✠ In the Shadow of the Cross
A Lenten Reflection on Archbishop Óscar Romero
Beloved Friends,
We stand once again in the shadow of the cross—
at the place where justice is betrayed,
where power nails love to the wood,
and where prophets are silenced in the name of order.
We know this place well.
It is Golgotha.
It is El Salvador.
It is every place where the Body of Christ is still crucified—
in the poor, in the silenced,
in those who dare to speak truth in a time of lies.
Archbishop Óscar Romero knew this place intimately.
On March 24, 1980, as he lifted the chalice and spoke of Christ’s broken body and shed
blood, he was shot through the heart—assassinated while celebrating the Eucharist.
A martyr—not only in death, but in life—
for he had already given himself, day by day, voice by voice,
to the suffering people of El Salvador.
He said:
“If they kill me, I shall rise again in the Salvadoran people.”
And he was right.
I do not suggest we sentimentalize his martyrdom.
Romero was not killed by chance.
He was killed by a system.
A system of militarism, capitalism, and Cold War politics.
A system that feared the gospel when it took sides with the poor.
A system that said, “Peace, peace,” when there was no peace—
only repression, only silence, only death squads,
and now, secret black site prisons for undocumented people.
And yes—the United States was entangled in that system then, as it is today.
While the CIA may not have ordered the hit,
it trained and funded those who did.
We created those who rule today at the School of the Americas,
Fort Benning, Columbus, Georgia.
The U.S. government supported the very Salvadoran regime
that tortured and killed its own people.
It was not our ignorance.
It was our policy.
This, too, is part of Lent leading us toward Holy Week—
not just the betrayal of Jesus by Judas,
but the betrayal of Christ in every age,
by nations that cloak violence in freedom,
and silence in security.
Romero bore the cross because he would not stop proclaiming resurrection.
He believed in a God who sides with the poor.
A God who hears the cry of the people.
A God who will not be mocked by bullies, bullets, or empires.
He believed the Church does not belong to the powerful,
but to the crucified.
And here is the dangerous grace Bonhoeffer speaks of:
They killed him at the altar—
but they could not kill the Gospel.
His blood fell with the wine.
And the Church remembered.
The people rose.
The seed was planted.
And now—Romero lives.
Not just in memory, but in movement.
Not just in El Salvador, but wherever the cross is carried,
and love refuses to die.
So what about us?
Where are we complicit?
Where have we traded the Gospel for security,
or our silence for a seat at the table?
And where are we willing to stand—
not with the rulers, but with the crucified Christ?
Not with Pilate, who washed his hands—
but with Mary, who did not look away.
Because in every age,
the Gospel will be dangerous.
And in every age,
someone will have to stand at the altar and say,
“Stop the repression.”
Even if it costs everything.
But take heart—
Resurrection is not a metaphor.
It is the promise of God.
They can kill the prophets.
They cannot kill the Word.
Words from Romero
“Each one of you has to be God’s microphone. Each one of you has to be a messenger, a
prophet. The Church will always exist as long as there is someone who has been baptized…”
“Where is your baptism? You are baptized in your professions, in the fields of workers, in the
market. Wherever there is someone who has been baptized, that is where the Church is. There
is a prophet there.”
“Let us not hide the talent that God gave us on the day of our baptism, and let us truly live the
beauty and responsibility of being a prophetic people.”
“Beautiful is the moment in which we understand that we are no more than an instrument of
God; we live only as long as God wants us to live; we can only do as much as God makes us able
to do; we are only as intelligent as God would have us be.”
“I don’t want to be an “anti,” against anybody. I simply want to be the builder of a great
affirmation: the affirmation of God, who loves us and who wants to save us.”
“Whoever, out of love for God, gives oneself to the service of others will live—like the grain of
wheat that dies, but only apparently… Only in undoing itself does it produce the harvest.”
“If we are worth anything, it is not because we have more money or more talent, or more
human qualities. Insofar as we are worth anything, it is because we are grafted onto Christ’s
life, his cross and resurrection. That is a person’s measure.”
“The transcendence that the Church preaches is not alienation; it is not going to heaven to
think about eternal life and forget about the problems on earth. It’s a transcendence from the
human heart.”
“It is entering into the reality of a child, of the poor, of those wearing rags, of the sick, of a
hovel, of a shack. It is going to share with them. And from the very heart of misery, of this
situation, to transcend it, to elevate it, to promote it, and to say to them, “You aren’t trash. You
aren’t marginalized.” It is to say exactly the opposite: “You are valuable.””
Peace is not the product of terror or fear.
Peace is not the silence of cemeteries.
Peace is not the silent result of violent repression.
Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all.
Peace is dynamism.
Peace is generosity.
It is right and it is duty.
Blessings, Rex
