Just found this article, and well, I don't think I could say it any better myself:
And I offer you this as an alternative yardstick to perfection and happiness.
My aunt told me once that emotions are a single package -- if you lose or deny one of them (sadness frustration despair discontentedness) you lose all of them. To strive to only feel happiness assures above anything else that you will not feel it.
11 May 2010
26 April 2010
A Stranger's Kindness
Several weeks ago, I was coming home from work at the Perry School. It had been an amazing day there! Involving drumming, dancing, playing with the kids around the Peace Pole outside and then a Family night with amazing conversations between parents and kids in the Peace Room.
Any rate, this wonderful day went long. I had to catch an 8:24 bus to back on campus in time (or 5 minutes late!) to my Thursday evening Seniors faith sharing group -- one of the high lights of my week, honestly. I have about 6 blocks to walk and a long stop light. Booking it, I could see the bus stop at 8:22 and figured I was ok and slowed down a little. 3o seconds later, to see the bus speed by. This is a bus that only comes every half hour. I was leading the group that night and really didn't want to miss it, so took of running again. Hoping the next few red lights would slow the bus down enough. Running running running. And it's not gonna happen. Slow to a speed walk when a car, stopped at the light roles down their windows and says: "You trying to catch the bus?" To which, out of breath, I can only nod "Yes." "Do you want a ride?"
"Do you want a ride?" I think the earth stopped as I inhaled the question. Did I want a ride? And flashing in my head are thoughts of my prayer group and my desperate desire to be there. the warning repeated over and over again since i was little not to take rides from strangers. but there was something that made me trust that these strangers were not strangers but compassionate people. "Do you want a ride?"
To which, out of breath, I could only not "Yes." and got in the back seat.
"We saw you running and figured you wanted the bus," they said, "and we felt bad."
"Thank you!"
They resumed their conversation, finalizing plans for the party they were throwing the next night.
"Do you know what the next stop is ? I wonder if we can pass the bus before then..."
(this said on a tight one lane in each direction street...)
"Logan circle and dupont are stops" I said, " but if it stops and we are right behind it, I can just jump out and run ahead and get on it."
And just then, the bus stopped, I jumped out... the bus slowly started and I ran and knocked on the door. It stopped, opened the door, let me on.
I sat down, sighed, and laughed in gratitude. What a ridiculous night.
As the bus rode on toward school, I thought about risk and trust and compassion. To trust someone is a risk. How to decide when it is a risk worth taking? Be it in love, in friendship, accepting a favor ... there is the chance that hearts will be broken, that people will be hurt. When is the risk worth taking? When is it fool hardy?
What about the compassion it takes to offer a ride to a stranger? And the trust to accept? A risk is being taken on both sides. Can it only be justified if everything ends well?
I like to think that there is goodness in the world. That there is beauty and love and gentleness in addition to the betrayals and the pain. It's a gamble that I hope that I take every day, in one way or another.
Any rate, this wonderful day went long. I had to catch an 8:24 bus to back on campus in time (or 5 minutes late!) to my Thursday evening Seniors faith sharing group -- one of the high lights of my week, honestly. I have about 6 blocks to walk and a long stop light. Booking it, I could see the bus stop at 8:22 and figured I was ok and slowed down a little. 3o seconds later, to see the bus speed by. This is a bus that only comes every half hour. I was leading the group that night and really didn't want to miss it, so took of running again. Hoping the next few red lights would slow the bus down enough. Running running running. And it's not gonna happen. Slow to a speed walk when a car, stopped at the light roles down their windows and says: "You trying to catch the bus?" To which, out of breath, I can only nod "Yes." "Do you want a ride?"
"Do you want a ride?" I think the earth stopped as I inhaled the question. Did I want a ride? And flashing in my head are thoughts of my prayer group and my desperate desire to be there. the warning repeated over and over again since i was little not to take rides from strangers. but there was something that made me trust that these strangers were not strangers but compassionate people. "Do you want a ride?"
To which, out of breath, I could only not "Yes." and got in the back seat.
"We saw you running and figured you wanted the bus," they said, "and we felt bad."
"Thank you!"
They resumed their conversation, finalizing plans for the party they were throwing the next night.
"Do you know what the next stop is ? I wonder if we can pass the bus before then..."
(this said on a tight one lane in each direction street...)
"Logan circle and dupont are stops" I said, " but if it stops and we are right behind it, I can just jump out and run ahead and get on it."
And just then, the bus stopped, I jumped out... the bus slowly started and I ran and knocked on the door. It stopped, opened the door, let me on.
I sat down, sighed, and laughed in gratitude. What a ridiculous night.
As the bus rode on toward school, I thought about risk and trust and compassion. To trust someone is a risk. How to decide when it is a risk worth taking? Be it in love, in friendship, accepting a favor ... there is the chance that hearts will be broken, that people will be hurt. When is the risk worth taking? When is it fool hardy?
What about the compassion it takes to offer a ride to a stranger? And the trust to accept? A risk is being taken on both sides. Can it only be justified if everything ends well?
I like to think that there is goodness in the world. That there is beauty and love and gentleness in addition to the betrayals and the pain. It's a gamble that I hope that I take every day, in one way or another.
20 April 2010
back to Suchi!!
April 20, 2010
Dear Friends,
Can you believe how quickly time has passed? Here we are in the spring of 2010. This past December I graduated from Georgetown with a major in Psychology and a minor in Justice and Peace Studies and will be walking at Commencement this May. I am currently enrolled in a Teaching English as a Foreign Language class and will be certified to teach this June. As if all of this were not enough, this coming September I will be moving to El Salvador to work at Centro Arte para la Paz (http://capsuchitoto.org/). As part of this experience, I will teach, help to organize community events, and live with the people who captured my heart when I studied abroad there last spring.
Centro Arte para la Paz is located in Suchitoto, which is a small town about two hours by bus (a 75 cent trip!) north of San Salvador. My theology professor, Sister Peggy O’Neil, is very involved with the center. At the end of my semester there, she invited me back to work with her, and I have gratefully and excitedly accepted her invitation.
My time in El Salvador was inspirational and formative. I often reflected on the question, “Where does my greatest desire meet the world’s greatest need?” For me, upon graduation, the answer is resoundingly in El Salvador, at Centro Arte para la Paz.
My desire: ever since I can remember, I have known that I wanted to serve, that I wanted to work with people, to listen. As I got older, I developed a yen for travel. On my graduation from high school, my dream was to join Peace Corp: to travel, to serve, to be part of a community completely different from anything that I had known. There was a part of me that felt like “well, it’s nice to dream, but I’m sure you’ll grow out of it, Christy.” After my time in El Salvador, it is clear that this desire to serve and live with the poor and the marginalized is not a passing phase, but a vocation. With Sister Peggy’s invitation, it became possible.
The need: The people of El Salvador are special. There is no other way to say it. The memory of the 12-year civil war of the 1980’s remains very much a part of Salvadoran life: memories of homes and people lost, war-time tensions turned into political tensions, the majority of the population living in poverty. Yet, there is a tangible hope, faith, and joy. There is a generosity and a hospitality, which I can only hope to learn.
Thus, the need is truly a mutual one. The work of the center in Suchitoto is to provide resources and community space for the people of the city as well as to invite foreigners in to serve and learn about the reality of El Salvador. With this in mind, my Justice and Peace senior thesis was the creation of a peace education curriculum built specifically for Salvadoran elementary school children. This is a class I will likely have the opportunity to teach. The gift back, to me, to other volunteers, is a lesson in simplicity, generosity, and giving with no thought to the cost.
As I prepare for this next great journey, I invite you to join me, through financial support, prayers and by following on my blog! I will be in Suchitoto from September of 2010 to May of 2012. To meet my expenses for this time, I am raising approximately $6,000 for food and travel expenses (due to the visitor visa system, I will have to leave the country every three months). Sister Peggy has generously provided housing and a stipend of $100 each month, so the cost I am responsible for is now $3,900. Any help you are able to provide is much appreciated! Please contact me (or leave a comment with your contact info) if you are interested in supporting me!
Financial assistance, however, is not the only support I need. Perhaps even more important are your prayers: for me, for the center, and for people of El Salvador!
I will be posting updates and pictures regularly on my blog (here!).
If you have any questions, would like more information, or just want to chat, please do not hesitate to comment! Thank you so much for your time and support!
Con Paz y Mucho Amor,
Christy
Dear Friends,
Can you believe how quickly time has passed? Here we are in the spring of 2010. This past December I graduated from Georgetown with a major in Psychology and a minor in Justice and Peace Studies and will be walking at Commencement this May. I am currently enrolled in a Teaching English as a Foreign Language class and will be certified to teach this June. As if all of this were not enough, this coming September I will be moving to El Salvador to work at Centro Arte para la Paz (http://capsuchitoto.org/). As part of this experience, I will teach, help to organize community events, and live with the people who captured my heart when I studied abroad there last spring.
Centro Arte para la Paz is located in Suchitoto, which is a small town about two hours by bus (a 75 cent trip!) north of San Salvador. My theology professor, Sister Peggy O’Neil, is very involved with the center. At the end of my semester there, she invited me back to work with her, and I have gratefully and excitedly accepted her invitation.
My time in El Salvador was inspirational and formative. I often reflected on the question, “Where does my greatest desire meet the world’s greatest need?” For me, upon graduation, the answer is resoundingly in El Salvador, at Centro Arte para la Paz.
My desire: ever since I can remember, I have known that I wanted to serve, that I wanted to work with people, to listen. As I got older, I developed a yen for travel. On my graduation from high school, my dream was to join Peace Corp: to travel, to serve, to be part of a community completely different from anything that I had known. There was a part of me that felt like “well, it’s nice to dream, but I’m sure you’ll grow out of it, Christy.” After my time in El Salvador, it is clear that this desire to serve and live with the poor and the marginalized is not a passing phase, but a vocation. With Sister Peggy’s invitation, it became possible.
The need: The people of El Salvador are special. There is no other way to say it. The memory of the 12-year civil war of the 1980’s remains very much a part of Salvadoran life: memories of homes and people lost, war-time tensions turned into political tensions, the majority of the population living in poverty. Yet, there is a tangible hope, faith, and joy. There is a generosity and a hospitality, which I can only hope to learn.
Thus, the need is truly a mutual one. The work of the center in Suchitoto is to provide resources and community space for the people of the city as well as to invite foreigners in to serve and learn about the reality of El Salvador. With this in mind, my Justice and Peace senior thesis was the creation of a peace education curriculum built specifically for Salvadoran elementary school children. This is a class I will likely have the opportunity to teach. The gift back, to me, to other volunteers, is a lesson in simplicity, generosity, and giving with no thought to the cost.
As I prepare for this next great journey, I invite you to join me, through financial support, prayers and by following on my blog! I will be in Suchitoto from September of 2010 to May of 2012. To meet my expenses for this time, I am raising approximately $6,000 for food and travel expenses (due to the visitor visa system, I will have to leave the country every three months). Sister Peggy has generously provided housing and a stipend of $100 each month, so the cost I am responsible for is now $3,900. Any help you are able to provide is much appreciated! Please contact me (or leave a comment with your contact info) if you are interested in supporting me!
Financial assistance, however, is not the only support I need. Perhaps even more important are your prayers: for me, for the center, and for people of El Salvador!
I will be posting updates and pictures regularly on my blog (here!).
If you have any questions, would like more information, or just want to chat, please do not hesitate to comment! Thank you so much for your time and support!
Con Paz y Mucho Amor,
Christy
05 April 2010
He's Alive, He's Alive
So weeks (months? a month?) of not posting and here we go two in one day! Relistening to the lyrics of Christ is Risen I realized I wanted to unpack the lyrics a little bit. Particularly the bridge and the chorus which go as follows:
Writing the lyrics, there's a part of me that feels "this says it so well, where more can I say?" I think mostly just that it relates to my previous post: as a Church we do not deny death nor hell, but we are called (and seek and strive) to stand in the light. That death and hell are not the final Truth, not the end, not the last word. "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God and the Word was with God" and so too the Word is the final Word, beginning and the end. It gives me goosebumps to think about.
"Come awake, come awake" Slowly I awake (Mary Oliver says "Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell") -- and you can ask any one who has lived with me: I do not awake and rise from bed in the morning easily. It is a journey and a re-commitment to life every morning. But yet the call is to "come awake" and "come stand in the light" and the only reason I can answer this call is that my death, all of the ways I die and am tempted to die, have each been trampled and transformed. because in joy and in sorrow I can cry with joy or with tears "He's alive, He's alive." When I remember I am called to FOLLOW and not MAKE THE PATH, when I remember that Christ first walked the road from death to life, created it made it at great cost (at my cost), when I am awoken...
And there are so many things to awake to: the beauty of the world in nature in people in friendships, in love, in family -- all of which I am invited to be a part of. And so many things to awake to which are hearty breaking: hunger, poverty, thirst, illiteracy. Yet these last my "come awake call" is not to an awakening of the existence of these issues, but to awake to the love God has for the people (His people) who suffer, to awake to His love and to feel it and live it and act it in my own heart in my own life. So He is alive and He is alive in me. What a beautiful call, what a call I wish I could awake to and live out better and more fully!
Christ is risen from the dead
trampling over death by death
Come awake, come awake
Come and rise up from the grave
Christ is risen from the dead
We are one with Him again
Come awake come awake
Oh death, where is your sting?
Oh hell, where is your victory?
Oh Church, come stand in the light
The glory of God has defeated the night
Singing Oh death, where is your sting?
Oh hell, where is your victory?
Oh Church, come stand in the light
Our God is not dead
He's alive, He's alive.
Writing the lyrics, there's a part of me that feels "this says it so well, where more can I say?" I think mostly just that it relates to my previous post: as a Church we do not deny death nor hell, but we are called (and seek and strive) to stand in the light. That death and hell are not the final Truth, not the end, not the last word. "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God and the Word was with God" and so too the Word is the final Word, beginning and the end. It gives me goosebumps to think about.
"Come awake, come awake" Slowly I awake (Mary Oliver says "Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell") -- and you can ask any one who has lived with me: I do not awake and rise from bed in the morning easily. It is a journey and a re-commitment to life every morning. But yet the call is to "come awake" and "come stand in the light" and the only reason I can answer this call is that my death, all of the ways I die and am tempted to die, have each been trampled and transformed. because in joy and in sorrow I can cry with joy or with tears "He's alive, He's alive." When I remember I am called to FOLLOW and not MAKE THE PATH, when I remember that Christ first walked the road from death to life, created it made it at great cost (at my cost), when I am awoken...
And there are so many things to awake to: the beauty of the world in nature in people in friendships, in love, in family -- all of which I am invited to be a part of. And so many things to awake to which are hearty breaking: hunger, poverty, thirst, illiteracy. Yet these last my "come awake call" is not to an awakening of the existence of these issues, but to awake to the love God has for the people (His people) who suffer, to awake to His love and to feel it and live it and act it in my own heart in my own life. So He is alive and He is alive in me. What a beautiful call, what a call I wish I could awake to and live out better and more fully!
Mighty to Save
Something clicked for me at mass this past Sunday -- Easter Sunday. After a long Lent -- per usual, seeming so long by the end that I simultaneously forget that it WAS lent and also began to believe that it would never end -- Easter has arrived. Now, I (and my Church) can cry and shout and sing ALLELUIA, the time of mourning, of desert, of preparation is past and we joyfully celebrate our time with the Bridegroom.
I'd been feeling desert-y lately. Desert-y in that my lenten promise became hard to keep (and towards the end I'd only sporadically done so). Desert-y in that life, while very very good, was seeming so much in my own hands and so desert-y in that I felt myself more and more turning to myself or the people around me than to God. When life was so good, when I felt love-ing and so loved, what did God, what did Christ have to say to me. And so as a result of so much goodness and blessing I got lost in the desert.
Easter mass, the music, the people -- church overflowing -- the homily, the dresses and shoes and ties and smiles worn by this over flowing church. The cross above the alter. Eucharist. Jelly Beans passed out by the priest after mass to all the children. This Pure Life all around: Life that was pure and real because it was born of death, that it allowed for death and pain and suffering (didn't ignore it, rose color it, look away), and triumphed. And I remembered or rather was pulled out from the death, the deep, and gifted with a deep breath of air above the drowning deep water (hmm... my images are getting confused: in the drowning deep AND the desert all at one, hmm? well, yes)
Death was acknowledged, once again, as part of the world and as part of life. The pain I felt and the pain I thought I should've have felt, were transformed (and this is important: transformed, not removed). The guilt and the feeling of holding my happiness in my own hands was taken as well and I was given back a sense of overflowing. A re-realization of my beautiful small-ness. I was re-claimed from the GOODNESS of my life. How funny is it that it is from the very goodness of the life I lived that I needed to be rescued from? Reminded of the God who IS, who saves, who loves. Reminded of Christ: my savior (reminded I need saved: from my sins and brokeness but --and let's beat this into the ground -- from the good things in my life), my friend, my brother, my love and lover.
In short: I too often mistake the gifts and blessings from God as God. But God is God and while good things come from Him, they are to lead me not to worship of those good things, but to Thanksgiving and a deeper desire for Christ.
To wrap it up: these are the links to the two songs that really spoke (sang) to me at mass.
Mighty to Save
Christ is Risen
I'd been feeling desert-y lately. Desert-y in that my lenten promise became hard to keep (and towards the end I'd only sporadically done so). Desert-y in that life, while very very good, was seeming so much in my own hands and so desert-y in that I felt myself more and more turning to myself or the people around me than to God. When life was so good, when I felt love-ing and so loved, what did God, what did Christ have to say to me. And so as a result of so much goodness and blessing I got lost in the desert.
Easter mass, the music, the people -- church overflowing -- the homily, the dresses and shoes and ties and smiles worn by this over flowing church. The cross above the alter. Eucharist. Jelly Beans passed out by the priest after mass to all the children. This Pure Life all around: Life that was pure and real because it was born of death, that it allowed for death and pain and suffering (didn't ignore it, rose color it, look away), and triumphed. And I remembered or rather was pulled out from the death, the deep, and gifted with a deep breath of air above the drowning deep water (hmm... my images are getting confused: in the drowning deep AND the desert all at one, hmm? well, yes)
Death was acknowledged, once again, as part of the world and as part of life. The pain I felt and the pain I thought I should've have felt, were transformed (and this is important: transformed, not removed). The guilt and the feeling of holding my happiness in my own hands was taken as well and I was given back a sense of overflowing. A re-realization of my beautiful small-ness. I was re-claimed from the GOODNESS of my life. How funny is it that it is from the very goodness of the life I lived that I needed to be rescued from? Reminded of the God who IS, who saves, who loves. Reminded of Christ: my savior (reminded I need saved: from my sins and brokeness but --and let's beat this into the ground -- from the good things in my life), my friend, my brother, my love and lover.
In short: I too often mistake the gifts and blessings from God as God. But God is God and while good things come from Him, they are to lead me not to worship of those good things, but to Thanksgiving and a deeper desire for Christ.
To wrap it up: these are the links to the two songs that really spoke (sang) to me at mass.
Mighty to Save
Christ is Risen
24 March 2010
Making Cappuccinos on Accident
So. Among other things, I currently work part time at a coffee shop. My first day on the Bar (pulling expressing, steaming milk -- making the drinks essentially) I was given a basic "this is this and that is that" introduction and set loose. Until someone ordered a cappuccino, when the student manager momentarily relieved me, saying "you don't make cappuccinos your first day."
Cappuccino are a little tricky: they are mostly foam, but no airy foam, very thick nearly liquid smooth heavy foam.
i think they are beautiful.
My next shift, I got to try to make one. It was a little heavy. So I decided practice trying to make beautiful foam. Hold the steamer so it just brushed the top of the milk making a cute little whisping sound; holding it so the steamer was against the bottom or side of my pitcher of milk making a more "grr-ing" bubbling noise. Pouring the milk into the latter (or caramel macchiato or mocha or...) and using a spoon to hold the foam back and
having the latte weigh like a wet cappuccino. Wet meaning a little heavier, a little more milk in the milk : foam ratio than typical because I has made such beautiful think foam that it poured around the spoon.
Trying to actually make a cappuccino yielded thick big like soap bubbles. Sigh.
I still do it, make the unintentional cappuccino if I dont really pay attention thick heavy foam when bubbling milk is called for.
It seems to me that there's an analogy here. Somehow I have fallen in love with cappuccino foam (and it always makes me think of Emily cause I know she loves foam. And usually if i drink a cappuccino it is after dinner with her) and it has become the automatic (or the fascinated consistent accident).
It makes me think of the other "defaults" in my life. I was thinking earlier about how completely I seem to have transitioned and reverted back in Georgetown in my post-El Salvador life. I work in a coffee shop, yer I don't know where our beans are grown. I don't know who harvests them and what they are paid. I knew people who left their homes for 3 months of the year to be part of the coffee harvesting and I don't think of them as I work.
One of the beautiful things about the Salvadorans is that the truly embrace life. They seem to not just "survive" but to enter life with a commitment. How can I then enter into survival mode?
Life lately has seemed like a test of endurance: work and work, pay rent for food cell phone the bus . see friends(don't be a hermit) talk and laugh and drink coffee (from beans I again do not know the origins) and ... Those friends times make m think of sophomore year. Seeing people, listening, supporting, maybe telling my story: these relationships give me life.
Working 40 hours a week is a different type of busy than anything else. Having so much time accounted for and no "work" to do when I am done. I am used to "15-18 hours of class week, lots of homework reading projects) now it is the other way around. and seeing people and listening is limited.
the connection with the cappuccino has been lost but I want to share one last thing with you: Archbishop Oscar Romero was shot saying mass 30 years ago, for being the voice (and the hear for) his people. He gave everything for his love for his people. Vive Romero. We love you look up to you and live in your memory. Vive Romero
Cappuccino are a little tricky: they are mostly foam, but no airy foam, very thick nearly liquid smooth heavy foam.
i think they are beautiful.
My next shift, I got to try to make one. It was a little heavy. So I decided practice trying to make beautiful foam. Hold the steamer so it just brushed the top of the milk making a cute little whisping sound; holding it so the steamer was against the bottom or side of my pitcher of milk making a more "grr-ing" bubbling noise. Pouring the milk into the latter (or caramel macchiato or mocha or...) and using a spoon to hold the foam back and
having the latte weigh like a wet cappuccino. Wet meaning a little heavier, a little more milk in the milk : foam ratio than typical because I has made such beautiful think foam that it poured around the spoon.
Trying to actually make a cappuccino yielded thick big like soap bubbles. Sigh.
I still do it, make the unintentional cappuccino if I dont really pay attention thick heavy foam when bubbling milk is called for.
It seems to me that there's an analogy here. Somehow I have fallen in love with cappuccino foam (and it always makes me think of Emily cause I know she loves foam. And usually if i drink a cappuccino it is after dinner with her) and it has become the automatic (or the fascinated consistent accident).
It makes me think of the other "defaults" in my life. I was thinking earlier about how completely I seem to have transitioned and reverted back in Georgetown in my post-El Salvador life. I work in a coffee shop, yer I don't know where our beans are grown. I don't know who harvests them and what they are paid. I knew people who left their homes for 3 months of the year to be part of the coffee harvesting and I don't think of them as I work.
One of the beautiful things about the Salvadorans is that the truly embrace life. They seem to not just "survive" but to enter life with a commitment. How can I then enter into survival mode?
Life lately has seemed like a test of endurance: work and work, pay rent for food cell phone the bus . see friends(don't be a hermit) talk and laugh and drink coffee (from beans I again do not know the origins) and ... Those friends times make m think of sophomore year. Seeing people, listening, supporting, maybe telling my story: these relationships give me life.
Working 40 hours a week is a different type of busy than anything else. Having so much time accounted for and no "work" to do when I am done. I am used to "15-18 hours of class week, lots of homework reading projects) now it is the other way around. and seeing people and listening is limited.
the connection with the cappuccino has been lost but I want to share one last thing with you: Archbishop Oscar Romero was shot saying mass 30 years ago, for being the voice (and the hear for) his people. He gave everything for his love for his people. Vive Romero. We love you look up to you and live in your memory. Vive Romero
23 March 2010
UCA Martyrs
This is a reflection I gave last November on the 20th Anniversary of the UCA martyrs. The themes, thoughts ideas are ones I have been revisiting as we approach the 30th anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Arnulfo Romero this March 24. Likely this week I will post some reflections on Romero, but I wanted first to share my starting place.
The Jesuit Martyrs and their Legacy for Jesuit Education: Personal Reflections
Christina Darr, Georgetown University
Segundo Montes. Ignacio Martin Baro. Juan Ramon Moreno. Amando Lopez. Joaquin Lopez y Lopez. Ignacio Ellacuria. Elba Ramos. Celina Ramos.
I did not know them, I was barely alive when they were murdered on November 16 of 1989, yet they have had a profound impact on me, through what I know of their lives and what I know of their people, the Salvadorans
Last semester, I had the opportunity to study in El Salvador through Santa Clara University’s program Casa de la Solidaridad, House of Solidarity. Through this program, I lived in community with 26 other US students in 3 houses. I attended classes 3 days a week at the UCA (University of Central America). 2 days a week I spent in a poor urban Salvadoran community with 2 other students in my program. Calle Real, communidad Dolores Medina is a community of 43 families who had been forced to relocate from the country side during the war. I spent my days there teaching English and getting to know the people. They are a people who have formed me, who I hold close to my heart. Through them, I know the martyrs.
Martyr comes from the Greek word for witness, and so from the witness of the UCA martyrs, from the witness of the Salvadoran people I learn how I want to live: to speak the truth, to love and care for the persecuted and the poor, to not be afraid, to risk everything for the integrity of who I am and what I believe to be true.
This is the purpose of a Jesuit education: to teach life, how to live, to educate the whole person, cura personalis, to be and to recognize that same being in the other, so that together we work for justice, recognizing our common humanity and the fact that we are all in this together.
I saw this in the martyrs, but it was the Salvadorans – the people I knew and lived with and worked with, ate with, talked with, and loved that taught me how to live this way.
On my first day in El Salvador, we visited Mariona, a community where three other students in my program would be spending their Mondays and Wednesday. Later, I noted:
In my philosophy class with Father Mark Ravizza, S.J., we began talking about the hope of the martyrs, picking it apart, trying to understand what it meant, this seemingly contradictory phrase that was being lived everywhere around us: these men were killed for speaking the truth, where is the hope in that? It could so easily be catalyst to despair that even these men, respected priests, could be killed.
I talked with one of the women in my community, Juana, and I asked her if she had ever lost hope, she told me:
This is a woman whose father and brother died during the war, who was forced to leave her home in the campo to seek safety from the war violence in the capitol. This is a woman who, despite her limited economic resources, has taken in and raised for the pasts seven years two children abandoned by their parents (I don’t have enough money for them, she told me, but I have enough love). There is a living martyrdom in the way she lives her life.
Her faith and hope, the faith and hope of the Salvadoran people, is not in a life that is easy, nor in a life in which there is no suffering. It is however a faith that believes that life is not about conforming to those “worst things;” it is a hope in a God who is present and will draw one onward; it is a faith that the journey of life, of continuing onward, is good and worthwhile even amidst bitter hardship
Scott Wright, a gringo who spent many years during the war in El Salvador with the war refugees, came to one of my classes and spoke to us. In his book, he writes of the Salvadoran people, saying that “They teach us a deeper sense of what it means to live –to be able to give up your life for others, to have this capacity and this love to give up your life in a struggle so that all people may have life “ This is what we see in the martyrs. This too is what I saw in the Salvadoran people.
In a church in Chaletenango, there are pictures of the Stations of the Cross painted on the walls. For each station there are two paintings: one of Christ and one of an image from the war. In walking the passion with Christ, in allowing themselves to share his suffering, and in sharing theirs with him, these people name their loss and suffering and pain, but also the hope of redemption, of new life amidst death.
There is hope in the human dignity recognized by the Jesuit martyrs– a recognition which led to their death. A common human dignity I found I share through the martyrs, through the Salvavdoran people like Juana and Oti. I learned, and am learning to let suffering and loss, joy and hope sit right next to each other, not mutually exclusive. In reflection I wrote,
What a gift it is to feel: to cry with tears welling up from deep within me, to laugh so hard I cry. There is a freedom in this feeling, as well as a feeling of danger and of risk, to feel so deeply. In Calle Real, I live in this freedom with this risk, walking with a community who knows both laughter and tears, yet have welcomed me, a newcomer, foreigner and stranger, as one of them—or if not one of them, someone already loved by them.
In the tears and in the laughter, and the freedom and acceptance to do both, a freedom given to me in a way by these Salvadorans, is the result of a learning through example: in the Salvadorans, in the martyrs, I see the courage to embrace the difficult, the painful, the horrible. The courage, as Oti did to share that pain, years later, and yet to not become trapped in despair, but rather from the sacrifices and from the ashes to still be able to appreciate the life in themselves, in their community and to continue hope. It is a courage drawn from the passion of Christ, a courage drawn from identification with the martyrs
This identification is very powerful. A Salvadoran said, “There’s no difference between Monsenor Romero and a neighbor because they’re all our martyrs and we are human beings.”
It is this identification that allows the martyrs to still be a source of hope today Jon Sobrino, a Jesuit from the UCA who was traveling at the times of the killings, warns : “…beware of the well-known mechanism of admiration in order to avoid imitation, or in religious language of ‘canonizing,’ ‘sanctifying’ in order to create distance.” If the martyrs are only looked upon us heroes, they are awe inspiring, but removed; they have little to do with how I live my life because one so small as myself couldn’t live the great life they chose.
So the Salvadorans tell stories about the martyrs: keeping them human, keeping them involved in their daily lives, being challenged to live in truth and integrity even in the face persecution. So the martyrs are a source of comfort on several levels: first that the these Jesuits would risk staying in el Salvador, risk speaking up for the persecuted poor knowing their lives are at risk—sending the message that you are worth it. Second, So the martyrs they are a present day challenge to live whole, holy, completely; to feel pain and joy, to be and to live as I believe.
Ellacuria says beautifully what it means for a university to live such a life: “If our university had not suffered we would not have performed our duty. In a world where injustice reigns, a university that fights for justice must necessarily be persecuted.”
So to the martyrs have something to say not just about how I live my life, but how we as a Jesuit university must conduct education: through engaging students beyond the classroom, through being engaged in the community in which we are situated, through living and educating in a way that fights for justice and so leads to persecution.
The Jesuit Martyrs and their Legacy for Jesuit Education: Personal Reflections
Christina Darr, Georgetown University
Segundo Montes. Ignacio Martin Baro. Juan Ramon Moreno. Amando Lopez. Joaquin Lopez y Lopez. Ignacio Ellacuria. Elba Ramos. Celina Ramos.
I did not know them, I was barely alive when they were murdered on November 16 of 1989, yet they have had a profound impact on me, through what I know of their lives and what I know of their people, the Salvadorans
Last semester, I had the opportunity to study in El Salvador through Santa Clara University’s program Casa de la Solidaridad, House of Solidarity. Through this program, I lived in community with 26 other US students in 3 houses. I attended classes 3 days a week at the UCA (University of Central America). 2 days a week I spent in a poor urban Salvadoran community with 2 other students in my program. Calle Real, communidad Dolores Medina is a community of 43 families who had been forced to relocate from the country side during the war. I spent my days there teaching English and getting to know the people. They are a people who have formed me, who I hold close to my heart. Through them, I know the martyrs.
Martyr comes from the Greek word for witness, and so from the witness of the UCA martyrs, from the witness of the Salvadoran people I learn how I want to live: to speak the truth, to love and care for the persecuted and the poor, to not be afraid, to risk everything for the integrity of who I am and what I believe to be true.
This is the purpose of a Jesuit education: to teach life, how to live, to educate the whole person, cura personalis, to be and to recognize that same being in the other, so that together we work for justice, recognizing our common humanity and the fact that we are all in this together.
I saw this in the martyrs, but it was the Salvadorans – the people I knew and lived with and worked with, ate with, talked with, and loved that taught me how to live this way.
On my first day in El Salvador, we visited Mariona, a community where three other students in my program would be spending their Mondays and Wednesday. Later, I noted:
On my very first day, I was struck with this unbelievable willingness to encounter suffering in order to witness to the life of a friend and in witnessing to this pain, Oti also witnessed to an unnamable hope.
In my philosophy class with Father Mark Ravizza, S.J., we began talking about the hope of the martyrs, picking it apart, trying to understand what it meant, this seemingly contradictory phrase that was being lived everywhere around us: these men were killed for speaking the truth, where is the hope in that? It could so easily be catalyst to despair that even these men, respected priests, could be killed.
I talked with one of the women in my community, Juana, and I asked her if she had ever lost hope, she told me:
My faith will never come to an end. My faith and hope go together because hope is quite important. I never say, “ No, through what has happened, difficult trials,” it is easy to think of the worst things, but then I would only conform to that. I have faith and when I say, “this I cannot endure,” I kneel and I pray to God that he would draw me forward and the Lord helps me and the Lord blesses me… Faith and hope are things that must be together throughout life. …It’s not only about living life in the way that is already known, because life is a university where one never stops learning.
This is a woman whose father and brother died during the war, who was forced to leave her home in the campo to seek safety from the war violence in the capitol. This is a woman who, despite her limited economic resources, has taken in and raised for the pasts seven years two children abandoned by their parents (I don’t have enough money for them, she told me, but I have enough love). There is a living martyrdom in the way she lives her life.
Her faith and hope, the faith and hope of the Salvadoran people, is not in a life that is easy, nor in a life in which there is no suffering. It is however a faith that believes that life is not about conforming to those “worst things;” it is a hope in a God who is present and will draw one onward; it is a faith that the journey of life, of continuing onward, is good and worthwhile even amidst bitter hardship
Scott Wright, a gringo who spent many years during the war in El Salvador with the war refugees, came to one of my classes and spoke to us. In his book, he writes of the Salvadoran people, saying that “They teach us a deeper sense of what it means to live –to be able to give up your life for others, to have this capacity and this love to give up your life in a struggle so that all people may have life “ This is what we see in the martyrs. This too is what I saw in the Salvadoran people.
In a church in Chaletenango, there are pictures of the Stations of the Cross painted on the walls. For each station there are two paintings: one of Christ and one of an image from the war. In walking the passion with Christ, in allowing themselves to share his suffering, and in sharing theirs with him, these people name their loss and suffering and pain, but also the hope of redemption, of new life amidst death.
There is hope in the human dignity recognized by the Jesuit martyrs– a recognition which led to their death. A common human dignity I found I share through the martyrs, through the Salvavdoran people like Juana and Oti. I learned, and am learning to let suffering and loss, joy and hope sit right next to each other, not mutually exclusive. In reflection I wrote,
I cry a lot here. Sob is really more like it. So hard that I have a headache even still the next day. I cry for the kids in my class -- for their hard situations… I cry for myself, as I am learning to deal with conflict, as I am learning to embrace myself. Some days I am more angry and hurt at myself for my imperfections, screw ups, letting others down than others. Some days I can love my self with all of those imperfections.
What a gift it is to feel: to cry with tears welling up from deep within me, to laugh so hard I cry. There is a freedom in this feeling, as well as a feeling of danger and of risk, to feel so deeply. In Calle Real, I live in this freedom with this risk, walking with a community who knows both laughter and tears, yet have welcomed me, a newcomer, foreigner and stranger, as one of them—or if not one of them, someone already loved by them.
In the tears and in the laughter, and the freedom and acceptance to do both, a freedom given to me in a way by these Salvadorans, is the result of a learning through example: in the Salvadorans, in the martyrs, I see the courage to embrace the difficult, the painful, the horrible. The courage, as Oti did to share that pain, years later, and yet to not become trapped in despair, but rather from the sacrifices and from the ashes to still be able to appreciate the life in themselves, in their community and to continue hope. It is a courage drawn from the passion of Christ, a courage drawn from identification with the martyrs
This identification is very powerful. A Salvadoran said, “There’s no difference between Monsenor Romero and a neighbor because they’re all our martyrs and we are human beings.”
It is this identification that allows the martyrs to still be a source of hope today Jon Sobrino, a Jesuit from the UCA who was traveling at the times of the killings, warns : “…beware of the well-known mechanism of admiration in order to avoid imitation, or in religious language of ‘canonizing,’ ‘sanctifying’ in order to create distance.” If the martyrs are only looked upon us heroes, they are awe inspiring, but removed; they have little to do with how I live my life because one so small as myself couldn’t live the great life they chose.
So the Salvadorans tell stories about the martyrs: keeping them human, keeping them involved in their daily lives, being challenged to live in truth and integrity even in the face persecution. So the martyrs are a source of comfort on several levels: first that the these Jesuits would risk staying in el Salvador, risk speaking up for the persecuted poor knowing their lives are at risk—sending the message that you are worth it. Second, So the martyrs they are a present day challenge to live whole, holy, completely; to feel pain and joy, to be and to live as I believe.
Ellacuria says beautifully what it means for a university to live such a life: “If our university had not suffered we would not have performed our duty. In a world where injustice reigns, a university that fights for justice must necessarily be persecuted.”
So to the martyrs have something to say not just about how I live my life, but how we as a Jesuit university must conduct education: through engaging students beyond the classroom, through being engaged in the community in which we are situated, through living and educating in a way that fights for justice and so leads to persecution.
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