Inside
NCR Martyrs are not a thing of the past
The book world is a merciless place where special books fight a
losing battle with raw commerce. Amid the bestsellers being huckstered and
hyped at your local megastore, you are not likely to find How Far to Follow:
The Martyrs of Atlas, by Bernardo Olivera (St. Bedes Publications, PO
Box 545, Petersham, MA 01366-0545).
Its a modest book, shreds and patches of letters written by
Olivera, abbot general of the Trappists, to members of the order. Its a
sad book that cries out what is best and worst about us. Its the story of
the murder of seven Trappist priests and brothers in Algeria in 1996.
Their capture by the Armed Islamic Group, GIA, made headlines
around the world. I remember wanting to write something about it in these pages
-- another glib call to the worlds conscience -- but the moment passed.
The reports said they were seven Frenchmen but that was just a statistic. Now,
on the page before me, I see their snapshots, and they become a little more
human. Olivera brings them further to life.
Fr. Christian de Chergé. Three weeks before being
kidnapped, he preached: Thou shalt not kill: not kill yourself, not kill
time (which belongs to God), not kill trust, not kill death itself (by
trivializing it), not kill the country, the other person or the
church.
Br. Luke Dochier. He gave over half a century of his one and only
life to Algeria. At 80 he told his brothers: When I am dying, if it is
not a violent death, I would ask that you read me the parable of the prodigal
son and say the Jesus Prayer. Then give me a glass of champagne, if there is
any, so that I can say goodbye to this world.
Fr. Christopher Lebreton. He played the guitar, was always
on the side of the poor and outcast.
Br. Michael Fleury. A quiet man, death came on his 52nd
birthday.
Fr. Bruno Lemarchand. At his monastic profession he scarcely
sounded like the right stuff for the rugged road ahead: Here I am before
you, my God ... rich in misery and poverty, full of unspeakable
cowardice.
Fr. Celestine Ringeard. He was the communitys organist and
cantor.
Br. Paul Favre Miville. He had written: How far can you go
to save yourself without running the risk of losing true life? In the end
he went out of his way not to save himself: Despite the danger, he returned
from a trip to France only a few hours before the kidnapping.
The Trappists had founded the abbey of Atlas in 1934. They were
well acquainted with Algerias troubled history. On the other hand was
their vow of stability. It binds us until death to our community,
writes Olivera. In the early 1990s, as the struggle intensified between the
army-dominated state and Islamic fundamentalists, some daunting choices had to
be made.
The Islamic extremists, thwarted at the ballot box, began a chain
of killings that included many missionaries. This created an urgent demand for
discernment by the Trappists and others, most immediate being the
choice to stay or go. Most opted to stay. They began to be visited by the
terrorists, just threats at first. Then the killings multiplied. Fr. Christian
wrote that they were completely aware that from now on their presence
must logically include the possibility of a violent death.
Impending martyrdom spread across the troubled countryside. When
two nuns were killed, the secretary of the Congregation for Religious attended
the funeral. Writes Christian: He confirmed us in our present situation
in relation to the history of the church, Gods plan in our lives and our
religious vocation, all of which include the possibility of martyrdom. He
pointed out how we need to be available for that particular form of personal
fidelity. Then he hightailed it back to Rome.
Individually as well as communally they looked death in the face,
fought to come to terms with it. Christian left the most ample testimony, for
example: I should like, when the time comes ... to forgive with all my
heart the one who will strike me down. Elsewhere he contemplates his
assassin as his last-minute friend. Christians photo shows
him a mild, unimposing man. The others look equally ordinary.
Yet their lives and deaths, late in this cynical century, are
wonders of the world. There are few of us, probably none of us, who have not
wondered how we would measure up should similar circumstances arise. Could we
muster the huge courage necessary? To get killed without choice is one thing;
whether to go meet it or run away from it is the ultimate unenviable option,
and if we are honest we probably fret that we might not rise to the
occasion.
There is an urge to sacrifice built into nature. Some birds and
animals give their lives for their young or other causes. Humans have given
their lives for a multitude of reasons, most often religious, call it love of
God, fear of hell or whatever.
When we of the human race stumble, as we seem to do all the time,
this ounce of nobility on the part of some of us must redeem the rest of us,
keep the races psychological and spiritual entropy at bay.
What would you die for? Surely the question aims at the very heart
of who we are.
The seven Trappists were kidnapped March 27, 1996. The world,
including me, did not cry out in protest. They were beheaded May 21, 1996.
Two years before, Br. Michael had written: The word martyr
is so ambiguous in our context. ... If something happens to us, although I do
not wish it to, we want to live it here in solidarity with all the Algerians,
men and women, who have already paid with their lives, and in union with all
unknown innocent victims.
-- Michael Farrell
National Catholic Reporter, October 17,
1997
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