulty standing up against oppression in the name of God.
Because of political reasons some priests would love to play safe. Sadly, others are “simply” afraid. Still many others are busy with something else: their parish raffle for the upcoming fiesta. Because of cowardice some of them have rationalized along the lines of legalities. Some of them have forgotten the very reason of their ministry. They suddenly become social scientists that argue in terms of the pros and cons of governance. Instead of defending their people, they defend those in power. They are, to borrow the words of Roberto Unger, “men who have lost their faith but have retained their profession.”
I said at the onset that Archbishop Oscar Romero’s canonization is timely. Precisely, he is a reminder that from a distinctively Christian perspective authentic power means service. His death immortalized his fundamental choice to be a sign of contradiction even if it would mean martyrdom.
If Romero’s canonization is a message, I believe it is primarily addressed to some bishops and priests in the Philippines. It is a reminder that what makes a bishop is not a miter or a staff. Similarly, priesthood isn’t just about celebrating the Mass. Episcopacy or priesthood is not an office or a title. It is a calling and a conviction. Sacraments and liturgies are powerful only and insofar as they make meaning for the faithful.
The real shepherd knows his prophetic role. And he knows that genuine ministry does not and cannot make his ecclesiastical career better. Thus we borrow the words from a prayer commonly attributed to Oscar Romero and say that a bishop or a priest is a worker, not a master builder; he is simply a minister, not the messiah. He is a prophet of a future not his own.