Bishop Rolando José Álvarez of Matagalpa, Nicaragua, is pictured in Managua May 20, 2022. In a video, Bishop Álvarez says authorities were preventing him, six priests and six laypeople from leaving the local diocesan offices. (CNS photo/Maynor Valenzuela, Reuters)
FEELING IT
Somewhere in Nicaragua, a Catholic bishop languishes in prison because of his outspoken opposition to the policies of an unjust government.
Bishop Rolando Álvarez, a handsome and youthful 56-year-old, has been accused of “treason” and “undermining national integrity” by the Ortega regime. Earlier, 222 political prisoners, including priests, were released to the United States. Bishop Álvarez was among them at the airport.
But according to a National Public Radio opinion piece by Scott Simon, the bishop “stopped at the aircraft stairs.”
In “A Bishop of Immense Courage,” Scott recorded Bishop Álvarez’s words: “Let the others be free. I will endure their punishment.”
For someone like me, who generally acknowledges being a chicken, this is breathtaking bravery.
But some of the people I admire most are the ones who simply remain faithful, who hear some call perhaps only they can hear. Even the journalist Simon seemed a bit puzzled by why Álvarez would not get on that airplane.
In 1980, four women, Maryknoll Sisters Ita Ford and Maureen Clarke, Ursuline Sister Dorothy Kazel, and laywoman Jean Donovan were brutally slain by the military in the midst of a civil war in El Salvador. They didn’t have to be there.
Father Frans van der Lugt, a Dutch Jesuit, spent 50 years of ministry in Syria. But when the Syrian government, aided by Russia, began a vicious war against rebel forces, he had every opportunity to leave. Instead, he was the last European left inside the Old City of Homs as fighting destroyed it. Speaking fluent Arabic, he served as a spokesperson for those caught in the destruction.
Then someone came for him, and he was shot in the head in the garden of his residence.
Our Catholic tradition has a long line of martyrs, those who won’t leave even when the average person would be on the next plane. And it always has something to do with fidelity to the poor, that preferential option for the poor at the heart of our faith.
So here’s one more. Father Stanley Rother (now Blessed Stanley Rother) was a farm boy from Okarche, Oklahoma. He was accepted to the seminary, but was sent home because he couldn’t handle the academics, especially Greek and Latin.
Fortunately, his bishop gave him another chance in another seminary and he was ordained for the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City. This country priest volunteered for a missionary assignment in Guatemala. Again, war. As always, hardest on the poor, whom Rother served in a remote village. Where, we add with a nod to his first seminary, he easily learned the Mayan dialect. Knowing he was on a death list, he returned to the U.S. But something called him back to the village. Like Frans van der Lugt, he eventually heard the knock at the door and was killed. (For a compelling biography of Blessed Stanley Rother, read Maria Ruiz Scaperlanda’s “The Shepherd Who Didn’t Run.”)
I can think of many rationalizations for why they could leave. Álvarez could speak publicly and educate us about the issues facing Nicaragua. Frans van der Lugt was 75 when he was shot — surely he deserved to die in his own bed?
But it’s Lent. So, we cast our eyes to Jesus, and watch him set his face toward Jerusalem. He knew what lay in store for him there. His disciples were confused; Peter remonstrated with him.
But Jesus had the kind of integrity that propelled him to answer a call he could have escaped.
Let’s pray to know Jesus and ask him how he wishes to send us. And let’s pray for Bishop Álvarez.
Effie Caldarola is a wife, mom and grandmother who received her master’s in pastoral ministry from Seattle University.
